Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76693 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Oh fuck.
Dread coils in my gut. Deep down, I know what this is about. But how? How do they know?
I glance over at Dad, who’s clutching a used tissue. He won’t look my way, which stings, and his eyes are red and swollen from crying.
This can’t be happening.
I freeze, unable to sit or move, fixated on the crushed expression Dad wears. He’s always so fierce and strong. Seeing him like this is gutting. And Pops? He never gets angry. Like ever. His face is a dark shade of red going on purple like he might burst at any second.
“Sit,” Pops commands, voice harsh.
I jolt out of my haze and stumble over to one of the armchairs. Everything aches in me to sit by Dad, but I don’t think he wants me there. Years and years of self-doubt and feelings of inadequacy claw at my insides.
“What’s going on?” I murmur. “Tell me.”
Pops cracks his neck before turning his glare on me. “How about you tell us, Tristan.”
I dart my gaze over to Dad, who’s begun crying again. Disgust at myself and the entire situation suffocates me.
“I don’t know what you mean,” I lie, tearing my stare from Dad to my hands. “I don’t.”
Liar, liar, liar.
Pops lets out a huff of disbelief. “Who the hell are you anymore? It’s like I don’t even recognize the man in front of me.”
My shoulders hunch at his words. If I could crawl into a hole right now to hide from this confrontation, I would.
“How do you know?” I still can’t look Pops in the eyes, but I need answers too. “Who told you?”
“Jamie Park,” Dad whispers. “We had quite the conversation this morning.”
Seriously?
Anger quells up inside me, chasing away the crushing sadness. She called my dad up and tattled to him? “Of course she did.”
I feel both my parents’ stares on me and finally glance up to look at them.
“What does that mean?” Dad asks, bottom lip trembling. “Two, how did we get here? Explain. Please.”
Scrubbing my palm over my face, I let out a heavy sigh. “Do we really have to do this?”
Pops growls—seriously growls like a goddamn dog. “Yes, Son. We really do.”
Okay, so no avoiding it.
I really wish Tate were here to mediate this shitshow.
“Did you know Tate’s fiancé is Jude Park?” I cock my head to the side, looking Dad’s way.
“We did.” Dad purses his lips while he and Pops share a weighted look. “Jude hired our company a while back to repair his porch and add a wheelchair ramp. When I learned Tate was a therapist and a very nice young man, I wanted you to see him.”
I cross my arms and lean back in my chair. “I’m surprised you even took the job after that family…”
Dad swallows and his eyes water. “After what, Two? What do you think you know?”
“Think?” I say with a scoff. “Dad, I found the letter from Jamie. I saw the picture.”
“You went through my things?”
“Believe me,” I spit out. “Never made that mistake again.”
Dad flinches at my words. “What has gotten into you?”
“Exactly when did you find the letter and picture?” Pops demands, railroading right over Dad’s question. “Why didn’t you talk to us about this?”
Memories of being nine years old and curious about Santa assault me. Why did I have to go snooping? I found so much more than I’d bargained for.
“I was nine.”
Dad starts to cry again and Pops storms out of the room. A door slams somewhere within the house. Guilt and anger and sadness swirl around inside me like some fucked-up typhoon ready to suck me up and spit me out.
“Nine,” Dad rasps out through his tears. “Oh my God. This explains so much.”
It does?
Before I can probe him, Pops returns with the offending letter and picture in hand. He slaps them down on the coffee table before landing in a heap beside Dad. His anger is still there like a live electrical wire, but his eyes shine with abject despair.
I knew this would happen.
I knew if it ever came to light, they’d have to revisit the horrible, devastating memories.
Jamie Park is a witch.
How could she?
Why would she?
Hasn’t she done enough to torment my dads?
“There’s so much to unpack here,” Dad says with a humorless laugh. “So much.”
Pops leans forward and stabs a finger at the picture. “Tell us everything.”
I press my lips together, not eager to get into this. There’s no hiding it now, though.
“Two,” Pops clips out. “Cut the bullshit and speak.”
“Dax told me Santa wasn’t real and he could prove it.” I run my tongue over my bottom lip, wishing I’d grabbed a handful of butterscotch candies so I’d have something to distract myself with. “I told him he was wrong. Went hunting and discovered that stuff instead.”
“Oh, honey,” Dad croaks. “You must’ve been so confused and hurting.”