Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 78464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 392(@200wpm)___ 314(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I had no idea what Dante could have possibly said to make my father listen, not after shooting him in the arm, but he somehow pulled a rabbit out of a hat like the best showman.
“He also said you’re innocent of the crimes you were accused of…and showed us proof.”
“What proof?” I blurted.
“Surveillance footage of her infidelity before the marriage ended, bank statements detailing her erratic spending, emails to your lawyer about getting the prenup changed and forging your signature. He pieced everything together and wove a story, that my son gave his heart to the wrong woman and she burned him to the ground. What’s more…he said you left your previous career to settle down.”
All I could do was sit there with a hard stare, unable to believe that my father had just said all that. It’d been a long time since we’d had a conversation like this—years ago, before I went to prison. After I was incarcerated, we didn’t speak for two years because they never came to visit.
My father stared at the coffee table for a while. “I want to apologize…but I’m not sure it’ll do much good.”
“I don’t want an apology.”
He looked up to meet my stare, guarded once more.
“I just want my dad.” I felt no resentment toward him or Mom. They’d turned their backs on me when they should have been by my side through the entire ordeal, but I didn’t care. I didn’t care about all the horrible things they’d said to me. My father was there, sitting across from me, and not looking at me with shame. I was grateful that this reunion had happened at all, that my dad hadn’t collapsed from a heart attack and I’d had to live with that regret. He was there with me. We had a second chance.
My dad closed his eyes briefly, like that somehow made him feel worse. “Alexander…” He didn’t say anything else, as if saying more than just my name would be too much.
I left my chair and came around the coffee table. His eyes were still downcast as I reached my hand out for him to grab. “Get your ass up and hug me, old man.”
A slight smirk spread over his mouth before he looked up at me. “How can you just let this go? After everything that’s happened. After everything we said and did. How can it be this easy?”
I kept my hand there. “I held a grudge against someone I loved before, and I won’t make that mistake again.”
His stare washed over my face before he took my hand and let me pull him up. He was a few inches shorter than me, life compressing his spine, but his features still reminded me of my own. He grabbed me by the shoulder and looked me over, just the way he used to when I’d finished a game or completed a performance with the orchestra. Pride swept through him before he pulled me in for an embrace, a squeeze he hadn’t given me in so long I’d forgotten how it felt to be hugged by my own father.
Peace like I’d never known swept through me. The stress of the estrangement, of their disappointment, all the rage I’d felt toward the woman who’d locked me up and thrown away the key…it all disappeared.
“I love you, son.”
My breath caught in my throat, and my eyes closed. He used to say it every time we got off the phone, said it so often that it sounded automatic. But once I was put on trial, he’d never said it again—not in person, not over the phone. He said it now, and it sounded just the way it used to. “I love you, Dad.”
When I walked in the bedroom door, Scarlett was standing there like she’d been pacing since I left. The remains of our dinner were untouched, and so was the wine. She whipped toward me, her eyes scanning my expression for news.
“What happened?” she asked.
“He apologized. I forgave him.”
“Really? What—what brought this on? This is so random…just came out of nowhere. No one is sick, right?”
“No one is sick,” I said quickly. “But it didn’t come out of nowhere.”
“Then where did it come from?” she asked quietly.
It was the last answer I’d ever expected to give. “Your father.”
“My—my father?” She stepped back as if the words made her stumble. “What does he have to do with this?”
I explained everything her father had done, how he’d told my father I’d lost my girl to protect him, that I was truly innocent in that legal debacle. “He must have used a lot of resources to pull together all the information, called in some favors to get those phone records and surveillance footage. He basically built my case better than my own lawyers did.”
She was stunned into silence.