The Risk (Briar U #2)(112)

There’s a sharp intake of breath. “What?”

It’s rare to catch my father off-guard, but he looks beyond stunned. I play with the beads on my wrist and—Crap, Jake’s bracelet. I’m still wearing it. That means I’ll need to find a way to get it back to him before his game on Saturday.

Right now, however, it’s fueling me in a strange sort of way. I don’t know if it’s bringing me luck exactly, but it’s definitely giving me courage, which I usually lack around my dad.

“I’m sorry I got pregnant,” I repeat. “And I’m sorry I didn’t tell you. For what it’s worth, it really was an accident. Eric and I were always careful, always.” I shake my head bitterly. “And then one fluke time a stupid condom breaks, and now my father hates me.”

His eyes widen. He opens his mouth to speak, but I cut him off.

“I know I disappointed you, and I also know that I—what’s that phrase they use in old-timey movies? I brought shame upon our house?”

Dad barks out a laugh. “Jesus, Brenna—”

I interrupt again. “I know you’re ashamed of me. Trust me, I’m ashamed of myself for the way I behaved. I should’ve told you I was pregnant and I absolutely should’ve told you I was bleeding that day. Instead, I was so scared of how you would react and I let Eric convince me that it wasn’t a big deal. I was a stupid kid, but I’m not stupid anymore. I promise.”

My throat closes up, which is probably a good thing because a sob was about to fly out. I blink repeatedly, desperately trying to keep the tears at bay. I know that when they finally come, it’s going to be epic waterworks.

“I’m asking you to give me another chance,” I tell him.

“Brenna—”

“Please,” I beg. “I know I’m always disappointing you, but I want to try to fix that. So please just tell me how”—to make you love me again—“to fix this. I can’t live with you being ashamed of me anymore, so I need you to tell me how I can make it better and how to—”

My father starts to cry.

Shock slams into me. My mouth is still open, but I’m no longer talking. For a moment I think I’m imagining his tears. I’ve never seen my father cry, so this is a completely foreign sight to me. But…those are tears, all right.

“Dad?” I say uncertainly.

He drags his knuckles over his face to try to scrub the moisture away. “Is that what you think?” Shame glimmers through his tears, only it’s not directed at me. I think he’s ashamed of himself. “Is that really what I’ve led you to believe? That I hate you? I’m ashamed of you?”

I bite hard on my bottom lip. If he keeps crying, I’ll cry too, and one of us needs to maintain a level head right now. “You’re not?”

“Christ, of course not.” His voice is beyond hoarse. “And I never once blamed you for getting pregnant, Peaches.”

There is absolutely no stopping the tears this time. They flood out and spill down my cheeks, the salty flavor touching my lips.

“I was young once,” Dad mutters. “I know the stupid things we do when hormones are involved and I know that accidents happen. I wasn’t thrilled it happened, but I didn’t blame you for it.” He rubs his eyes again.

“You wouldn’t even look at me afterward.”

“Because every time I looked at you I remembered finding you on the bathroom floor in a puddle of blood.” His breathing goes shallow. “Jesus, I’ve never seen so much blood in my life. And you were white as a ghost. Your lips were blue. I thought you were dead. I walked in and actually thought you were dead.” He drops his face in his hands, his broad shoulders trembling.

A part of me wants to move closer and wrap my arms around him, but our relationship has been so strained for so long. Hugging has been missing from it for a long time, and I feel awkward doing it now. So I sit there and watch my father cry, while tears stream down my own cheeks.

“I thought you were dead.” He lifts his head, revealing a ravaged expression. “It was like your mother all over again. When I got the phone call about the accident and had to go identify her body in the morgue.”

A gasp cuts off my airways. This is the first time I’m hearing of this.

I knew my mother died when her car hit a patch of ice and skidded off the road.

I didn’t know my father had to identify her body.

“You know how your aunt Sheryl is always saying you look exactly like your mother? Well, you do. You’re the spitting image of her.” He groans. “And when I found you in the bathroom, you were the spitting image of her corpse.”

I’m so nauseous I’m afraid I might vomit. I can’t even imagine how he must have felt in that moment.

“I couldn’t look at you after because I was scared. I almost lost you, and you’re the only thing I have in the world that I give a damn about.”

“What about hockey?” I joke weakly.

“Hockey is a game. You’re my life.”

Hoo-boy. The waterworks start up again. I have a feeling I’m ugly-crying like crazy, but I can’t keep my eyes from watering or my nose from running. Dad doesn’t pull me in for a hug, either. We’re not there yet. This is brand-new territory for us…or rather, it’s old ground that needs to be replanted.