Ready for You (Ready #3)(83)

He was dressed down, wearing jeans and a black button-down shirt. He still looked put together and handsome, but I couldn’t get over the jeans. Never in my life had I ever seen my father in denim. My mother would have had a stroke.

“What are you doing here?” I asked. I was still completely bewildered by not only his physical appearance but by his mere presence alone. I hadn’t even known he knew where I lived.

“Are you going to invite me in?” he asked with a slight grin. Shoving his hands in his pockets, he rocked back on his heels in what appeared to be a nervous gesture.

“Oh, of course. Please, come in. Would you like some coffee? Dessert maybe?” I offered awkwardly.

Maybe you’d like to explain why you are standing in my foyer after eight years of silence?

He politely declined, and I took note that his impeccable manners hadn’t diminished over the years. He’d always carried himself well even if he was on the quiet side.

“You remember Garrett, don’t you, father?” I said, nearly choking on the rusty paternal word for the man standing before me.

My father nodded, and I watched him turn his attention to Garrett, who had remained noticeably quiet since my father had made his grand entrance. His body was tense at my side, and I knew it was taking great restraint not to take charge of the situation and defend me against the man who had caused me so much pain. Instead, he was pulling back and allowing me to lead. He was allowing me to make up my own mind, and it was one of many reasons I loved him.

“Yes,” my father answered, sticking out his hand in a formal gesture toward Garrett.

Garrett stared at his outstretched hand for a moment before finally giving in and taking it in the quickest handshake known to man.

“Good to know you two made it back to each other,” he said.

“It wasn’t without difficulty,” I said, firmly meeting his gaze.

He let out a deep breath and turned away, shoving his hands back in his pockets again. He paced the small space in circles, like he was churning up the courage to speak.

“I left your mother,” he finally said to my utter astonishment.

“What?” Garrett and I both said in unison.

“The divorce was finalized last week. I’ve been living in a separate apartment for five months, waiting for everything to be settled. I wanted to be sure before I contacted you.”

His pacing was driving up my anxiety, so while I tried to process everything, I ushered us into the living room. I watched him take a seat in our flea market chair we’d recently bought. It was antique and had needed a bit of love, but after some new fabric and a bit of elbow grease, it had turned out great. Seeing my father in my living room, sitting among my things, was odd.

“Why? Why did you leave her?” I asked finally.

He cocked an eyebrow as surprise spread across his features, so I amended my question. “I mean, why now? After all this time?”

He nodded in understanding and settled back in his chair.

“It was you honestly. It should have always been you. I should have left her a long time ago, but I was too weak and afraid of what would happen to my life if I did. Everything I did completely and utterly revolved around that woman. I feared what would have happened to me. Hell, I feared what she would do to me if I left. I let her run my existence. I even let her destroy the one relationship I cherished more than anything. That was you.”

I was flabbergasted. I always knew he loved me. He was never short on showing affection, even when my mother frowned upon it, but he had broken free from her for me, and I couldn’t comprehend that.

“The last straw was when she told me you came to visit,” he said.

My eyes widened, and I felt Garrett’s fingers weave with mine in silent support.

“I knew she recognized me,” I whispered.

“Yes, she did. She just wanted to hurt you, and from your reaction, I can see she did. When she told me you ran out of the building, most likely in tears, I knew I had to leave. Even if she ruined me, I couldn’t stay chained to a woman who would do that to her own child.”

“So, what now?” I asked hesitantly.

“I don’t know. I’m moving back to Richmond. I always liked it here. I don’t expect anything, if that’s what you’re asking. I know I wasn’t innocent in all of this. I was as much to blame for all the pain and suffering you endured as your mother was. But I’d like to be here…if you want me to be.”

My father was back in my life.

Did I want him to be?

Chapter Twenty-Seven

~Mia~

“So, your dad is back? How’s that going?” Liv said.

I balanced the phone between my shoulder and ear while attempting to stir the pot of boiling pasta on the stove.

Is it supposed to be murky-looking like that?

“It’s going, I guess,” I answered vaguely.

After giving the water another swish, I turned down the temperature to medium, fearing it would boil over. That had happened last time, and it hadn’t been pretty. Water could boil at medium, right? Eventually, I’m sure.

“So, how is Garrett taking it?” she asked.

“Well, he’s obviously cautious. He’s letting me decide which way I want to go.”

“And which way is that?”

I sighed. I’d been back and forth with my decision over the last week. I had gone through several emotional stages with my father’s reappearance in my life—surprise, anger, annoyance, elation, back to anger, and finally, numbness. I liked numbness the best. It lacked any highs or lows and didn’t require decisions. Of course, it hadn’t helped a damn bit either.