I SKIP MY MORNING CLASSES THE NEXT DAY AND GO TO MY FATHER’S hotel instead, where the concierge fawns and fusses over me like I’m the celebrity. The man even rides the elevator to the penthouse with me, then presents me to my father as if I’m a visiting dignitary and not the dude’s daughter.
We don’t say a word as we wait for the sycophantic gentleman to leave. Once he does, my father’s polite expression collapses into itself, and he lets out an unsteady breath.
“Let’s sit,” he says.
“Fine.” My tone isn’t harsh but resigned. Yet he flinches all the same.
We settle on opposite ends of the plush love seat in the living area of his expensive suite. Across the room is a gleaming grand piano, on top of which sit an empty wineglass and two open bottles of red. The bench is pulled out, several pages of sheet music arranged on the piano shelf. I glimpse smudged notations done in pencil.
“Were you writing music?” I turn to him in surprise.
He nods. “Couldn’t sleep. Stayed up all night working on a new song.”
“Please don’t tell me you’re unretiring.”
“Nah. I think I’ll record it, though. Give it to you for your birthday this weekend.”
My heart clenches. Damn it. Why does he have to say stuff like that? It makes it impossible to stay mad at him.
“You know when you first came to live with me, I used to sit and watch you sleep for hours?” Dad confesses. “Just fascinated that you were real. And terrified that I wouldn’t know how to keep you alive. How to keep you happy and safe…”
He drifts off for a moment, donning a faraway expression.
“I know it might not have felt like it when I was touring, when you were left alone with your nannies, but you were the most precious thing to me. I’d lie awake every night while I was on tour thinking about all the ways I could screw you up.”
“But you didn’t screw me up,” I point out.
“Because I made a conscious effort not to. Other parents, I’d see them let their twelve-year-old try a sip of wine. Drop their tweens off at the mall and let them roam around alone for hours. Let their teenagers get wasted, smoke pot. I thought they were nuts. Didn’t they realize what kids do in malls? When I was sixteen, I got a BJ from my bandmate’s sister in a goddamn dressing room.”
“Ew, Dad. Gross. Next-level TMI.” I’m cringing hard.
“I’m just saying, I knew all about trouble. I’ve seen girls your age strung out on God knows what, trying to sleep with anyone even remotely connected to some rock star or celebrity.”
I know we’re both thinking of my own mother when he says that. It’s no secret Nancy slept with a few of Dad’s roadies before she gained access to Gunner Bly. And although he’s never confirmed it, the tabloids claim my father had a paternity test done before gaining custody of me. Normally I don’t buy what they’re selling, but I’m inclined to believe that story is true.
“I refused to let you go down that path,” he says simply. “And I suppose that made me more protective than other parents.”
“You suppose?” I can’t stop the sarcastic snort that pops out.
“I was petrified when you got accepted to the Pembridge program,” he admits. “I didn’t know how to deal with the fear that I wouldn’t be there to protect you, and I guess I thought if I had a proxy over there, across the pond, it would save me some sleepless nights. It came from a good place, kid. Last night, you accused me of not having trust or faith in you. That’s not true at all. It’s the rest of the world I don’t trust. Not you. Never you.”
“You have no idea how humiliating it is, what you did. I thought you were finally allowing me some independence, and instead you were checking up on me behind my back.”
“I’m sorry. It was wrong. What I did was wrong.”
“I’ve waited my whole life to start living.” My voice cracks. “Having my own stories and adventures, not just retelling yours.”
Guilt creases his rugged features.
“There isn’t much downside to being Gunner Bly’s daughter, but it is a little chilly in your shadow. All I’ve ever wanted was some space to be my own person.”
Dad curses under his breath. “Christ, kid. That one cuts deep. I didn’t realize you felt that way.”
“I don’t want you to feel bad. It’s not your fault that you are who you are.” I sigh. “But it’s time you allowed me to be who I am.”
“And I promise to do that going forward. I promise to stop filling your head with all my stories and leave some space there for your own. Loosen the reins if you will.”
“Thank you.”
Silence falls between us, but I’m no longer stewing in anger or resentment. It’s not possible to stay angry with my dad. Because I know he means it when he says it’s coming from a good place. It would be one thing if his controlling nature stemmed from a need for power, to exert authority over his child like some toxic parents do. Dad’s protectiveness comes from love and fear. How can I really hold that against him?
