CHAPTER 33
TATE
I walk into the kitchen the next morning to find my father at the table, drinking his coffee and reading the Saturday edition of the Avalon Bee while Mom scrambles eggs at the stove. I do an honest-to-God double take. I have to blink several times to convince myself I’m not imagining this charade of domestic bliss.
Dad crashed at his friend Kurt’s house last night and now he’s in our kitchen. He must have woken up and come straight home, and instead of slamming the door in his face, Mom allowed him in and is goddamn serving him breakfast.
I stand in the doorway, staring. They don’t notice me, too caught up in their mundane activities. Mom’s sticking two slices of bread in the toaster. Dad’s reading the paper, no care in the world after blowing our family apart.
“What the hell is he doing here?”
They both look over in shock.
When my eyes lock with Dad’s, his fill with shame. Good. He fucking better be ashamed. Since the second Cassie’s mother dropped that bomb, the events of last night have been running on a loop in my head. When Mom and I got home, she refused to even discuss what happened. I’ve never been so frustrated in my life, but hey, I thought, it’s not just my life that got completely upended. This is her marriage. So I kept my mouth shut despite all the questions burning at my tongue. I didn’t push her. We walked the dogs and then she bid me good night and went up to bed.
Now she’s cooking breakfast for my cheating father as if nothing happened?
“Tate,” Dad starts. Cautious. “Sit down. We should probably talk about last night.”
“First of all, probably?” I’m equal doses dumbfounded and enraged. “And second, why are you here? Why are you sitting there drinking coffee? You should be upstairs packing a fucking bag.”
He recoils.
Even as I spit out the words, a bolt of hot agony rips a hole in my chest. Packing a bag. Christ, the idea of my father leaving, my parents divorcing … I scrape a hand through my hair, wanting to tear it out by the roots.
My father had an affair. He slept with another woman. And not just any other woman—Cassie’s mother. I’m still reeling from that. I’m sure Cassie is equally horrified. I’ll talk to her about it later when I see her, but, fuck, I don’t even know what there is to say. Yes, this mess was caused by our parents, not us. But everything about this situation just feels fucking wrong. As wrong as Mom carrying two plates of eggs and toast to the table as if our world is unchanged. The dogs trail after her, Fudge settling at her feet and staring longingly at their plates as if he hasn’t had a bite of food in forty-five years. Polly keeps a respectable distance because she has better manners.
I gape at my parents. “Why is he here?” I ask Mom. Without letting her respond, I turn to glower at him. “You couldn’t even give her twenty-four hours?”
Disdain drips from my tone and he flinches. His eyes widen and I realize I’ve never spoken to him this way before. But I’ve also never been this furious.
“You couldn’t even give her a full day to absorb that bombshell? Try to deal with—”
“We dealt with it eleven years ago.” That comes from Mom. Calm and resigned.
I swivel my head toward her. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, we dealt with it eleven years ago. Granted, I didn’t know it was Victoria Tanner.” She gives a rueful look at Dad. “I know, I know, I was insistent about you not telling me who it was. But—”
“You knew he had an affair?” I interject.
But I don’t need to see her nod to know the truth. Of course she knew. I’d been so caught up in my own shock over Victoria Tanner’s bombshell that I’d overlooked Mom’s reaction to it. When I think back to last night, I realize she hadn’t acted as shocked and horrified as she should have.
“I did, yes,” she says.
I turn back to Dad. This time, he won’t meet my gaze. Of course not. That was the one thing Victoria—sorry, Tori—had gotten right last night. Mr. Perfect always needs to look good to the world.
Another rush of anger burns a fiery path up my spine. All these years, he’s been acting like the model of virtue. Preaching about how family is so important, it always come first. Never forget that, Tate. And Gavin Bartlett does everything for his family.
Where was his family when he was banging somebody else?
Dad sees it all in my eyes, every thought I’m thinking, and it deepens the cloud of shame that darkens his face, sags his shoulders. He deserves to feel like shit after what he’s done.
What’s more shocking is that Mom knew all along. I think back to eleven years ago. I would have been twelve, turning thirteen. It was right when we moved to Avalon Bay. The memories surface. The arguments around the house, always behind closed doors. They made sure I wouldn’t overhear them, but I knew something was up. When I asked Mom about it, she just said they were going through a rough patch and not to worry. So I didn’t worry, because my entire life my parents never gave me any reasons to.
Turns out, they were arguing about the fact that he can’t keep his dick in his pants.
“Tate, sit down. Please,” Dad begs.
“No.” I stalk over to the counter and pour myself a cup of coffee. I gulp down the scalding liquid, wishing I could just fucking disappear.
“The affair happened when we moved here from Georgia,” Mom says quietly, seeking out my gaze. The total lack of anger or betrayal on her face only pisses me off more, though. “Your dad just opened a new business. I couldn’t find a job. We were arguing—”
“And that gives him a free pass to cheat?”
