Page 142 of Double Puck

My whole future is being discussed in my own damn kitchen.

And I'm not there.

But whatever she says in that room, I know something this morning that I didn't know a few weeks ago.

I'm going to be okay.

In Vegas. Or Beachside. Or somewhere else entirely.

I'll figure it out.

Maybe that's what Darcy gave me without ever trying to. She watched me fuck up. Watched me get angry, get benched, make bad decisions and occasionally make some pretty fucking excellent ones.

And she never tried to turn me into somebody I'm not.

Somewhere along the way, I started believing I didn't have to either.

Poppy told me once that I didn't have to know what to say to Dad until I was ready.

Turns out, ready isn't some big dramatic feeling.

It's waking up at five in the morning and realizing I don't want answers from Dad because I need him to fix anything.

I just want to talk to my father.

I press dial, and it only rings once before the line crackles.

"Beck?"

The gravely voice punches me straight away. It sounds older than I remember. Which is stupid. It's been months since we spoke, not decades.

"Hey, Dad."

"Jesus." His breath shakes down the line. "It's good to hear your voice, son."

"Yeah." I swallow hard. "Yours too. Weirdly."

"Beck, listen — I've been wanting to explain. About your mother and me, about how it all—" He pauses for breath, like he's trying to remember what he's probably been rehearsing ever since that first voicemail he left weeks ago. "—there's a whole side of this you haven't heard, and I need you to understand that things between us had been broken a long time before—"

"Dad. Stop."

He stops.

"I don't want the autopsy." I grip the railing with my free hand, staring out into the endless ocean. "Whatever happened in your marriage, that's yours and Mom's. You two can carve that up with the lawyers and the therapists and Mom's healing-journey posters."

A surprised sound comes down the line. Almost a laugh.

"But here's my side, Dad." I take a breath. The ocean keeps rolling. "I'm pissed you cheated. I'm pissed you hurt Mom. But mostly? I'm pissed that everybody knew except me. Everybody decided what I could handle. And that sucked."

The silence on the other end is long enough that I check the screen to make sure he's still there.

"You're right," he says finally. No excuses loaded behind it. "You're right, Beck. I thought I was protecting you. That's the truth, and I know now that it's not a good enough reason. You were never the kid we all treated you like."

"Yeah, well." My throat goes dry. "Everybody keeps protecting me. It's exhausting."

My phone buzzes against my ear with another incoming call. I pull it away long enough to see Philip's name flash across the screen.

Again.