21. Cassidy

Closing The Horseshoe's front door behind me, I turn the deadbolt and stroll past the bar to my dad's back office. He's here early to do payroll, which means it's the best opportunity to get him alone—before the kitchen staff have shown up, after the grocery and liquor deliveries.

In Dad's mind, I should be having a baby completely on my own. And, while I don't know exactly what Chase and I are to each other, I know he's going to be in my life. There can't be any conflict between the two of them when the baby arrives. I haven't found the words I want to say to Chase yet, but I can work on my dad in the meantime.

My knuckles rap twice on the door before his voice beckons me in.

"Hey, kiddo. Why are you here so early?"

I toss my purse on the faded-orange armchair, which has a worn-out floral pattern straight out of 1975. Then I plop down, eager to take some pressure off my lower back, and look around at the depressing, undecorated space. After owning the bar for close to thirty years, you'd think he would add something to the office he spends hours in every day. Instead, it's just dingy white walls, a desk overwhelmed with unfiled paperwork, a filing cabinet, and this old chair.

I take a deep breath. "I need to talk to you about something."

My hand finds its way to my stomach, which appears to be growing exponentially now after a slow start. I always thought pregnant people rubbed their stomach for attention, but now I understand it's an unconscious habit. If my hands aren't preoccupied, they're probably on the baby bump.

"Okay." He sets down his pencil and pulls the reading glasses from his face, setting them on a teetering stack of paperwork. "What's up, buttercup?"

"Dad… we need to talk about Chase—Red. I know you're choosing to pretend he's not part of this, but he is. I'm sorry I didn't tell you about him sooner. I didn't mean to lie to you, honestly. You just assumed about Derek, and I lied by omission." I gulp, watching his forehead wrinkle more and more with every word I say. "You were already so disappointed in me, I didn't want to make it worse. I also never expected you to find out the way you did… that was the first time he stayed over, and it was honestly because of the storm."

"First time… not only time. So he's stayed over since? In the house I own?"

Shit.

"Yeah." I rub my temples vigorously. This conversation is already not going the way I'd rehearsed a dozen times over the past twenty-four hours. "I need you to hear me out, though. You have valid reasons to be wary—I get it. But he's been all-in with this pregnancy since the day he found out. Chase checks in on me constantly and does anything I ask. When I was sick, he made sure I was eating every day. He's driven me home when Shelby was too boy-crazy to care when I was tired. He's been to my appointments and made me feel better when the doctor was a jerk. Is he perfect? No. But there's no questioning his love for this baby. That's all I can ask for."

Tongue tucked in his cheek, Dad rolls his office chair closer to me. "You were too young to really see what kind of guy Joe Thompson was when he still lived here. And I see the same issues in Red. I don't want you to be stuck dealing with that shit."

"So you think I'm the same as Mom? I'm gonna ditch this kid when I decide I'm tired of being tied down, right? Because when you talk shit about Chase and his dad, the little voice in my head tells me"—I wipe the tears clinging to my eyelashes before they mess up my work makeup for tonight—"you're probably wondering the same thing about me. You're just too scared to say it. I grew up with a crappy mother. He grew up with a crappy father. I don't think—I fucking hope—that doesn't mean we're destined to screw up this baby girl."

"Cassie, you're nothing like your mother."

"Aside from the fact that half of my DNA is hers."

His fingers interlace behind his neck, and his gaze turns to the ceiling. "I understand you're a grown woman now, and I can't tell you what to do. That said, I don't think involving him is a good idea."

"My child is gonna be lucky enough to have two parents who love her—I'll never deny her that. I don't think you really understand how hard it was for me to not have both you and Mom growing up. I know you did so much, and I'm so thankful for you, Dad. But don't you honestly wish that—even with her issues—Mom had been more permanent? I know it killed you when she walked in and out, too."

He sighs, rocking back and forth. For a minute, there's nothing but the incessant squeaking of the spring on his ancient desk chair. "If you insist on involving him, I still think you need to get him to—"

"Jesus Christ, Dad. I'm not making him sign child support papers or a custody agreement right now. I trust him. If anything changes, I'll deal with it then. Be as disappointed as you want in me, but please stop trying to convince me to do everything the way you want it done."

His tongue darts out to wet his lips, then he leans back in his chair, arms crossed against his chest, and blinks at me. I continuously wipe the tears before they can run but, judging by the mascara smeared on my fingers, my makeup is already too far gone. Vision blurred, I strain to read the tiny numbers on his desk clock. At least there's time to run home and freshen up before my shift.

"Are you two together, then?" Dad finally breaks his silence right as I'm running out of things to look at in his cramped, messy office.

"Not right now. This isn't the 1950s, so I'm not rushing to the altar. I just… I'm taking the time to get to know him before I make any judgments. It would mean the world to me if you'd do the same. Like it or not, you and Chase are the most important men in my life right now. And when this baby comes, I refuse to be the mediator between you. You'll have to act like adults and figure it out."

Hearing me say Chase is right there next to him on the list of important people in my life makes him wince like I stabbed him with a leather skiving knife.

"I can be civil. That's all I can promise. I love you, Cassie, and I'm not disappointed in you—I could never be. Even if I don't necessarily agree with your choice." He picks up his reading glasses and turns to his payroll again. Sorting through a stack of timecards because he refuses to update to computerized bookkeeping. "I need to get this done before we open. Lock the front door behind you when you go."

"Thank you, Dad. I love you."

I walk out of the office awash with relief, despite not getting my dream outcome. Sharing my feelings, finally having him listen to me, and getting him to agree to be civil still feels like a win.

I wish I'd waited to talk to Dad because when I arrive back at home to fix my makeup for work, my heart sinks at the sight of a paper bag on my front step.

Chase was here. I'm positive it's from him before even looking at the contents. There's no note, but my favourite snacks and a Tupperware container with dinner in it is all the confirmation needed.

Cass:Thank you. You know you could've brought it inside so nobody would steal it.

Red: Didn't feel right letting myself in.

Cass: Sorry I wasn't home to talk to you

Red: I just don't want you living off whatever random food you find at the gas station

Cass:I enjoy being a trash panda, fyi.

I drop the bag with a thunk on the coffee table and pace across the charcoal-grey shag rug. I could call him. Ask if he's still in town and wants to talk before I go back to the bar, so we can talk about boundaries. Or about not having them anymore. Because I'm so fucking torn between what I know I should do and what I desperately want to do.

I pace the house. Stand in the half-decorated nursery. Brain awash with thoughts about this sweet baby girl. Little Spud. She can't be the only reason Chase and I get together. My heart, and my vagina, and my brain all need to be on board that this is more than two people trying to make the best of a strange situation.

All the more reason to keep your distance for a while longer.

A few more days to think, decide what I really want. Not be swayed by food or orgasms or whatever other sweet gestures he has up his sleeve. If I see him, smell him, or touch him, I'm a fucking goner. No shot of standing my ground when he's staring me down with a look that reveals how well he can see right through me. Just like every day before my trip, I'll say "fuck it" to any discussion about boundaries and say "fuck me" to him.

No talking. Not yet. Not until I can get my head on straight.