“Of course not,” she says. “I’m just providing the context—”
“It’s okay, darlin’,” Dad interjects, his voice gentle. “This is for me to fix.” With a ragged breath, he finally meets my eyes. “I fucked up, kid. Eleven years ago, I committed a very selfish act—”
“Several selfish acts,” I remind him coldly. “Because it sure doesn’t sound like it was a one-time thing.”
“No, it wasn’t. It lasted for four months. And I hated myself for it every single day.”
I snort. “If you expect me to have any sympathy—”
“I don’t. I don’t expect sympathy. I know what I did. Your mother knows what I did. And yes, it took me four months to come clean to her.”
I narrow my eyes. “You told her yourself?” For some reason I imagined Mom breaking into his phone or stumbling across a hotel receipt in his pocket.
“Yes, I did,” he says, and there’s a sliver of pride in his tone that triggers a fresh rush of anger.
“Sure, Dad, pat yourself on the back there.”
“Tate.” He looks hurt.
“So you came clean, big deal. It doesn’t change the fact that you slept with somebody else.”
“We were struggling with the new business. We were low on money. My ego was in the gutter.”
“All I’m hearing is more excuses.”
“No, you’re hearing the truth. And like your mother said, it’s context. People aren’t black-and-white creatures. Sure, we know what right and wrong ought to be. But sometimes the line between those is a bit gray. Life clouds your judgment and you cross lines you never thought you’d cross. People do stupid things. I did a stupid thing, and for eleven years I’ve woken up every single day with the intention of showing your mother that I recognize the pain and suffering I caused her, and that I consider each day she continues to stay with me the greatest gift of my life.”
At the table, I notice Mom’s eyes welling up with tears.
I don’t know how I feel about this. To me, cheating is unforgivable. I don’t know how she forgave him. But she must have, because I haven’t picked up on any bitterness or resentment in our home since then. No closed-door arguments. No hostility. As far as I know, they’re open with each other. They seem as in love today as they have been my entire life.
“I don’t expect you to understand.” Dad shrugs. “And I’m not asking for your forgiveness.”
I laugh harshly. “Gee, thanks.”
“The person I hurt already forgave me,” he says simply.
I scoff at him. “You don’t think you hurt me?”
“Has your life been different this past decade?” he asks. “Have we loved you less? Have I treated you worse?”
“No, but…” I’m mad again, because … yes, he’s been a good father. No, it didn’t affect me then. But it’s affecting me now, goddamn it. A growl escapes my throat. “You fucked my girlfriend’s mom.”
Dad flinches.
Mom goes pale.
“So, please, don’t sit there and act like that’s cool. I don’t care if Mom didn’t want to know the name of your mistress. You should’ve said something the moment I started dating Cassie—”
“I didn’t even know she was Victoria’s daughter. I had no idea!”
That gives me pause. When I think on it, I realize he might be telling the truth. I told them Cassie was a neighbor, but I didn’t specifically say which house. I don’t think I even mentioned her last name … I shake myself out of it. Fuck that. I’m not getting hung up on minor details.
“You’ve spent my whole life harping about family,” I mutter. “Family is the most important thing, Tate. Team family! And then you almost blow up our family. And she was right about how hard you try to present yourself as this good guy. Some selfless, perfect saint. But you were selfish when you cheated, and you’re selfish when you go on about the dealership and how you built it for me—”
“Tate—” he tries to interject, looking alarmed.
“Because it’s not about me. It’s about your selfish needs. You want me at the dealership so you have someone to look at boat pictures with. You want to have someone there so you can take Mom on vacation. It’s not about me.” I slam my cup down. Liquid sloshes over the rim and splashes the cedar island.
Mom stands up. “Tate,” she says sharply. “I understand that this is a big shock for you, but we’re still your parents. You can’t speak to your father like that.”
I just stare at her. Then I snort and stalk out the back door.
I don’t know where the hell I’m going. I’m barefoot, clad in plaid pajama pants and an old yacht club T-shirt. I just round the side of the house and walk down the street. This street on which I’ve lived since I was twelve. The town I fell in love with the moment we got here. My first day of school, I met the twins, Wyatt, Chase. I met Steph and Heidi and Genevieve, and immediately had this big friend group. I was swept away, so caught up in this new awesome life of mine that I wasn’t paying attention to my parents’ lives. I was vaguely aware of “the rough patch” and then it passed, and I never even stopped to consider what it meant.
And now I’m stalking down the street on bare feet, trying to figure out why I’m so angry, and that’s when it hits me.
I’m mad because he’s fallen off the pedestal. Not that I intentionally placed him on one, but I had always looked up to my dad. I admired him. I never wanted to let him down. He was the strongest, kindest person I knew. He could do no wrong, and now here I am, discovering that at the end of the day, he’s perfectly capable of being a selfish prick.
