Chapter 51

51

SARAH

M y heart felt heavy. Colorado had always been home, a place of comfort and love, but now it felt like a minefield of emotional pitfalls. The past few days had been a rollercoaster. I was still reeling from the revelations I had learned.

I felt ridiculous for not knowing better. I was a shitty sister. A horrible sister. I had been so caught up in my own world and what I wanted, I never considered what my sister was going through. I knew my father and I had a special connection, but it never occurred to me it was at her expense.

I'd learned so much about my family's pain, my own mistakes, and the consequences of my actions. I'd hurt Meg deeply without realizing it. I'd lost Dean. And I was starting to fear that I might have lost my father too. My mom loved me, but she wasn't happy I had been so oblivious.

I walked downstairs, feeling like I was walking on eggshells. The house had been tense. Too tense. Mom was in the kitchen making cookies.

"Hey," I greeted her. "Where is everyone?"

"Your father is in the garage and Meg left early."

"She's still mad at me." I sighed. "They both are."

"Yes, I suppose that's true," she replied.

"How come you're still talking to me?"

She turned toward me, dusting her hands off on her apron. "Because someone in this family has to keep the peace. And I'm not mad at you, Sarah. Disappointed, yes. But not mad. You've always been very smart and capable. You've never given us any trouble. We could always count on you to be the responsible one. And you have been, a few bar fights aside."

I sighed, leaning against the kitchen counter and watching as she moved around the room. The scent of fresh cookies wafted through the air. Normally it would've been comforting but not today.

"Can I help?" I asked quietly.

She looked surprised for a moment but then gave a nod. "Sure," she said, handing me a bowl of dough. "You can roll these into balls and place them on the baking sheet."

I nodded, dipping my hands into the cookie dough and beginning the task. The repetitive motion was soothing, my mind able to focus on something other than my guilt.

"Mom," I ventured after a few minutes of silence. "Did you… do you ever feel like you didn't pay enough attention to Meg because of me?"

She stopped what she was doing, her back still turned to me. There was a long pause before she replied.

"I think every parent has those moments where they wonder if they're being fair to all their children," she said at last. "But you have to understand, Sarah, that every child has different needs. You were always so independent, so strong. I sometimes wish I would have been more present for her."

"But Meg seems so happy," I said. "She was always the happy one. I would get jealous of her because she always seemed to have it so easy. I wanted to be like her."

"Sarah." She paused, turning to face me. Her expression was solemn and the deep creases on her face seemed more pronounced. "Every person carries their own burdens. They differ in sizes and weights but they're equally important to the bearer. Meg might've appeared happy, but it was probably her way of dealing with things she didn't understand. You were always mature for your age, so perhaps you saw her happiness as something that came naturally to her. Your burden was to be the perfect son your father never had. That wasn't fair to you either."

"But I should've known," I whispered guiltily.

I knew my mother was trying to make me feel better but the knot in my stomach refused to dissolve.

"I think you forget you're twenty-two." She laughed. "No one is perfect. No one blames you for being who you are. Meg will be fine. She still loves you."

She moved to stand in front of me, placing her hands on my shoulders. "And your father, he's just scared. Scared he is losing his little girl. He knows you are embarking on the next phase of your career and it's likely going to be more dangerous than either of us cares to admit. You know I've always been the one that never really wanted my little girl up there flying a jet and potentially going into a war. That terrifies me. Your father has always encouraged you with this and he has been so proud of it, but now reality is biting him in the butt. He gets to be worried alongside me."

A lump formed in my throat, and I fought back tears. The image of my father as an invincible force of nature was crumbling before my eyes, replaced by the image of a doting father with his own worries.

"I thought he wanted me to do this," I said.

"Oh, he did—in theory." She laughed. "He'll be fine. He's very proud of you. It's just going to take him some time to see you are a young woman and not his little girl."

"I think we're having this conversation a little late," I muttered.

"Speaking of putting off conversations too long, why don't you take him some cookies? That's always a good way to break the ice with him."

"Thanks, Mom."

She smiled warmly. "And if that doesn't work, you tell him I said you two need to talk. He'll get no more sweet treats from me until you do."

Hoping like hell she was still talking about cookies, I carried the peace offering out to the garage. As expected, he was working on his Mustang. I knocked softly on the garage door, but I knew he knew I was there without knocking.

"Can I join you?" I asked. "Mom sent me with cookies."

He nodded but didn't say anything. I took that as an invitation and stepped inside, sitting on a work stool close by.

"Hand me that wrench," he grunted.

"The half inch?"

"Obviously."

We fell into a familiar rhythm, me passing him tools wordlessly, knowing what he needed without him having to ask. The silence between us was thick, filled with unspoken words and unresolved tension. He hadn't even glanced at the cookies.

