Page 133 of Sing For Me

He shifts so he’s facing me and brings one hand up to cup the back of my head, forcing me to look at him. His eyes are so fucking sad—sad for me and sad for the girl we couldn’t help.

But they’re also filled with a fierce, unending fire. With love. “You were only seventeen when you found out how bad things were for her.Seventeen. Eighteen when she died.” His hand tightens. “It wasnotyour fault.”

“But I—”

“It’s not your fault any more than it was my dad’s fault my mom wouldn’t get help. It’s not your fault any more than it was Reed’s, or Daltrey’s, or Lennon’s, or mine that our mother didn’t feel like she had enough to live for. Skye was sick, Will. And it was a really, really shitty situation. But it wasn’t your fault.”

I let out a breath, fresh tears falling, and for the first time in a really long time, some of the weight on my chest eases. Not all of it—the blame I’ve carried all this time is heavy shit. And I’m not ready to absolve myself of all the guilt yet. But maybe I can start to envision a day when that might be possible for me.

This time when my dad wraps his arms around me, it’s a full-on hug. And he doesn’t let go for a really long time.

“Your brothers are right about you,” I say after a minute, when the tears have finally dried up and I feel like I can breathe again. “You’re a sappy bastard.”

My dad laughs, the sound deep in his chest, and I can feel the rumble of it through the embrace he refuses to cut short.

“I’m a hugger, kid. Deal with it.”

I squeeze him back, just a little bit tighter. “I can do that.”

One cool thing about my dad—he never makes you feel bad even for the most embarrassing displays of emotion. He doesn’t say a word while I grab the Kleenex and mop of my face and when I come back to the couch, he’s grabbed a couple of bottles of water from the wet bar.

He waits until I’ve taken a few deep gulps before he addresses the next emotional disaster of my life. “What happened with Eva?”

I blow out a breath, tilting my head against the back of the couch cushion. “She’s talking about going back to work soon.”

“And that scares you.” It isn’t a question and I don’t respond. We both know it fucking terrifies me.

But I also know it isn’t the biggest issue. “I wasn’t ready for that relationship.”

He snorts. “That’s some bullshit right there.”

I glare at him, then gesture over at the spot of carpet where only a few minutes ago I was completely breaking down. “I’m fucked up, Dad.”

“So?”

“What do you meanso?”

He gives a maddening shrug. “Everyone’s a little fucked up, kid.”

In spite of myself, a laugh breaks out. He makes it all sound so simple. But I sober real fast. “She tried to get me to open up and I pushed her away.” I picture her in her beach house, telling me that she had battled her demons for me, and how brave that makes her. How different from me. I close my eyes. “Because I’m a fucking coward.”

“Hmm.” He’s quiet for a moment. “You know what’s really bothered me about this whole mess the last few years?”

“Uh, your son was being a raging asshole?”

He rolls his eyes. “Kids get mad at their parents. Hell knows I spent plenty of time pissed off at my dad. No, that wasn’t the big issue for me.” He meets my eye, the ghost of that familiar smirk on his face. “Don’t get me wrong—I missed the hell out of you, kid. But I can take your anger.” He clutches my shoulder. “What really got to me though, what scared the shit out of me, if you want me to be honest, was the fact that you weren’ttalking.Not to anyone.”

“I talked to Rose,” I argue, but I know it’s not really true. And so does my dad.

“Rose knew what happened, but you didn’t ever tell her how you felt.” He takes a sip of his water, considering. “You know, I almost lost your mom when we first started dating. I was fucked up about a lot of stuff and I didn’t know how to deal with it. And I certainly didn’t know how to talk about it.” He studies my face. “You were always much better at that stuff than I was when I was younger, Will—being open with people. Being real. I never really worried that you’d repeat my mistakes. I never thought you’d be in danger of losing out on love because you were too afraid to let someone in.”

I manage a weak smile. “Because, unlike you, I was raised in a house where people hug all the time?”

He chuckles, flipping me off. But then his gaze grows more serious. Maybe even a little proud. “That’s not why. I never worried about you because you’ve always been much, much braver than me, Son.”

Just like that, my throat closes up again, wetness pricking at my eyes. I don’t deserve a Dad like him—not the way I’ve been acting for the last few years. But I’m damn well going to try to fix that.