If You Stay (Beautifully Broken, #1)(47)

I stand in front of him and simply stare. He’s wearing his favorite faded green flannel shirt and broken in blue-jeans, the ones that he always used to work in the yard in.

He smiles.

“Hi, peanut.”

“Hi, daddy,” I eke out. I have a lump in my throat that I can’t seem to swallow. “It’s so good to see you.”

He smiles the same smile that I have seen a million times over the years and holds his arms out. I fold into them and he smells just the same, like Old Spice and mints. I inhale and cry and hug him tight.

But after a few minutes, he pulls away.

I stare at him, at the large hands that have held me a thousand times, that have bathed my dog and pushed my bicycle and slapped my mother. I gulp and stare into his eyes.

“Daddy, why did you hit mom?”

He seems startled and holds his hands up, palms up to the sky.

“I don’t know,” he says quietly. “Because I’m not perfect. Your mother and I should’ve gotten some help with our marriage. We loved each other, but we were unhealthy together. I’m sorry you saw that.”

“How can you love someone, but still hurt them?” I ask, and as I do, I feel the tears streaming down my face. Dad reaches over with a large hand and wipes them away.

“That’s a travesty of life,” he tells me softly. “Sometimes we hurt those that we love the most.”

“But you should never hurt someone in that way,” I tell him. “Having that kind of temper is being a coward.”

Dad stares at me. “Maybe I was a coward, then. But I was still a good person who just happened to have a bad temper. I love you, peanut.”

I feel rooted to the ground and then numb as realization floods over me. Somehow, for some reason, pieces click into place in my mind and I suddenly know what these stupid dreams have been trying to tell me all along…with the black and white caskets, the sunshine and shadows.

Life isn’t black and white. People aren’t all good or bad. I’ve concentrated so much on the meaning of life after my parents’ passed that I forgot that fact, because deep down, even though I didn’t acknowledge it to myself, my parents’ volatile relationship was hard on me. And I guess I judged them.

Truly, though, life is just a mixture of good and bad, of varying shades of grays and whites and blacks. I think that I’ve always been afraid of getting into a relationship with someone because I was afraid I’d end up in the same kind of relationship as my parents’ or that I’d make a mistake.

But life is all about mistakes.

I swallow hard and stare at my dad.

“I love you, daddy.” He nods, his eyes full of kindness and love. “I miss you.”

“I know,” he answers. And even though he is sitting still, he begins to fade, until he is no longer here and I am alone.

But I’m not alone. I can feel Pax’s presence, even though I can’t see it. I turn and he isn’t there.

And then I’m awake. I’m staring into his eyes.

“Are you okay?” he whispers. “You were dreaming.”

His arms tighten around me.

“I just had the strangest dream,” I whisper. “I dreamed about my dad for the first time since he died. I asked him why he hit my mom and he basically said that he was flawed. But he was still a good person. He and my mom should’ve gotten counseling, but they never did.”

Pax stares at me, his golden eyes warm in the shadowy room.

“You’re right,” he finally says. “A person can be flawed, but still be a good person, or have a good heart, at least. Where is this coming from? Because I asked about your parents earlier?”

I shrug. “I don’t know. Maybe. I’ve had a weird recurring dream since they died and I think this has always been one of the things that my subconscious has been trying to tell me. I struggled after they died, I missed them so much, but I also resented them because of their relationship. They loved each other-to distraction, almost-but they weren’t healthy together. They didn’t communicate well.”

Pax stares at me. “Did your dad ever hit you?”

I shake my head immediately. “No. I was spanked a few times when I was a kid, but actually hit? No. They were good parents. Their problem was that they always pushed each other’s buttons until things escalated beyond their control.”

Pax is already shaking his head.

“Nothing is ever out of your control,” he argues. “Not in that situation. You were right, though. Your parents’ should have gotten help. I’m sorry that they didn’t.”

I close my eyes and snuggle against him again.

“I think my dream was a message to me, somehow. That everything will be okay, and that I should trust my gut. My gut tells me that it’s okay to be with you. You and I aren’t my parents and our relationship won’t be the same as theirs. No one is perfect and you have issues to deal with, but we’ll get through it, Pax.”

He startles, I can feel it. He’s stiff against me now.

“You think your dream was a message from your father that it’s okay to be with me?”

I shrug again. “I don’t know. Maybe.”

He shakes his head. “No way. It’s not that I don’t believe in that kind of thing, but there’s no way your dad would give his blessing for you to get involved with me. No way in hell. You dreamed what you want to believe that he would say to you. You’re just trying to make sense of things. We stirred up your memories tonight, so it’s normal.”