I tried to convince Vee to go with Ryder, because I know just how badly she wants to be there to root for Gavin, but she refused. She wouldn’t even debate me on it. She and Mel insisted we all watch the championship together.
For the first half of the game, I’ve been casual, as cheerful as possible. Serene, even. For Vee and for Mel. But I’m so exhausted. The overwhelming draw to pull into myself, to shrink away and hide, frays at my nerves. It’s making me agitated, and I can sense the anxiety trying to suck me under.
My secret isn’t a secret any longer.
I love my friends and Ryder, and I just want to be well so they’re not worried—but that pressure in itself is causing me to stress.
And I know, it’s not going to magically get better in a night. In reality, the hero doesn’t swoop in and save the heroine, the story ending on a kiss. Or a group hug. Tah-dah! Everyone’s happy and healthy. The end.
This is real. And it’s going to take real work and patience, and even screwing up along the way, until actual recovery is achieved. That much I learned in rehab, but it’s also just common sense. Mel can validate the process; she’s still battling her own demons. I have the most supportive, nonjudgmental people in my corner, and I need to allow them to be here for me—to help. Only it’s difficult to relinquish that control.
The low dose of anxiety meds that Dr. Brant gave me is helping some to curve my neurotic thoughts. And watching Ryder tear up the field is giving me hope that we’ll get back to normal. Hell, better than normal. But the fear of tomorrow—the realization that I can’t just fake my way through it all—is pounding at the edges. Bleeding into this moment of contentment.
Breathe. I just need to breathe. In and out. In. Out.
I start to count down, needing to center my racing mind, and hear the door squeak open. Pulling myself together, I get ready to watch the second half of the game with Mel and Vee. But when I look over, managing a smile, my features go lax.
My father stands at the door, one hand tucked into the pocket of his gray suit. “Is it all right if I visit?”
The fact that he’s asking my permission—for anything—makes me blink. Shocked, I nod him inside, worried my voice will give away my unease.
“I was going to tell you this when we got back to New York,” he says, striding forward. He stops a foot before my bed. “But I was only trying to stall. I probably should’ve told you long ago. There was just never a right time, and you seemed to be doing well enough…I didn’t want to burden you.”
My eyebrows press together. “Well enough?” This, from him, sounds so foreign.
“Yes, Ari. I might not have voiced how proud I was, but that’s only because my father never offered praise easily.” A tentative smile touches his lips. “I never could please that man, and I suppose that mentality is passed down. A Wyndemere tradition.”
When I don’t comment, he clears his throat and takes a seat. “What you said about your mother…” He trails off.
“Dad, I didn’t mean—”
“It’s the truth.” His intense gaze locks on me, disarming. “I loved your mother.” My breath stills, the steady, low hum of machines filling the stark silence. I’ve never heard him voice that. Ever. “It was a marriage of love, not suitability. I fought your grandfather tooth and nail to marry Bethany, and defied him in the end. He didn’t carry out his threat to cut me off. He believed my marriage would fail, and that was all the punishment I needed. The shame in admitting he was right.”
I swallow hard, waiting—but I’m not sure I want to know.
“I didn’t lie when I told you this life was too much for your mother,” he continues. “But there was more, and I couldn’t bear you knowing. I still can’t…but it seems my life lessons may be of some use, after all.”
“Dad, it’s okay,” I say. “Whatever it is.”
He nods, then looks down at his hands. “Bethany struggled with terrible anxiety. After you were born, she fell into a depression. We sought doctor after doctor, and she tried different medications, but the strain of being in the public eye, managing this lifestyle, raising a child within it… She decided it was too hard. She didn’t want the burden.”
Nausea roils in my stomach. My mother left because of me. “She didn’t want to be a mother,” I state simply. He doesn’t need to sugarcoat it.
“No, darling. Your mother was just simply too…weak, for lack of a better w
ord. She left because, for her, it was easer to give up than to fight to succeed. With her background…” He sighs heavily. “She came from a life where people accepted defeat, Ari. It’s difficult for me to explain this, but she wouldn’t even try.”
Looking at my father now, seeing the vulnerable man rather than the looming authority figure, my life suddenly comes into focus: the pressure to strive for perfection, to never display weakness, always demanding excellence. More than the expectation to rise to his standard, he feared me falling to my mother’s failure.
“I would’ve left everything behind and gone with her wherever. Be whoever. I would’ve done anything to keep her with us.” He can’t mask the shame in his eyes. “But it wasn’t enough. She didn’t want the responsibility of a family. And in the end, she asked for money.” His face pales.
Oh…no. The truth crashes into me, unstoppable. Like a wreck you see coming, but you can’t look away from. “Dad, I’m sorry.” More sorry for him than me. I never knew the woman.
“I’m not,” he says, taking my hands in his. Mine so tiny compared to his large ones. “She gave me you, and that was worth it all. My father never said I told you so, mercifully. Your grandfather did have some grace in his mean old bones.” I smile at his inflection. “But I was devastated for a long time. Until Becca. Your grandfather arranged that marriage, and I didn’t fight him on it. It wasn’t passionate like in my youth, but I do love her. That’s why… Ari, I’ve only ever wanted the best for you, and to steer you away from the pain and grief of this world.”
God, but how do you argue with that logic? Still, it’s my right to live through my own pain and struggles. As intelligent as my father is, he has to realize that. “Ryder isn’t like that. I know, it’s probably like hearing an echo of yourself, but it’s true. And even if everything is against us, and it’s difficult and we fight…it’s up to me to figure it out. I love him. I can’t marry Lucas, or anyone else who I don’t love. Ryder already has my heart.”
He inhales deeply. “I know, love.” His eyes capture mine. “You’re not your mother. You have to trust that I do know this. Unfortunately for you, I believe you’re more like me than you know. I’m sorry I never allowed you to see that.”