Deathtrap (Crossbreed #3)(93)

Thinking about Keystone, I offered him a fragile smile. “I have a good life now—a nice place to live. I’m not living on the streets and struggling to survive anymore.”

“You could have come home anytime. You’ve always had a place here.”

“I know you feel that way, but I don’t belong here anymore.” Without dragging out the explanation, I let him see my fangs.

Crush sat back and got real quiet.

Embarrassed, I retracted them and warmed my hands on the mug. “How did you bury me without a body?”

He folded his arms, eyes downcast. “They had one, but it was badly burned. I couldn’t give a positive ID. I had your dental records, and they said it matched.”

“They lied. That’s what they do to protect their own.” I closed my eyes, knowing my Creator had staged the elaborate fiction. “He made you believe I died in a fire?”

Of all things—it was the one cause of death that would have devastated my father, who had lost my mother the same way.

“I buried you. Tried to forget for a while. But I don’t know. Sometimes I could feel you,” he said, closing a fist over his heart. “It was easier to imagine you found a new life than to think it was you in that coffin. I’d be okay with living alone if it meant your happiness. You’re my heart.” His voice cracked, and he tightened his lips.

I bent forward with my head in my hands. “This is so hard. This is so much harder than I thought it would be.” I quietly sobbed, my teardrops falling to the linoleum floor.

Crush got out of his seat and disappeared down the hall. I untucked my T-shirt from the front of my pants and wiped my face on it. What I’d been seeking all along wasn’t resolution or even an explanation; I wanted permission.

Permission to live my life. Permission to leave him. Permission to be happy.

Crush’s heavy gait pulled me out of my thoughts. He set a familiar keepsake on the table. “I thought you might want it back. It was broken when you left it here, but I tinkered around and…”

When he lifted the lid to the jewelry box, I admired the pink satin lining. A sweet melody played as a ballerina in a white skirt twirled in front of a mirror. I smiled through tears as I touched the empty holders.

“I gave away your jewelry to Ren’s little girl. Remember her? She was a few years younger, and her momma never bought her anything in the way of trinkets. Hope you don’t mind.”

I shook my head.

“Your clothes too,” he added. “Not just to her, but a few of the guys saw me packing them up a year ago and asked if their kids could look through them. I guess it’s kind of nice seeing a part of you on them.”

“Can I keep this?”

“It’s all yours, Cookie. Your leather cuff bracelet is in the bottom drawer. One of the studs fell off, but I couldn’t bring myself to get rid of it. You practically wore it every damn day when you were fifteen. You can keep it or throw it away.”

I closed the lid and took a deep breath. “I never appreciated everything you gave me. All I kept thinking about was what I didn’t have. I’m sorry for the asinine things I said to you, especially when I left home.”

“You were just a kid.”

“I was nineteen. I knew better.” I gripped his hand tighter on the table. “I was never ashamed of you. I love you, Daddy. You were always good enough.”

I’d never seen Crush break down except at my mother’s funeral. He was a hard man who locked his feelings up tight, but in the privacy of his kitchen, he wept.

We both did.

I wiped my eyes, unable to bear the sound of my father crying. “Did you stay sober?”

He wiped his face on a bandana sitting on the table. “There were nights when the demons kept me awake, but I never touched a drop.”

For the first time in my life, I was finally seeing Crush as more than just a father. I was seeing him as a man.

“Are you happy?” he asked.

I thought about it. “I’m getting there. It’s just hard not always knowing the right choices to make.”

He chuckled softly. “I know a little something about that.” He rested his fist against his cheek and just stared at me, and the twinkle in his eye gradually returned. In some parallel universe, we could have just been sitting there like father and daughter, sharing a cup of cocoa. Only no tragic past, no heartbreak. And for those few minutes, I tried to forget the truth.

We made small talk, and I caught up on the latest news with his buddies and how business was going at the shop. Crush owned a garage and had a good thing going. He said he’d socked away enough money to buy a house but decided he didn’t need all that space. The real shock was when he told me he’d been saving his money all those years ago for me—in case I wanted to go to college or if I ever got in a jam. But mostly because he wanted me to have an inheritance when he finally died—something that might be enough. It broke my heart. Even now that we were going our separate ways, I knew Crush would never spend that money on himself.

I didn’t have many funny stories to relay, but when I told him about the MoonPie truck, he laughed so hard that I joined in. I missed his laugh. Crush had a great rolling belly laugh that always sounded like he was going to piss himself. He didn’t really understand most of the story, like why I was riding on top of a car roof to begin with, but I think he got the gist of what I did for a living.