“Can you forgive me for going behind your back?” he asks hopefully.
“Of course I can. I don’t love what you did, but I understand why. So we’re good. We’re okay.” I search his still-anxious gaze. “Are we okay?”
“Baby girl.” He scoots closer and slings one arm around me. “We’re always okay. Yeah, I might be here right now because you wound up in the tabloids, but I don’t care about that. I’m just glad I get to spend time with my daughter. And gratified to know she’s happy and healthy and has good friends beside her. That’s all I want for you, Abbey. I’m not here to ruin your life.”
“I’d never think that.” My eyes suddenly feel hot, stinging. “I’m so fortunate to be your kid. It’s just you and me, big guy. No matter what.”
He pulls me into a hug as he sniffs away the tears. I blink away a couple of my own, squeezing him tight. I have a great dad. I really do. And I’ve probably spent way too much time not appreciating how good I’ve had it.
He releases me and offers a contrite look. “I should add—I’m sorry I dragged your roommate into all this. I hope you two can work things out. He seemed like a good dude.”
Just like that, I stiffen. “He accepted payment from you. To be my friend.”
The reminder sends the burn of embarrassment to my throat.
“Before he even knew you,” Dad points out. “And for what it’s worth, he did try to return the money.”
“I don’t care,” I say emphatically. “He breached my trust. How am I supposed to forgive that?”
“You just forgave me…”
“Yeah, because you’re my father. He’s my— ” I stop abruptly.
Dad latches on to that. “I knew there had to be one,” he sighs.
“Jack and I aren’t dating.”
“Are you sure about that?”
“We’re not,” I insist.
“But?”
“I thought maybe we were headed in that direction.” Hesitation has me rubbing my temples. “But it’s complicated, because there’s someone else I like too.”
“Someone else? Are you trying to give me a heart attack? How many guys are you dating, kiddo?”
God, this is awkward. And also oddly cathartic.
“Only one other guy. Nate. A friend of theirs. He says he likes me but can’t be tied down. And he’s a bassist.”
Dad furrows his brow as if he’s unsure whether to be disappointed he didn’t raise me better or feel at fault that I’d be foolish enough to fall for a musician.
“Sounds like you have your hands full.”
“It’s been a struggle,” I say, laughing at myself. “But don’t worry, because it looks like it’s over with both of them.”
His eyes crinkle at the corners as a grin breaks free. “I don’t know how bad I actually feel about that. I mean, I know this sucks for you, but it sure makes my job easier.”
“The real sucky part is I might be in love with both of them.”
“You’re not.”
“Um. Okay.”
My baffled expression summons a chuckle from him. “Listen to me, kid. I know you’ve got a lot of love to give. Being in love, though, that’s a whole different thing. The heart knows there’s always just one.”
“Really? When’s it going to tell me?”
“You gotta listen. If you’re in love with one of them, it’s been telling you.”
I don’t know if that’s true.
Or maybe it’s proof I’ve never been in love with either one of them.
Dad sticks around for three days to spend time with me. I skip the classes I deem unimportant and squeeze the rest in between lunches and outings with my father.
But three jam-packed days of tourist activities also means the paps are staked out in front of the house at all hours to snap shots of Gunner Bly. He’s still staying at the hotel, but the second he was spotted visiting me in Notting Hill, it was all over. We were besieged.
Lee is on cloud nine. Bouncing with joy every time a new photo pops up on Insta or some celebrity blog. Jamie’s car parked on the curb. Our trash bins. Jack sweaty and shirtless. Lee in his pajamas. Me coming in and out of the house. It’s typical paparazzi fodder and intrusive as hell, but Lee has ordered me to let the little people bask in the glow of celebrity. By little people, he means himself of course.
Last night over dinner, Jamie said there’s an army of women salivating over Jack’s shirtless pics on Twitter, which triggered an unwanted pang of jealousy followed by a jolt of angry self-reproach that I still care enough to feel jealous. Jack and I haven’t spoken since the night I learned the truth, despite his attempts to get me alone. I’ve brushed him off every time, using my dad’s visit as an excuse.
Really, though, I can’t put my heart through another rehashing of Jack’s betrayal.
