Ignite (Cloverleigh Farms #6)(58)
I resisted the urge to flip him off.
While Winnie set the guacamole and chips on the table, I went inside to grab a beer and found my sister pouring a glass of wine.
After prying the cap off the beer bottle, I stole a cherry tomato from a big bowl of pasta salad on the counter.
“Hey.” She slapped my knuckles. “Keep your hands out of the food.”
“I’m hungry.”
“We’ll eat soon. What time do you have to have the girls back?”
“Six. But I’m sure Naomi will be texting me by four that it’s their first school night of the year and I should have them back sooner.”
“You guys getting along okay these days?”
“Yeah.” I shrugged and tipped up my beer. “She’s getting married next month.”
“I heard.” She put the bottle of wine back in the fridge. “Does that bother you?”
“Nah. Bryce is decent enough. He’s good to the girls, and they seem to like him.”
“Winnie seems nice.” My sister leaned back against the counter. “Justin mentioned you had a new friend. That’s her?”
I wasn’t fooled by her casual tone. It was obvious she knew what I’d been up to. “That’s her.”
Bree didn’t even bother to hide her smile. “She’s super cute.”
Frowning, I gave Bree the finger I hadn’t given her husband.
“What?” She laughed. “I think it’s great. She’ll keep you young. What are kids these days into, anyway?”
“She’s not a kid—she’s twenty-two. And she’s not just cute, she’s cool and she’s funny and she’s great with the girls.”
“Wow.” Her eyes lit up. “Lucky you, moving in next door to someone like that.”
“She’s moving out soon,” I said quickly.
Bree’s face fell. “Oh. How come?”
“She got a job offer in Rhode Island.”
“Well, shoot.” Bree sighed. “I guess that’s that.”
“That’s that. Come on, let’s go outside.”
“Okay, but I have to tell you one thing.” Her expression put me on edge.
“What?”
“Dad called me.”
I scowled. “For money?”
“No. He’s sick.”
“Tough.” I took another drink. “With what?”
“Lung cancer. It’s terminal.”
Something like pity tugged at my heart, and I shut it down immediately.
“He asked to see us. And his grandkids.” She hesitated, took a breath. “I’m thinking about it.”
“Well, I don’t need to think. My answer is no.”
“Dexter,” she said softly. “He’s our father, and he has terminal cancer. Don’t you think we should be there for him?”
“The way he was there for us or for Mom, when she was sick?” I asked pointedly.
She pressed her lips together. “I know he’s not perfect. He knows he’s not perfect. He understands he’s made mistakes.”
“This is what he does, Bree. He makes you believe that he’s sorry and he’s changed, but in the end, he’s the same guy he always was, and that guy sucks.” I shook my head. “I don’t need to say goodbye.”
“Did you know he got married?” She looked up at me with hope in her blue eyes, and it killed me to see it—she looked like our mom did every single time he came back.
“No.”
“Last year. He met her at AA, I guess. Her name is Gloria, and she sounds nice. They live about two hours away.”
“You talked to her too?”
“She wrote me a letter, asking if it would be okay for Dad to call. She said from the moment they met, he’s talked about all the regrets he has about his kids. She told me about his cancer and begged me to consider reconciling with him before it’s too late.”
I steeled myself. “You can. I won’t. And he’s not coming near my kids.”
She moved closer, placing a hand on my arm. “Please just think about it. For me. I don’t know if I can do it without you.”
Swallowing hard, I forced myself to keep those walls in place. She was my baby sister, and my instinct was to protect her, but I couldn’t if she chose that path. “Sorry, Bree. I can’t.”
The rest of the day was ruined by my conversation with my sister. I sat outside with everyone, but I didn’t talk, I didn’t laugh at anyone’s jokes, and I avoided meeting Winnie’s eyes. She could tell something was up with me, and a couple times she asked if I was okay, but I brushed her off. Mostly I just looked out onto the lawn where the kids were playing, determined not to let anyone hurt my girls, ever—especially not my father. He’d done enough damage. And I didn’t care if he was sorry now. It was too late—he didn’t deserve them.
The guy is dying, asshole. Are you that devoid of compassion?
But all it took was thinking about my mother alone in her hospital room, her body weak from two years of chemo and radiation that hadn’t cured her, her shaky voice asking if we’d heard from him, to harden my resolve. He hadn’t been there for her in the end. I didn’t have to be there for him. If that made me a heartless bastard, so be it.