Finally, I couldn't take it anymore. "Dad, I'm sorry. You don't have to talk, but please, listen for once in your stubborn life."

He didn't say anything, which was good for a change. If I had his ear for five minutes, I was going to use it. If he decided to never speak to me again, that was his choice, but I had to try.

"I wasn't thinking when Dean and I started to spend time together. And I certainly wasn't thinking about you. I'm sorry. I was only thinking about me and what I wanted, and what felt right…" I trailed off, unsure if this was making things worse or not. Because things with Dean feel so right.

He continued to work, not looking at me. I didn't know if it was doing any good, but I had to say it regardless.

"I've been so eager to please you my whole life that, at first, Dean felt like a chance to break some rules. It was exciting. Dangerous. But then, as I got to know him, I realized how good of a man he was. Like you. He's kind. And brilliant. And he gets me, Dad. In a way nobody else ever could. He sees me. And when he talks to me, he really listens, like he wants to understand and he wants to get inside my head. I have never let myself stray from the path. I always knew what our goals were. I've worked my ass off to achieve those goals." I sighed, feeling the tears welling up. "Regardless of how good it felt, I never should have let myself fall for him because I know how much your friendship means to you. And what it means to him. I'm sorry I ruined it. I don't think it needs to be a bad thing. For what it's worth, I'm not seeing him anymore. We ended it. But just so you know, that was his choice. He respects your friendship. Ultimately, we're both choosing to walk away from each other because we both love you and respect you. Your opinion matters. Your acceptance matters."

My father straightened and put down his tools. For the first time since I'd been home, he looked me in the eyes. His gaze was hard, but there was a flicker of something softer underneath. "I feel like I don't know Dean anymore. Or you, for that matter. The man I knew would have never dared cross that line with any trainee, let alone my daughter. And you? I don't know what to say. I thought you were more careful than that."

His words stung but I didn't look away. Instead, I swallowed down the lump in my throat and met his gaze head on. "I know it doesn't seem like it right now, but I am sorry. I messed up. We both did. But it doesn't mean we're bad people."

"And you're sure it's over between you two?" His voice came out as a gruff whisper. I wasn't sure if he was asking out of hope or disappointment.

"Not because we want it to be," I admitted, "but because it's what's best for everyone else."

"I've transferred him out to London," he said. "I don't want you anywhere near him."

My stomach dropped. "You can't do that."

"I can and I did. You both need to get your heads out of each other's asses. I didn't raise you to carry on with a superior officer like that. You've embarrassed yourself. I'm ashamed for you. I have no idea how bad this is going to blow back on you, but you probably tanked your career. No one will take you seriously. Every superior officer is going to look at you and wonder if you managed to get to where you are because you earned it or because you?—"

"Don't say it," I whispered.

He gave me a look that cut me to the core. "I don't have to say it," he said. "You know exactly what everyone believes."

I flinched, feeling the tears spill over. Unable to bear the weight of his disappointment, I fled the garage. I didn't want to go back in the house. Honestly, I just wanted to run. I wanted to get as far from him and the house as I could.

The trip home had been a huge mistake. I didn't want to disappoint my mom, but it was time to go. I wasn't helping anyone by being home, least of all me. I wanted to get back to Columbus and find out where Dean was going. I knew it was probably better if we left things as they were, but I wanted to say goodbye. One last goodbye.

I decided to go for a walk. Maybe a run. A car slowly came down the road and I waited for it to pass before I crossed. When the car pulled to a stop in front of me, I went to step around it. A tall, handsome man in aviator sunglasses stepped out of the shiny black car blocking my path.

"Dean."

My first instinct was to run to him. I was hurting so badly and his embrace usually took the pain away. He always seemed to be there for me when I needed him the most. But to hug him would make the situation worse.

"Fuck it," I hissed.

He welcomed me with open arms and gave me a fierce hug. We held each other and it felt like I could breathe again.

"Hey." He smiled as we pulled apart, then frowned when he looked at me. He gently wiped my tears with his thumbs. "Are you okay?"

"I am now," I said. "What are you doing here?"

"I'm here to talk to your father," he said. "Is he home?"

I nodded. "He is. Garage. Don't offer him cookies. It won't improve his mood."

Dean furrowed his brow, then shrugged. "Excuse me," he said and walked to the garage. I followed behind him, wondering what was going on. He stopped and turned around. "Can you give us a minute?"

I frowned. "Dean, now's not a good time. I just got him all riled up."

"It will just take a second," he said and stepped into the garage. I was tempted to follow him, but this was between them, and I didn't want to face my father again so soon.

"Maurice," Dean said, his voice firm. "We need to talk."