Chapter 26

26

J ayda should be celebrating.

She’d landed her first major donor—Ky, who probably felt guilty for putting the moves on her but she’d take his money nonetheless—and her website had launched without a hitch. Brock must’ve worked through the night to get her software up and running; she should be grateful. Instead, she found herself flipping the middle finger every time she thought of him and that had been often over the last fifteen hours since she’d left his apartment.

He had no idea how badly he’d hurt her, how his overt rejection after she’d put herself out there slammed her back to a time when she’d let insecurity rule.

When she’d got home she’d lain awake all night, rehashing every horrible moment of their discussion in her head, which had awakened her inner vulnerabilities, squashed but never forgotten. Was she not good enough for him? Not smart enough? Not successful enough?

She hated those insidious thoughts because she’d conquered most of her insecurities over the years. But they lingered, waiting to pounce when she least expected it.

And what really pissed her off was that the last time she’d felt this bad had been the night she’d discovered she’d given her virginity to a heartless loser when, ironically, Brock had been around to help her through it. This time he’d caused this hollow, gut-wrenching sorrow.

He’d seen the fallout after she’d learned that Deon had only slept with her on a bet, but he didn’t know all of it.

He had no idea she’d struggled with her weight all through uni, starving herself most days so she’d stay popular.

Or how she’d almost ended up with an eating disorder because of her weight obsession.

Or how amazing she’d felt having Deon want to have sex with her, only to discover it had all been a sick, cruel joke and he’d actually laughed about it with his mates.

‘Banging the virgin fat chick’ had meant nothing to him and she’d never felt so worthless as she had the night she’d overheard him poking fun at her with his friends.

If it hadn’t been for Brock that night…she hated to think how much worse it could’ve been for her. Deon had humiliated her but Brock had done something far worse.

He’d taken what she’d offered out of love and thrown it back in her face.

That was another thing to keep her up all night: the realisation that she wouldn’t feel this shattered if she didn’t love him. Stupid, to fall for a guy who’d made it clear at the start that they were nothing more than a short-term fling, but she’d gone and done it anyway.

Love hurt like a bitch.

She’d given up seeking other people’s approval a long time ago but her parents’ betrayal of her trust, and now Brock’s, rammed home that she needed to be smarter, harder, tougher.

Didn’t Brock understand it had been a big deal for her to want to commit to him? That she’d had to come to terms with the fact it wouldn’t mean sacrificing her newfound independence?

She’d worked through her many issues, why couldn’t he?

Now, she had a bigger challenge to face. Meeting her dad after a sleepless night following having her heart broken might not be the smartest thing she’d ever done, but she needed to take control of at least one shitty thing in her life so she’d contacted him this morning. Considering she’d been ignoring his calls and texts, he’d jumped at the chance to meet.

It had been a few weeks since she’d last confronted him with the knowledge she’d discovered his treachery. She’d asked her parents to give her a month to see if she could move past this, but in reality she doubted she’d ever be able to forgive them; seeing her mum over a week ago reinforced it. So facilitating this meeting meant she could move forward without stagnating over their duplicity.

The doorbell rang and a fine sweat broke out over her body. But she had to do this. She had to take back the control she’d lost when they’d shafted her in the first place. Now that he’d arrived she wanted to get this over with as soon as possible so she opened the door.

Her father, wearing denim and a white button-down shirt when she rarely saw him out of suits, offered a smile. ‘Thanks for inviting me over, sweetheart.’

If the casual outfit surprised her, his use of ‘sweetheart’ shocked her. He never used any endearments when addressing her. It had always been Jayda. Sasha had been the one to get ‘honey’ or ‘sweetie’.

‘Come in.’ She couldn’t bring herself to call this man who’d duped her so badly Dad, but she opened the door wider to let him in.

He walked directly to the living room. Another surprise, that he remembered where it was. He’d only visited twice since she’d moved in years ago.

‘Your mother said she’d visited.’ He stood in front of the fireplace, feet wide apart, hands behind his back, as if braced for battle. ‘Thanks for asking her over. She was worried about you.’

‘As you can see, I’m fine,’ she said, sounding anything but. ‘I asked you here today because I want you to know that I’m trying to work through what you did but I don’t know how long it will take.’

Her throat tightened as she shook her head. ‘You’re my dad and I trusted you—’

‘I’m sorry for being a crap father all these years—’

‘Apology accepted. Anything else?’

Jayda couldn’t stand here and listen to a trite apology designed to make him feel better. He didn’t give a shit about her and never had. She might have instigated this meeting to take back control but now she’d done it she couldn’t pretend an apology made everything better.

‘You were never secondbest and I hate that my behaviour made you feel that way,’ he said, so softly she wondered if she’d misheard for a moment. ‘When your mother told me what you’d said, it broke my heart.’

‘Welcome to the club.’

Her fingers curled into her palms as anger surged through her. Did he honestly think admitting culpability made up for all he’d put her through?

‘Losing Sasha made me go crazy and I never should’ve shut down when I had another daughter—’

‘I was secondbest long before Sasha died, and anything you say now can’t change that.’

He flinched as if she’d slapped him. ‘I’ve been a terrible father and I’m sorry.’

‘Repeating the words won’t make a difference,’ she said, fury underlying her brave declaration while inside she crumpled. ‘We all loved Sasha and losing her gutted us. But while I struggled with my grief and tried to help you through yours by working for you, you took my sacrifice and flung it back in my face.’

Her nails dug into her palms but she barely registered the sting of pain. ‘How do you think that makes me feel?’

He half turned towards the fire so she wouldn’t see the sheen of tears in his eyes. Too late to show emotion now, Dad, way too late.

She dragged in deep breaths, willing herself to calm down, and he must’ve been doing the same because after a few moments he turned back to face her.

‘I didn’t handle my grief well and when the gambling took on a life of its own I didn’t know how to extricate myself from it.’ He held out his hands palm-up as if he had nothing to hide. ‘But I’m getting help now and I’ve put back every cent into the charity.’

He blinked several times and his mouth worked but no words came out, before he finally said, ‘I miss my baby girl.’

Her anger faded under an onslaught of sadness so profound she could barely breathe.

‘I miss having you around, Jayda. I miss seeing your smiling face no matter how rough organising those interminable parties got. I miss your optimism, your generosity with your time. I miss…you.’

He took a step towards her, another, but Jayda had been through too much to forgive him that easily. She wanted to, but she felt as if he’d flayed her open with every one of her swaying emotions exposed.

When he almost reached her, she held up her hand. If he hugged her now she’d unravel completely.

‘I appreciate you telling me, but I need more time.’

His expression crumpled. ‘Okay. Your mother and I won’t bother you, but when you’re ready, we’d love to see you.’

She nodded and spun on her heel to head for the door. She needed him out of here ASAP before she fell apart completely. His heavy footsteps behind her reminded her of the last time a man had made a similar noise on her floorboards—Brock—and her sadness multiplied tenfold.

She held open the door and her father hesitated. ‘I do love you, sweetheart.’

And with a brief graze of his fingertips against her cheek, he left.