Page 173 of On the Breakaway

“Your mother only saw you for dinner. So, I figured I’d stay for a couple of days. Actually spend some time with you instead of breezing in and back out the way she did.”

Avery closes her eyes. The expression on her face guts me. She doesn’t even look mad, just exhausted, as if this exact situation has been going on for years. Hell, it probably has.

It’s no wonder why she’s hesitant to let people in. Her parents are so busy fighting each other that neither of them seems to realize how much they’re hurting her.

“She didn’t breeze. We’re in season, so you can’t really stay…”

“I’ll make it work, take the time off. You can let her know that I’m checking in on you.”

He bulldozes right over her. She squeezes my hand harder.

“I’m not telling her anything. I tell you guys all the time that you can talk to each other if you have something to say.”

I watch her choose her words carefully.

“I don’t need anyone checking in on me. Not you and not Mom.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I don’t want you to come, so you can one-up Mom. I don’t want you to come so you can use it as your ammunition the next time you guys talk.”

“I’m your father, and I want to come see you. Why is that a problem? You don’t give your mother trouble when she comes to visit.”

She deflates, physically shrinking into herself as he misses the point entirely.

“You’re right. Let me know when you want to come.”

My fingers rub circles across the back of her hand while she finishes the conversation. Her eyes flick toward mine every few sentences.

And by the time the call finally ends, she looks worn down.

“Is it always like that?” I ask.

“Pretty much.”

The apartment falls silent, and I know that letting me listen was as much opening up as she wants to get into today.

Instead of talking, I reach forward and slide her plate across the coffee table until it bumps gently against her knee.

Avery takes a bite of toast and stares out the window.

Someone is walking their dog along the sidewalk while a cyclist weaves between traffic. It’s just a typical morning. But the tension from the phone call hangs heavy in the room.

“You okay?” I ask quietly.

She huffs a laugh. “Par for the course with them.”

The answer makes it worse because she says it so casually, as if every conversation with her parents goes exactly that way. As if spending your entire life getting pulled in opposite directions by two people who should be protecting you is normal.

I glance down at our joined hands, her fingers holding me tight.

Everything makes so much more sense. Why would she want a relationship when her example of one growing up was toxic as hell?

My thumb drifts across her knuckles. “You shouldn’t have to deal with that.”

Avery shrugs. “You try telling them that.”

We sit there quietly watching sunlight crawl across the hardwood floors. Then something that’s been bouncing around in my head since last night finally comes out.