“Please, don’t.” The last thing I needed or wanted was pity. Besides, “All I said was that I wanted my dad to believe in me. That’s a pretty standard request for a daughter.”
“I think you’re mixed up about what you think you want from your dad.”
I frowned. “What do you mean?”
“I don’t think you want him to believe in you, I think you want him to believe you.”
Bile lined my throat, so sour and deep it made water threaten to spill over my lashes.
What happened with Brock was the one taboo, the secret scandal no one talked about, but we all knew was there. It was the one time in my life I ran crying to my father, reaching for his comfort, his promise that he’d protect me, save me, but it never came.
Instead, he told the thirteen year old me that Brock could never have done such a thing and I was being dramatic. Made it up in my mind. Never to be talked about again.
My eyes stung thinking about the discussion. Realizing I was alone in that moment.
Afraid.
I got up off the chair and put my coffee on the counter. I told myself last night that I was done waiting for him to swoop in. I was also done with a lot more than that.
“I’m done being afraid.” I wanted more. Wanted to be more. Wanted that powerful heat that started with a look, a kiss, and surged through my veins, leaving me feeling hot and strong. I got a taste of that last week.
I needed the heat. Craved it.
Which meant I had to make a move to get it.
“Good for you!” she smiled. “In the spirit of taking life by the balls, why don’t you come with me to the party across the street tonight?”
“At the firehouse?”
“Technically, it’s not at the firehouse. It’s at the park next to it. But, yeah, I was invited, and you can be my plus one.”
Something had been going on with Harper lately. Apparently, she had it bad for some firefighter. Not surprising. Every once in a while we’d steal a glimpse of them cleaning the trucks or running drills. Every time I tried asking about it, she just shrugged it off and changed the subject.
“I don’t know about that.”
“Why?” Harper asked. “You have plans with Mr. Intensity?”
“No, I don’t. I don’t even have his number.”
Harper looked confused. “Well, you gave him yours, right?”
“Sort of.”
“How do you sort of give your number? Did you switch to roman numerals halfway through or something?”
“No. I told it to him. He said he’d remember it, but he didn’t write it down.”
Harper sat back on the couch and avoided eye contact. The last thing he’d said to me was that we’d see each other again. That wasn’t looking likely. I knew where he lived, but there was no way I’d just pop up there like a stalker.
If he wanted me, he would have called by now, right? Maybe I’d misjudged our connection. Maybe it was more on
e-sided than I’d thought.
My big balloon of semi-confidence was deflating.
“Okay.” Harper clapped and stood. “We’re not going to overthink this. This city guy sounds great. No reason to freak out. Just let things play out like they should. Which includes you going to a party with me tonight full of hot firemen.”
I let out a rough breath.