Page 180 of Ice Me Out

“I’m not giving you money again.”

He shook his head. “I’m not asking for money. Just come upstairs and give me five minutes, and I won’t bother you again.”

I hesitated.

Five minutes.

Five minutes sounded like a short time until you’re stuck with someone, somewhere you didn’t want to be. I wanted to be at home with my girl, not with my father, who I was 67% sure was about to pitch me a pyramid scheme.

“Fine,” I muttered. “Five minutes. But after that, I’m leaving, and you’re getting on that plane tomorrow.”

“That’s all I need.”

I waved a hand toward the elevators. “Lead the way.”

He hiked his duffel bag higher on his shoulder and marched toward the elevators. I followed a few steps behind him, already regretting my decision.

Make Things Right

Hart

“You should have a seat,” Dad said, tossing his bag on the floor.

“Won’t be here long. Say what you need to say,” I insisted, leaning against a wall with my arms folded over my chest.

He dropped into an armchair with an aggrieved sigh.

“Five minutes,” I reminded him.

He nodded and rubbed his palms against his jeans, buying himself some time. I glanced at my watch. “Four minutes and thirty seconds.”

“Knock it off, Hart,” he chastised.

“You’re the one who wanted to talk.”

“I know. I’m just trying to figure out where to start.”

I scoffed.

He’s definitely on some bullshit.

He lowered his gaze to his hands.

“I owe you an apology. It’s something I should’ve done a long time ago. I wasn’t a good father to you or your brothers. I know that. I wasn’t there when you needed me, and when I was around, I wasn’t much better.”

I stared at him—unmoved by his apology that was twenty years too late.

“I’ve spent a lot of years thinking about the things I did wrong. You… the boys… your mama.” He swallowed. “A-and I know I can’t change any of it. But I wanted you to hear me say I’m sorry.”

He searched my face for the slightest sign of forgiveness, but I wasn’t giving it up that easily. The problem was that I’d spent most of my childhood waiting for this man to give a shit. I’d imagined having this conversation more times than I could count. And now that he was sitting in front of me, I didn’t feel a damn thing.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“I heard you,” I acknowledged.

He shifted uncomfortably in the chair. “That’s it?”