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“What are you trying to accomplish, Tiller?” my father asks, wrapping his arm around my mother as if he’s trying to protect her.
“I’m not trying to accomplish anything,” he says, his posture relaxing when I reach out and touch his arm, hooking mine with his. I don’t know why I do it, but maybe because I want my family to know I stand by him. “You’re the one with a fuckin’ problem.”
“It’s absolutely preposterous for you to insinuate Ava would lower herself and sleep withyou,” my mother whispers, “when she had someone as wonderful as Cullen.”
Tiller laughs, shaking his and burying his hands in the pockets of his slacks. My hand is trapped between his arm and his side, and it’s then I notice how heavily he’s breathing and the rapid beating of his pulse. “I don’t need to explain it to you.”
“It’s true,” I finally tell them, my voice weak and wavering. “Ava told me in the will. Tiller is her father.”
It takes my mother a second to comprehend, and my father even longer as he glares at Tiller. “Why would Ava keep something like that a secret for all these years?” my mother asks, blinking steadily like she’s trying to understand the situation. I can imagine their confusion. I had the same reaction when I read the letter.
“Ava didn’t tell us because she knew what a mistake she had made,” my father grumbles, taking my mother’s hand harshly. “She knew you could never be more than a selfish bastard and you would never be good enough to raise a child.”
I want to slap him across the face myself. What a jerk.
Tiller nods. “That may be true, Doug, but I could say the same aboutyou, couldn’t I?”
“Leave,” my father orders.
“She can’t,” Alexandra adds when she approaches, teary-eyed. “We still have toasts to do.”
Of course she wants to keep up with the traditions, despite everything turning to shit.
“I’m not talking about Amberly.” My father points at Tiller. “You need to leave.”
“Gladly,” Tiller grunts out, pulling away from me.
I don’t let go of him and stand my ground. “If he goes, River and I go with him.”
Terrance approaches. “This isn’t the place to be having this discussion, and I think we should continue with the celebration for the night. This family has endured enough pain recently,” he adds, gently placing his hand on Alexandra’s back and nodding to the dance floor. “I’d like to dance with my wife.”
Terrance is absolutely right. This isn’t the place. I look around for River and spot her in the corner, crying on a chair with her hair pulled out of the clips Alexandra made her wear. She’s not crying because of us. She’s crying because that little jerk of a ring bearer is trying to get her to dance, and I hate to tell the little dude, but River’s never going to be his friend. She barely likes me somedays.
Sighing, I attempt to collect my thoughts. The heat of Tiller’s body warms my hand, and I realize I haven’t let go of him, and we’re now the only two standing near the table. In his other hand is the vodka he brought down from the room. He nods to his other pocket. “I drank yours already,” he grunts, his brow pulled together.
Nodding, I let go. “I need to go check on River.”
He clears his throat and tosses the empty vodka bottle in the trash can. “I will. Go do your toasts.”
I watch him walk away, the stiffness to his walk and the way he scoops up River. Without hesitation, he tickles her belly like he hadn’t been just arguing with my dad and I’m not sure what to make of it.
Vander catches me then, giving a dismissive nod to Tiller, like he doesn’t matter. “What’s that guy’s problem?”
“His problem?” I snort, ready to punch him in the face. “These people are his problem.”
He raises an eyebrow. “These people?”
“You. My father. . .” I pause, and he just doesn’t get it. “Oh, never mind. Let’s go get this crap over with so I can leave.”
And that’s exactly what I plan on doing when this is over. Leaving.
While my sister and her new husband dance to Ed Sheeran, I sit across the room at the wedding party table.
Do you notice him? It’s hard not to because out of everyone here, he’s the one who draws my attention. His jaw is tense, his eyes locked on mine, and I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking because while this song my sister and her husband are dancing to holds no resemblance to the two locked in an embrace, it speaks volumes to the two who can’t look away from one another.
My eyes flood with tears, his body tenses, his grip on his drink tightening.
Reaching up, he loosens his tie, and it’s then I notice how intense his breathing has become.