Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
“I’m letting you go, son,” he repeats, his voice breaking again. “You’re a good man, and it wasn’t ‘cause of me or her. It was despite us. I can see that. And the best thing for you now is if I let you go.”
It’s love.
What I’m feeling. It’s the first time I’ve ever truly loved my dad. ‘Cause what he’s doing is out of love for me. It’s a selfless act, and I woulda never imagined he’d release me from his life and let me live the one I built without him.
I wipe at my face and manage to say, “If you’re sober a decade fro—”
“Nah, let’s not get into that,” he cuts in quietly. “Maybe it’ll happen, maybe it won’t. I might kick the bucket before then. Haven’t really taken care of the ole body here.” He sniffs hard. “Important thing is you aren’t involved in any of this. You don’t need to be.” He takes a staggered breath. “This is goodbye. You get it now?”
“Yeah,” I murmur. “I get it.”
“That’s good.” He pauses, the line straining.
I rub my wet eyes and sit up more. “Take care of yourself, Dad.”
“I’m gonna.” He’s crying. I can hear it. “Live long.”
I plan on it. Last thing I say to him is, “You too.” We hang up, and I stare in a daze at my phone, emotions knotted in my throat. Laughter bellows from the dining room, and I follow it, knowing exactly where I want to be.
Meatloaf devoured, all that remains are soupy bowls of chocolate chip ice cream. We wait at the table for Sam Stokes’s call. I whispered to Luna that I’d tell her about my dad later—that it’s nothing bad. Maybe they can all see I’m riding on some weird mixture of happiness. Heartache and pain have been left in the dust behind me, even if there’s still a sting of guilt for feeling happy my dad chose to let me go.
“Daddy, lookie,” Baby Ripley says to Maximoff while Farrow wipes berry puree from his cheeks. The two-year-old is still in his highchair between his dads. “It’s a birdie.” He’s showing Maximoff the artwork he drew on his arm.
Luna smiles over at me. Before dinner, we were playing with Ripley, and he decided to color on himself instead of the paper. He wanted tattoos like his papa.
“You drew that bird?” Maximoff says, sounding impressed.
“Yep.” Ripley brightens.
It’s a blue blob, really.
“Boy has talent,” I say seriously. “A regular Picasso.”
Kinney loves babies like Luna. She’s unable to hide a smile. “Are those markers safe for a baby’s skin?” she asks.
“Yeah, they are,” Farrow says lightly, near laughter as Ripley points out a caterpillar and a dog among the scribbled mess. “Hold still, little man. Your face is dirty.”
He stops wiggling and lets Farrow clean off his mouth.
Lily and Lo excuse themselves for a moment.
Xander pops open a Sprite and checks his phone. “What’s the over-under that Uncle Stokes is screwing with us and he’s not calling tonight?”
Luna sends a text. “Eliot said he hasn’t heard anything yet either.” She’s more anxious, double-checking her friend’s message. In all honesty, I think she wants to be chosen.
She hasn’t verbally said it, but I see her.
She’s put so much heart into every challenge the board threw her way, and she’s enjoyed rising to the occasion with her own ideas and beliefs.
I smile more at Luna. She can’t see. She’s still texting Eliot, but I keep my arm around her. Proud of her, no matter which way the wind blows.
Lo slips back in the dining room and props the door open with his foot. “Guess who decided to drop by in the flesh?”
Sam Stokes walks in. Guy has a great poker-face. I’m getting absolutely nothing, other than he has dark circles under his eyes like he hasn’t slept much. His snazzy black suit says he came from work.
“Let’s talk in the living room,” he suggests.
Luna is clutching the life out of my hand. I’d let her have it. Arm and all.
78
LUNA HALE
“I won’t be long,” Uncle Stokes says, but he makes himself comfortable in a chair beside the fireplace.
Xander and I are the only two on the hot seat. The old couch squeaks as I shift a little. Nervous jitters.
Orion sniffs my uncle’s loafers like an intruder has entered the house—which is fair. Uncle Stokes has only met my dog a handful of times. Which begs the question, why the house visit? Is he afraid to deliver crushing news over the phone?
“Orion,” I call over and pat my lap. “Come here, boy.”
His tail wags, and he gives Uncle Stokes an expectant look. He wants pets, and I’m about to call him again when Uncle Stokes starts scratching Orion with two welcoming hands.
I perk up and smile.
Then Uncle Stokes zeroes in on my face, and I can’t decipher his thoughts fast enough. My smile falters. Soooo I did not prepare for this physical encounter.