I mean, I should’ve known. Everyone’s capable of that. But I guess you never really expect it of your parents.
I end up at the small park at the end of our street. It’s only seven o’clock on a Saturday morning, so the park is empty. I spot a mother pushing a stroller along the path about a hundred yards away, and that’s about it.
I find a bench and sit down, burying my face in my hands. I regret snapping at my mother. My father, not so much.
They worked through it. I get it. They had eleven years to do that. I had eleven fucking minutes.
I smother a sigh when I hear his footsteps. I know it’s him and not Mom because I know my mother, and she would want us to mend our relationship first. Which just makes me angrier.
“She always puts you first,” I accuse.
“I know.” His voice shakes.
I look over. His eyes are wet, rimmed with red.
“Always,” he repeats as he sits down beside me. “Because that’s your mom. She’s the best person I know, and I don’t deserve her. I don’t know where she found the strength to forgive me. Trust me, I thank the Lord every day that she did. I never take that gift for granted.”
“I can’t believe you cheated on her.”
“Me too,” he admits. “Never thought I was capable of hurting someone like that. I’m not proud of it. I carry that shame with me every day.”
We stare for a moment at the swings that begin swaying in the sudden breeze. As if invisible children are making them move. It invokes images of me in this park, hanging out with my friends. I was so happy to move to Avalon Bay. I didn’t realize that move was the precipitating factor in almost losing my family.
“Did you really demand she get an abortion?” Bile coats my throat.
“I didn’t demand it. I just said we should.” Dad looks as sick as I feel. “I was planning on breaking it off with Victoria that night at the Beacon. The guilt had been eating me alive and I came clean to your mother the day before. Begged her to give me another chance. So I went to meet Tori to tell her it was over, and that’s when she told me about the baby. I said I’d support her either way, but that I loved your mother and would never leave her. And, yeah, I told her I thought it would be best, for both of us, if she didn’t keep the baby. I was selfish. I didn’t want a child with her.” He blows out a breath. “But you’re wrong, kid. After the affair almost cost me everything I hold dear, I made a vow to never be selfish again. These past eleven years haven’t been an act. I devoted my life to your mom and to you.”
“I didn’t ask you to do that.”
“Of course not, but you’re my kid, my blood. I was trying to leave you a legacy. I know you don’t believe me, though, so if it means canceling a vacation or writing you out of my will, then so be it.” He shrugs. “Nobody’s perfect. Least of all me. We’re all just human. Good, bad, and everything in between. Luckily, I found a woman who shares my belief that one mistake doesn’t have to define a person. I’m not perfect,” he repeats, then pauses for a moment. “With that said, I think you should accept Gil’s offer.”
The sudden change of subject makes my head spin. “What?”
“Take that voyage, Tate. I shouldn’t have talked you out of it.”
I stare at my feet. “You didn’t. I’m going. I was planning on telling you today, actually.”
He laughs under his breath. “Of course you’re going.” Another chuckle, before he goes serious again. “Tate. The reason I didn’t want you to go isn’t because I need you at work. To be honest, that sounded better than saying I’m fucking terrified.”
I lift my head. “What do you mean?”
“It’s a dangerous crossing. I don’t know if your mother and I would survive if anything happened to you. But we’ve never sheltered you. We’ve let you make your own mistakes, and you’re pretty good at recognizing them. And we need to let you take your own risks too, so if your heart is telling you to go, and I know it is, because—” He laughs again. “—my heart did the same damn thing when I was your age. You should go.”
I nod slowly. “I will.”
“And I know I said I didn’t need your forgiveness, but I’m going to ask for it anyway.”
Dragging my hand through my hair, I glance over with a rueful smile. “If Mom can get past it, then so can I. Just give me a little time.”
“You got it, kid.” He claps me on the shoulder. “Why don’t we head back to the house before your mom sends Fudge and Polly on a rescue mission. I don’t like making her worry.”
And she must have been really worried, because her entire body sags with relief when we trudge into the house five minutes later. She was standing vigil at the front door, the dogs sitting at her feet, like some weird oil painting. I flash her a smile of assurance, and then Fudge rips a dog fart and we all snicker.
“Everything okay with my boys?” Mom prompts, studying our faces.
I shrug. “Getting there.”
A faint smile touches her lips.
“Hope you don’t mind if I skip breakfast,” I tell her. “I’m just gonna go upstairs and change, then head back to the Jackson house. Gotta start cleaning.”
“No problem, sweetie.”
Up in my room, I shuck my pajama pants and grab a pair of faded jeans from my dresser. I shove them up my hips, then grab my keys and phone off the nightstand.
There’s a knock, and I look up to see Mom lightly rapping her knuckles against my half-open door. “Hey. Got a second for me before you leave?”
“Always. What do you need?”
She walks in and sits at the edge of my bed. After a beat, I sit beside her. And then she begins to talk.