Page 170 of Let You Love Me

“So I lied,” I continue, chin quivering. “When you asked who the father was, I simply told you it was one of the out-of-state kids from camp. It was so much easier than the truth. My life was already being flipped on its head and I wasn’t taking yours with it. As it was, you went from nearly being empty nesters to having a grandbaby at home overnight, and if you had known it was Chance, it would’ve made it so much worse. I know how Dad is. First, he would’ve demanded Chance take responsibility, and when that didn’t work, he would’ve washed his hands of him in spite of his dreams. Chance would’ve gone elsewhere to college, and Dad’s dream job would’ve passed him by, and I couldn’t have that. You were already sacrificing so much—your home, your time, your reputation—for your pregnant teen daughter, and I couldn’t let you sacrifice this one thing, too.”

Mom grips her coffee cup, her knuckles turning white, “You should’ve told us upfront. Even if you wanted to wait a year until your father started at CU, why not tell us then? It’s not a small lie, Lane. Were you going to hide it forever?”

“I know!” I yell, startled by my own outburst. “I know,” I repeat, softer.

I exhale as guilt roils in my stomach. “The damage was done at that point. The lie was already out there, and nothing was going to change with Chance, so it made the most sense not to disrupt your lives over something that wouldn’t change. How would Dad feel knowing he got his dream job on account of the guy who knocked me up and left me? How would he look him in the eye and coach him every single day knowing he wants nothing to do with our Sophie?”

Silence settles in the space between us while I toy with the muffin in front of me, tearing it into pieces.

“But all this time, you could’ve made it easier on yourself. Even if he didn’t want Soph, like it or not, she’s still his. At the very least, Chance had a financial obligation to—”

“Mom,” I huff out a breath. “He was a high school student with no job, same as me. What could he possibly have done for us?”

“You held a job, and he should’ve, too. He would’ve been forced to work, at least a little bit.”

“What would be the point?” I ask, my voice rising slightly, tired of this conversation.

All I want is to crawl into bed and sleep for a year, until all of this is over and I can open my eyes without the claws of guilt wreaking havoc in my chest. Without the pain of knowing I’ve probably pushed Teagan away for good incinerating my insides to dust.

“You shouldn’t have had to do this alone!” Mom says, digging in her heels.

My gaze softens and I reach out, taking one of her hands currently squeezing the life out of her coffee cup in mine. “I didn’t. Mom, I had you and Dad.” I give her hand a little squeeze and her eyes glisten. “You could’ve thrown me out on my butt. At the very least, you could’ve easily shamed me or told me I was a disappointment. Do you have any idea what you’ve done for me? How much you’ve helped by justbeinghere? You guys are my rock.”

“It was a simple mistake; one a lot of people have made before you.” Fire blazes in Mom’s eyes, and her voice shakes.

“While that may be true, not all parents would have been as understanding. You allowed me to stay here so I could scrimp and save my money. You threw me the biggest graduation party on the face of the planet, so I could get the most graduation money possible. All of those things allowed me to put a downpayment on my dream home, a home for Sophie. If not for you guys, my situation would have been so much worse. Sophie and I would’ve turned out a lot different. The least I could do was return the favor and give Dad his dream—”

“Fuck my dream!” A bang collides with the harsh rasp of my father’s voice, and I jump.

The breath freezes in my lungs as I turn to him. His balled fist rests on the table, eyes swimming with pent-up rage. “Do youreallythink I’d choose football over you? That a game is more important?”

“No,” I choke out. “Which is exactly why—”

“You arealwaysnumber one, Lane. Always.” His voice trembles as he jabs a finger at me. “You should’ve told us and let the chips fall where they may. You’re ourdaughter,”he says, like it pains him. “You’re more important to me than some stupid job could ever be.”

My eyes fill, and I curse myself when the first tear falls. “But the truth would’ve changednothing,” I manage through the tightening of my throat.

“Maybe not.” Dad leans forward and grips my face in his large hands, wiping away a tear only for it to be replaced by one of his own. “But at least we could’ve been there for you. At least, I wouldn’t have invited Chance in here every fucking Sunday during the season for brunch or to my office to go over plays. A mistake I can forgive but abandoning my grandchild”?he shakes his head?“not taking responsibility for his actions, that I cannot. At the very least,heshould’ve told me. He should’ve been a man and come clean.”

He releases me and it’s like a weight I didn’t know I was carrying has been lifted from my shoulders. “You’re not the only one who lied, Lane. Remember that,” Dad says.

I blink over at him, coming to terms with the fact this changes a lot for him.

“I treated him like one of my own.” Dad scrubs a hand over his face. “We invited him into our home, our lives. Itrustedhim. But the whole time, every time I saw him and he didn’t own up to being Sophie’s father, he lied to me. It’s making me questioneverythingI thought I knew about him as a man.”

Mom shakes her head, face pale. “To think of all the times he was around Sophie, and this whole time he knew . . .”

“It’s unforgiveable.” Dad clenches his jaw, gaze lifted as he stares out the windows behind me. “Chance Lockhart is dead to me.”

Chapter 47

LANE

Ituck Sophie intobed after a bath and books. It’s been two days since I left the hospital. Two more days I haven’t heard from him.

Thanks to my father, I’ve gotten updates, but I still yearn to see him myself. I think about him every moment I’m awake and when I lay my head down to sleep. It’s probably half the reason I’m so exhausted. My brain is running a twenty-four-seven Teagan marathon.

The dozens of texts I sent since he got injured have remained unanswered, so I’m not holding out hope for a reconciliation anytime soon. In fact, I probably need to come to terms with the fact I won’t get one at all.