Lovers Like Us (Like Us 2)

My stomach knots.

“I wish I handled it differently,” he says. “In hindsight, I should’ve given you more time to speak, but if I never questioned you, I would’ve hated myself every goddamn day. Because I was raised by a father who didn’t give a shit where I was. And your mom was raised by parents who couldn’t care less about her.”

He sits forward. Closer to me. “The moment I held you in my arms, I vowed to always care. In my world, that means questioning you when I sense something’s wrong. Even if I turn out to be the jerk in the end.”

I stay completely still.

My dad has always been candid with me, but this is different. How he’s speaking—it feels like he’s reaching to a place he rarely touches and he’s splitting himself open.

He’s fallible. Imperfect. He’s been telling me that since I was little, but my dad had always been a superhero in my eyes.

He’s so human. It hurts.

“Me and your mom, your aunts and uncles—in almost every circumstance, we wouldn’t trust the media over your word. But security’s intel about your NDAs and the ‘mystery girl’ that we wouldn’t approve of—it aligned with the media. Something wasn’t adding up. We thought it could be anything, not just the rumor. You could’ve been drinking or…” He takes a giant breath.

I was lying about Farrow.

I take fault for that.

“Interrogating each other,” he tells me, “it’s how we deal with lies. Your aunts and uncles have done it to me, and I’ve done it to them.” He pauses. “We were all worried you and Jane were in trouble…and I just needed…” He turns his head away, but I catch sight of his pained face. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright.” A lump lodges in my throat, and a question gnaws at me. I ask as carefully as I can, “What would your dad have done if he were in your position?”

He drops his head.

“You don’t have to answer—”

“I can. Easily.” His jaw sets sharp. “The Jonathan Hale damage control handbook. First, he takes away your trust fund. Then he conducts a meeting where he lists all the steps you have to follow to rebuild your image. Mainly for the sake of the family companies. The trust fund is collateral.”

“Fuck.”

“He’s not done,” my dad says. “You’re broke now. That is, until you complete those necessary steps. One of which, you’re getting married. In his timeframe. And definitely not to your bodyguard. But at least in Jonathan’s handbook, he talks to you face-to-face. You pick up the Calloway handbook, Lily’s parents, and they’ll just send the lawyers to deal with you.”

I stare haunted. “Something like this happened to you and Mom?”

His face says yes. “I love you more than you’ll ever realize, and I hope one day, you can see that our reactions at the camp were out of fear and love. Nothing else.”

I’m starting to see now.

Before, I couldn’t comprehend why and how my parents could doubt me, but he just gave me their viewpoint. I wanted automatic loyalty, but my dad cared enough to question me. They all fucking did. They took the chance of being wrong and dealing with this fallout because if they’d been right and did nothing…

I could be drowning in alcohol. I could be hurt and floundering alone. I could be silently screaming for support and no one’s there to answer the call.

So I get it.

I wish that doomsday could’ve been avoided altogether, but if it had to happen, at least I have parents that love me enough to be there for me.

I nod stiffly. “About Hale Co….” We haven’t talked about the billion-dollar baby product company, built by my great-grandfather. The rumor about me and Jane doesn’t exactly help sell bottles and diapers.

Hale Co. stocks dropped, and I’m sure it’s made my dad’s job as the CEO even harder.

He frowns. “You think I care about the company? You could drive my business into the ground, bud, and as long as you’re breathing and alive and happy, I wouldn’t care.”

I nod again. Thinking about everything he’s said. Forgiveness isn’t that hard for me—maybe it even comes too easily—but when faced with love or a pointless grudge, I’m going to accept love.

Once I find the words, I tell him, “I wouldn’t trade you for any other dad. No bullshit.” I figure he’ll think I’m tiptoeing around him because he’s in a bad place. I kind of am, but I still mean what I say.

He usually has a response for everything, but he grimaces in thought. Maybe he can tell I’m overly praising him.

I run my hand across a hot tub jet. “How’s mom?” I still regret snapping at my mom at the camp. I’ve never yelled at her before, and it may seem like a stupid comparison, but I feel like I kicked her.

