One day, I would be out of here. One day, we would be reunited.

That was the day I lived for, fought for.

I was a Daddy’s girl, always had been. My connection was stronger with him than my mother. I didn’t know why, except to say that my mother—for some reason or another—had wanted a boy. A strange thing, especially in the South. Especially from a woman who epitomized femininity, from her painted red toes to the rollers she wore to bed at night. But a boy was what she always wanted and when I’d turned up, my father was the one who’d welcomed me with unconditional love.

So yes, we were close. He was protective. And his position as Chief of Police, a position he’d held for the last twenty-two years, had often been used to his advantage as a father.

There was the time when John and I were screwing, knee-deep in Israel Duran’s barn straw, and two black and whites pulled in, lights blazing. I had been sixteen and skipping school. They’d put the both of us in the back of the squad car and marched us into my father’s office. That night, a flashlight in mouth—I found a tracking device underneath the rear bumper of my Sunfire.

There was the time when I was arrested at UGA, along with fourteen others, victims of a house-party raid. A room full of underage drinking, weed, and pills on the dining room table, and we were all brought in and kept overnight. I made the mistake of using my one phone call to call my father. Thought that Daddy Dearest might use some political sway to get me released before daybreak. A stupid, drunk decision. I sobbed into the phone, told him I hadn’t been doing drugs, and that I’d only had one Bud Light. Thirty minutes later, I’d had a rape exam, full drug panel working on my blood, and had blown a .21 on a Breathalyzer. They reported the findings (marijuana in my system, no rape, but signs of recent sexual activity) to my father, and I spent two nights in an Athens jail cell, twice what any of my friends endured. And trust me, those extra twenty-four hours sucked.

There had been very few moments where I’d appreciated my father’s position. The encounter with the boys at Beverly’s Diner smelled of his involvement. I’d have to pull him aside at the wedding. Make it clear that he needed to keep his distance. Respect my privacy and new relationship. Allow me to live my own life. I wasn’t sixteen anymore. I could make my own decisions and mistakes. I sipped Folgers and wondered how Dad would react, both to my mandate and to meeting Brett. Mom would be easy. Any person who increased her likelihood of grandchildren (maybe this time it’d be a boy!) would be embraced.

“So.” Brett wandered in, pulling a shirt over his head, the stretch and pop of abs causing my eyes to linger. “What’s the plan for today?”

I lifted my head from the cup. “Not sure. I was just mulling over that. We need to be at the church at three. Until then, it’s pretty open.”

“You always have such a serious expression when musing over lunch plans?”

I smiled and took another sip, letting the bitter heat warm my throat. “I was thinking about my parents. Not sure if they’ll scare you off tonight.”

“These are the police chief/pharmacy tech parents?” Brett asked, picking up an apple from the bowl and asking permission with his eyes. I waved him on, lifting my feet from the other dining room chair and kicking it out for him.

“Yes. The only ones I got.”

He shrugged. “Some people have two.”

“Do you?”

He chewed a bite of apple, the act taking a minute, his Adam’s apple bulging as he swallowed. “Nope. Just one. My parents are still married.”

“Look at us. Two surviving children in a sea of broken families.”

“A good omen for the future of our marriage.” He looked up, winked.

“Easy, Fabio.” I sipped my coffee. “One relationship milestone at a time.”

“I didn’t mean to pressure you last night. With the ‘I love you’ stuff.”

“I wouldn’t have said it back if I didn’t mean it.” I reached out, requesting the apple, and he passed it over, letting me steal a bite. “Let me get dressed. We can run into town and I’ll buy you a real breakfast, give you the five dollar tour.”

He caught me as I passed, his hand gently on my waist as he pushed me against the wall and stole a kiss. “I do love you, Miss Johnson.”

I rose to my tippy toes and kissed him back.

I used to be a man who didn’t care. Who smiled freely, put his shoes up on the table, drank to excess, loved without reserve. Then, the woman I loved more than anything in the world was taken. That day put a cloud over my life. Changed the man I was to the man I am now. A man who considers every action. Who hides more than he gives. Who lies more than he tells the truth.

I was lying when I met Riley. Playing a part that I’d cultivated to such a point that it felt natural. I was in a role, so I kept playing it. Provided a card that contained rows of lies. Talked and hinted of a life I didn’t keep. I played the part, I fucked the girl, and somehow, amid the skin and the touches and the gorgeous crook of her smile, I felt it. Felt a tugging on a part of my heart that I thought had died.

When I first met her, I should’ve let her go. Let her get on that jet and fly back home. Let my heart turn back to black, crush the weakness that had threatened. But I didn’t. I allowed the weakness to fester, to rot at the bones of my ribcage until my chest was cracked wide open and she had crawled inside and feasted on my heart. Inhaled it until there was no longer her and I but only us.