Page 58 of Anti-Hero (Kensingtons: The Next Generation #2)

“ Y ou’re sure you don’t want me to come?” Kit stretches the word sure so long that it sounds longer than the rest of the sentence combined.

“I’m sure,” I confirm. “I need to do this on my own. And if it goes poorly, I probably won’t spend the night. You won’t even notice I’m gone.”

He snorts at that. “Impossible.”

“It’s not that far. I’ll be fine.”

“Exactly. It’s not that far. Which is why Camden should drive you.”

“But then I can’t spend the night.”

He clicks his tongue, subtly calling me out on being difficult. “We could invite your parents here next weekend.”

“I don’t want to have this conversation with my dad here. My mom said he’ll be on campus most of the weekend as part of this lecture series. It’s the perfect opportunity to talk to him without her overhearing and wondering what’s going on.”

“Perfect opportunity, except you’re eight months pregnant,” Kit counters.

“Do you not still think I should ask him about it?”

He sighs. “No, I do.”

“Then let me do this. I promise if I wasn’t feeling up to it, I wouldn’t go. Pregnant women have driven themselves to the hospital in labor.”

“Well, let’s avoid that .”

I smile. “My point is, I can handle driving two hours three weeks before my due date.”

He studies me, then nods. “Okay. Call or text me when you get there. And after you talk to him.”

“I promise.” I rise up on my tiptoes to kiss him. “I love you.”

“I love you too. And, Collins?”

“Yeah?” I pause with the minivan door open.

I still think it’s entirely ridiculous that he bought one, but it feels a lot more manageable to drive than his other fancier cars.

“Be careful,” he tells me. “You have my whole world in that car.”

My nose starts to sting. I sniff, managing a smile. “I will be.”

I spend the drive to New Haven rehearsing what I’m going to say to my dad. I only have one question really .

Why?

I want to know why . Why has eaten away at me for three years. Why reduced my relationship with my dad to rare correspondence. Maybe that would have happened anyway as I grew older and my life naturally separated from my childhood.

But I resent how that separation wasn’t entirely natural. That I forced it because I was mad and disappointed and didn’t know how else to process seeing my dad kiss a stranger.

I have control over what I say during this conversation. But I’ve honestly never given much thought to what my dad’s answer to that question would be. And I’m trying to prepare for every possibility now. Was it a mistake? A full-blown affair?

Does my mom know?

Did he ever wonder if I knew?

I guess I have more than one question. But his answer to why will determine if I ask any others.

Today isn’t very warm, but there are signs of spring appearing all over Yale’s campus. Flowers blooming. Birds chirping. Grass growing.

I park in the closest spot to the science building I can find, letting out a happy sigh when I can finally unbuckle the seat belt that’s been chafing at my belly.

I should have done this sooner. But I’ve been putting it off and putting it off, waiting for one day when I magically felt ready to confront my father. And it wasn’t until I realized I was running out of time to do so before becoming a mom that I finally found the courage to come here.

I want this new chapter of my life to include my dad. I’m sick of holding this barrier between us, but I can’t remove it without acknowledging why it was there in the first place .

I text Kit, letting him know I made it safely. He replies immediately, even though he’s hanging out with Flynn today.

Walking across campus feels strange. I haven’t been back since my graduation, and I wasn’t expecting my next visit to be until Jane’s ceremony.

I’m breathing heavily by the time I reach the main doors leading into the science building. I remember coming here as a kid, pointing up at the molecules models hanging from the ceiling in the atrium. They don’t look so big now.

I opt for the elevator over the stairs, even though it’s only two floors.

The walls of the hallway are papered with research papers and presentations. I don’t have to read any of the nameplates to know which office to stop outside. My dad’s never moved, even when larger offices with “better” locations opened up.

I suck in two deep breaths before knocking.

“Come in.”

I’m hit with a heady mixture of relief and panic when I realize he’s here. Coming all this way to find an empty office wouldn’t have felt like a success. But realizing this conversation is actually about to take place is … scary.

My dad’s focused on the papers on his desk. When he glances up, he does a double take, then straightens his glasses. He stands suddenly, alarm stamped on his face. “Collins. Is everything—what are you doing here?”

“I came to talk to you,” I state, closing the door and walking—waddling—over to one of the chairs facing his desk.

“Oh, I—let me get that for you.” My dad hustles around his desk, clearing the stack of papers off the chair. “I wasn’t expecting guests. ”

“You need a better organizational system,” I huff, lowering myself slowly into the chair.

My dad frowns as he sits back down behind his desk. The leather squeaks in protest. “Are you—is Kit with you?”

“No. I wanted to come alone.”

“Did you come to visit Jane?”

“I’m here to see you, Dad.” I inhale another deep breath, deliberating how to broach the awkward topic.

“Did something happen? Is something wrong?”

I exhale. “Isaac cheated on me.”

My dad blinks rapidly. “What?”

“That’s why we broke up. It wasn’t mutual, like I told you and Mom. He cheated on me, so I left Chicago and moved to New York.”

“I’m sorry?—”

“I don’t want you to be sorry about Isaac, Dad. I want to know why you did the same thing to Mom.”

Understanding finally breaks across his face. He clears his throat, taking his glasses off and setting them on his cluttered desk.