“She’s sad,” my dad says, “but I’ve seen her sadder.”

Great.

He gives me this weird look that’s been forming for a while. Like I’ve floated into outer space halfway through our conversation.

“What?”

“You’re worried about us, and we’re the people that hurt you. Jesus Christ, it’s strange.”

“You’re my parents—”

“And we fucked up.” He winces and then flashes his iconic half-smile. “Where’s the condemnation and the tantrum and the I hate you so much, Mom and Dad, huh?”

He wanted me to put up a fight and knock him down at least once. I actually think there’s a part of him that felt like he deserved it—and fuck that. “I guess I’d just rather love you than hate you. Sorry,” I say with edge that matches his.

His face scrunches. “When’s the last time you’ve cried?”

I almost shake my head. “Why are you asking that?”

“Concern. I told you it’s okay to cry growing up, didn’t I?”

“Yeah, you did. All the time.”

He would say, you can cry, bud. But I must’ve been thirteen the last time I really cried. Someone kept stuffing notes in my locker like your mom sucks a lot of dick with penis doodles. There I was, sobbing into my pillow, and my little brother knocked on my bedroom door. Wanting me to read him a fantasy book.

He was super fucking young, and I remember rubbing my face until all the tears dried. I didn’t want Xander to be afraid of bullies. I realized then that if I showed my cousins and siblings that I couldn’t handle the world—young kids who saw me as a role model, their leader—then they’d never believe they could.

“I was thirteen,” I tell my dad. “There just hasn’t been a lot to cry over since.”

Twigs rustle in my peripheral. I crane my head over my shoulder. Two figures hide poorly behind leafless maple trees. Only about twenty feet away.

85% chance of eavesdropping.

My dad gapes in mock surprise. “Christ Almighty, I wonder who the hell that could be.”

Connor and Ryke emerge and glare at each other, shirking blame for being discovered.

My dad touches his heart. “I had no idea.”

I almost smile. As they dip into the hut, Ryke removes his gloves and stomps snow off his rub

ber soles. “Cobalt wouldn’t move his ass any higher up the fucking ridge.”

Connor unzips his navy blue jacket. “I lost cell signal. Of course, you wouldn’t understand the importance of needing to be reachable because not many people need to reach you.”

“Fuck off.” Ryke throws a glove at Connor’s face, but without even looking, Connor dodges the glove and it plops in the hot tub.

I grab the soaked glove and toss it back to Ryke. “If I remember correctly, you both were also at Camp Calloway doubting me and Jane.”

Ryke sheds down to his bathing suit. “We were also there trying to fucking protect you—”

“Is an I’m sorry that damn hard?” I ask.

His frown darkens, and he climbs into the hot tub. “I’m fucking sorry.” It sounds sincere, and he wraps his arm around my shoulder. Giving me a side-hug.

Connor places his jacket on a wooden table. “I apologize for hurting you.”

“I accept,” I say, “but Janie’s gonna need more than that.”

Connor nods. “I’m aware. She already asked her mom and me to write a three-thousand word essay on why we love her.” His lips pull upward, admiration for his daughter clear in his eyes.

My dad flashes a dry smile. “That’s what happens when you raise a bunch of geniuses and make your family motto: loyalty to the death.”

Connor grins a billion-dollar grin.

I lie back, but my shoulders won’t unwind. “Isn’t the Cobalt motto, ‘let me play the lion too: I will roar’ and whatever else Eliot says?” My younger cousin always recited that Shakespeare quote from A Midsummer Night’s Dream, and it’s weirdly become the unofficial Cobalt rallying cry.

“We have many mottos,” Connor says and finishes undressing to his blue bathing suit. He joins us in the hot tub, sitting closer to my dad while Ryke stays next to me.

Connor sets his phone in a cup holder, and I remember what I’ve been meaning to tell all three of them.

“I’ve been working with a tech & security company.” I capture their attention. “The engineers are updating all of our electronics and the security team’s to ensure no hacks from any outside sources. Phones, computers—everything will be safer to use. It was supposed to be my Christmas present to everyone, but I’ll roll it out before the tour starts.”