our shitty problems. And yeah, okay, sure. You did get us into rehab, so go ahead and pat yourself on the back for that one. But what the fuck does it all even matter when I'm where I'm at now, because you didn't think we needed to know you were fuckin' dyin'?”
I choked on my own voice and wiped a hand over my mouth. “Fuck. I swore I was gonna hold my shit together here,” I muttered, before continuing.
“You let me build my life around you,” I said, dropping my gaze from the ceiling to the empty room around me. “You never prepared me for this, and maybe that's on me, too, you know? Maybe I should've been more realistic. But you were my dad. Wasn't that your fuckin' job, to prepare me for this shit?” I swiped my arm beneath my nose as I sniffled. “I'm fucked up because you fucked up, and I just can't deal with it anymore. I'm all alone here, and man, I'm not gonna let myself go through another day of this, this pain.” I laid a hand over my chest and tried to rub the ache away. “I can't do it. And I don't have to, so I won't. Sorry if that disappoints you, Pops, but you disappointed me, too, man. So, consider us even.”
Then, clearing my throat, I leaned over the coffee table and looked forward to never feeling this way ever again.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
ANDREA
As he collected my stuff and ignored my pleas, he claimed to have ruined my life. Never once willing to stop and understand how he had actually made my life better.
He had given me love. He had given me hope. And as wrong as everything we had done together was, he had given me happiness. Isn't that all any of us can hope for in this life, just to be happy, whatever it takes to get there?
But now, as I sat on the bed in my room at home, I ached with the last thing he had given me: my first broken heart.
Of course, my parents hadn't been expecting me when the Uber dropped me off. It had only been hours since I'd last been there, declining their dinner invitation, but there I was, walking in just as they were cleaning up the meal. On the way over, between bouts of tears, and as the nerves wormed themselves in and out of my intestines, I'd wondered what I'd say to them once I got there. How could I explain another surprise visit? And how was I going to explain that I was, apparently, going to be staying for at least a few days until I made up with Vinnie? I had my doubts, but by the time I got to the house, it was all planned out. I had felt confident and prepared, but the moment I stepped through the door I realized, you can never be prepared for when you're crawling home with your tail between your legs and a man-sized handprint on your cheek.
“Oh, my God, Andrea!” Mom had cried out the second I stepped through the door. “Oh, honey, what happened?”
She had rushed to me while Dad hung back, silently observing with murderous intent flaring in his eyes. I allowed Mom to lead me to the couch, where she instructed me to sit and wait while she got me some ice and something to eat.
Alone with my father, I looked at him and said, “Daddy ... I need help.”
He hadn't wanted to talk to me then, not wanting my mother to hear everything just yet. And so, now I waited, laying in my old bedroom and wondering how I was supposed to confess to my father, that everything my mother and sisters were afraid of had, in fact, come true.
There was a soft knock and I told him to come in. He did, closing the door behind him, before coming to sit at the edge of my bed.
“So, before you say anything, I have to know,” he began, “did Vinnie hit you?”
I stalled before nodding, but when his breath hitched under the weight of his anger, I said, “It's not what you think.”
“I don't care what it is,” he snapped, keeping his tone calm and controlled. “No man should ever raise a hand to a woman, ever. End of story.”
“You don't even know the story,” I answered quietly.
“Don't make excuses for him,” he countered, glaring in my direction.