On our last night, Dad takes me back to Soho House. Just me and him in a private dining room to celebrate my twentieth birthday. I make him promise not to tell Lee or the others, because I don’t want them making a big deal out of it. Maybe if Jack and I were on better terms, I’d be down for a roommate hangout or even a small party, but right now it’s too much of a hassle.
When our personal server brings out a huge slice of chocolate truffle cake with one lit candle on it, I smile at my father, the tears welling up.
“Happy birthday, baby girl.”
“Thanks, big guy.”
I blink away the tears and blow out my candle. The waiter discreetly places a second slice in front of Dad, then camouflages into the background.
“I get it now,” Dad says as he watches me devour the cake.
“Get what?” I ask through a mouthful of truffle goodness.
“Why you needed to leave me.”
The frank words and slightly sorrowful way he voices them send an arrow of pain to my heart.
“Dad— ” I start to object.
“No, I understand, kiddo,” he presses on. “I see it now. Thanks to me, your knowledge of the world before you moved here was… secondhand, I think is a good word for it. But how could you ever learn to take care of yourself, stand on your own two feet, if I didn’t let you start living?”
“I think I’m getting there. The standing-on-my-own-twofeet part.”
And I think I’ve done well. I left my safe, secure bubble in Nashville and entered a whole new world. I navigated a new city. Discovered the real struggles that come with having roommates. I made friends, real friends, who aren’t part of my father’s social circle or sealed in the same enclave of rich, rural Tennessee.
“Granted, I also made a ton of mistakes,” I confess, reaching for my water glass. “Lied to you. Got tangled up in a love triangle. Naively fell victim to a scoundrel like Ben Tulley.”
“You’ve made mistakes,” he agrees. “That just means you’re doing it right. The living part.”
The rest of the evening passes way too fast, and before I know it, it’s midnight and I’m on my front stoop, hugging my father goodbye. With a final wave, he slides into the back seat of a town car and is whisked off to the airport.
A rush of sadness washes over me as I step inside and make my way upstairs. When I enter my room, I find Jack leaning against my dresser.
I stiffen, my chest instantly going tight with emotion. A knot of anger and sadness. A deep stab of hurt.
“What are you doing in here?” I mutter, staring at my feet.
“I know you’re still mad at me, but…am I at least allowed to say happy birthday?”
My head swings in his direction. “Who told you?”
“I overheard your dad talking to someone on the phone about the kind of birthday cake to serve at your dinner.” Jack holds my gaze. “I get why you didn’t want to make a fuss. I mean, Lee, right? But I’m glad you had a good birthday.”
He takes a step forward, arms coming up slightly as if he’s going to hug me.
“Don’t,” I warn.
But he walks to the doorway instead, where he pauses for several seconds, his expression growing more and more tormented.
“What can I do to earn your trust back?” he asks.
Sadness washes over me. “I don’t know.”
“Then it’s over? Just like that?”
“It? What exactly was it, Jack? Were we together? Were we ever even headed for a relationship? Because the way I see it, you didn’t care that I was seeing Nate— ”
“I cared,” he interjects.
“—and you didn’t define anything. And now I know why. Because it wasn’t real.”
“It was real, Abbey.” His voice is husky.
“I don’t know if I believe that.”
“Then let me prove it to you.”
“I…” I blink to keep the tears at bay. “I can’t. You’re asking if we can go back to that relationship place when I don’t even know if we can fix the friendship part.”
He gives me a pained look. “Don’t say that. We are friends. That hasn’t changed.”
“Go, Jack. Please. I need space. I’ve barely had a minute alone to sit with this since I found out the truth. So just let me be, okay?”
He exhales. “If that’s what you want.”
“It is.”
“Okay.” He steps toward the doorway, then glances over his broad shoulder, his blue eyes veiled. “Happy birthday, Abbs.”
After he’s gone, I lie on my bed and stare up at the ceiling. With a cranky wail, Hugh jumps up beside me and proceeds to swipe at strands of my hair while I do my best to ignore the agony clamped around my heart.
It serves me right that I’m lying here alone with an obstinate cat that’s one tantrum away from chewing my throat out and making its nest in my entrails. A girl should know better than to hang her hopes on a man.
Or two, for that matter.