My fingers curl, clenching into fists. There’s a sharp pain in my chest, my breaths becoming more labored as I realize maybe he’s not going to offer any explanation. That I’ll have to continue knowing this with no resolution, except my dad knowing I know.

“I saw you. Senior year, I saw you. I was going to the library, and I came by here to see you, and you were … kissing some woman in the lab across the hall.”

Even after a Connecticut winter and with Irish ancestry, my dad manages to grow paler. “Collins?—”

“ Why would you do that, Dad? How could you do that?”

He exhales. “It was a mistake. ”

I snort. “No shit.”

“It was a weak moment, Collins. I have failings and regrets, and I’ve made mistakes. I wish I didn’t. I wish I hadn’t .”

“Does Mom know?”

He exhales. “Yes. I told her … a few months after it … ended.”

I swallow hard, deliberating how many details I want to know. “Who was she?”

“A visiting professor. She was only here for a semester. We had a connection, and there were a few times it crossed a line. I told your mother, and we moved past it.”

“You sleep in separate bedrooms.”

“Collins, I love your mother very much. That doesn’t mean that there aren’t rough patches.

Times when I’ve hurt her. Times when she’s hurt me.

Marriage isn’t— relationships aren’t only about who you want to spend the happy moments with.

Birthdays and holidays and vacations are usually easy.

You can get through those with just about anyone.

It’s about who you want next to you in the hard times.

At funerals and in hospitals. Who you’re willing to stick it out with when things get messy and painful and confusing. ”

I chew on my lower lip. “I didn’t think Mom knew. I’ve been carrying this around, scared if I said anything, it would ruin everything.”

“Honey.” He rubs at his eyes. It takes me a few seconds to realize that my father is crying.

“I’m so sorry, Collins. I had no idea that you knew.

If there’s anyone you hope will think you’re infallible, that you don’t make mistakes, it’s your children.

I never wanted you or Jane to know anything about this. ”

I release a shaky breath. “Did you think Isaac would cheat? Is that why you didn’t like him? ”

“No. If I’d thought that, I would have been more vocal in my objections. I found Isaac … condescending, among other things.”

“But you like Kit.”

“Yes.” Dad smiles. “I like Kit a lot.”

“Because …”

“Because I have a feeling he’s the reason you’re here.”

“He encouraged me to talk to you,” I admit. “But I’m really here because I … because I miss you. You didn’t just hurt Mom. You hurt me. You’d hurt Jane if she knew about it. And I never understood how you could do that. Especially now .” I rest a hand on my bump.

“It was a mistake,” he tells me again. “I know that’s an awful explanation, and I’m not trying to make excuses.

I’ve tried my best to make amends, and if I’d known you—I wish you’d told me sooner.

But I’m glad you did now. And I hope—” His voice catches.

“I hope, one day, you’ll find a way to forgive me. ”

I stare down at my lap. Or what used to be my lap. All I can really see these days is my stomach. “Are you … busy right now?”

“No,” he answers quickly.

“I need to use the restroom. But after, maybe we could go get lunch?”

He nods. “I’d love that, Collins.”

“Okay.” I hoist myself up, wincing when my abdomen cramps. Still protesting the drive here, I guess. Standing helps some. “I’ll be right back.”

I leave my bag in my dad’s office, heading down the hall to where I remember the restroom being. All three stalls are empty. I pee quickly. When I walk back toward the sink, another cramp hits.

I cross the last couple of feet, gripping the sink counter and forcing myself to take deep breaths as I stare down at linoleum. The tightening ends, and I relax. I wash my hands, reaching for a paper towel at the same moment my abdomen contracts again.

I bite down on the inside of my cheek until I taste the copper tang of blood in my mouth.

Fuck, this hurts . Panic claws at the inside of my chest when I have to grip the counter again.

These must be Braxton-Hicks, right? May 18 isn’t for three more weeks.

The pain increases instead of decreasing.

There’s no clock in here, and I’m too stressed to remember what the different intervals mean.

I’m two hours from home. From my doctor. From Kit.

I’m two hours from Kit.

My chest feels too tight, like it’s shrinking while my lungs are expanding. If I’m not in labor, I’m certainly having a panic attack.

The door swings open, and a girl texting walks into the restroom. She looks young, probably a freshman or a sophomore, and blanches when she sees me panting next to the sink.

“Professor Tate,” I gasp. “Can you get Professor Gerald Tate? His office is just …” A groan interrupts me. “Down the hall.”

The girl nods and flees.

Another contraction hits, and I double over.

I shouldn’t be this in labor, this fast, right?

It takes some women hours—days—to give birth.

I really don’t want to be one of those human-interest pieces—woman gives birth in an elevator or a restaurant or a parking lot.

I want a normal birth that makes a boring story.

In a hospital bed, surrounded by sterile equipment and trained medical professionals. And Kit. I really, really want Kit.

The bathroom door opens again.

“Collins?” My dad appears.

There’s no sign of the girl. I don’t blame her for fleeing. I wish I could flee.

“I think I’m in labor,” I blurt.

I wait for my dad to tell me that’s not the case. That it’s too early and too soon and nothing’s happening today.

He doesn’t.

He says, “I’ll drive you to the hospital,” instead.