Page 41 of Collide

“Old? What, do you and he have adjoining beds booked at the Golden Oaks retirement home?” I scoff. “Father, it’s fine. I’m an adult, he’s an adult, and let’s not forget that you and Mom had a significant age gap, too. So why should it matter?”

For the first time, his expression cracks slightly. A flicker of something crosses his face, something I can’t quite name.

A long pause stretches between us. Then, finally, he sighs. “I came to check on you. Make sure you’re recovering. That you’re beingcareful.”

My posture softens. “I’m fine, I promise.”

His eyes search mine for any sign of doubt before he nods. “And you’re settling in, okay? Not too homesick? Not making plans to run back home?”

I smile faintly. “I’m good. No running away. At least not yet.”

He studies me for another beat before finally giving a small nod. “Good.”

Then, after a brief hesitation, he adds, “And the album? It’s coming along well?”

That catches me off guard. My father, asking about my music? I squint, unsure I heard right. “It’s coming along.”

“Good, good,” he adds. “So, before Philippa’s wedding, I hope you would consider talking to Carole.”

The mention of her name makes me stiffen. The woman who destroyed my life. The mistress turned wife.

“Why?”

He sighs, unsure of how to approach this situation without it blowing up into a fight.

A flicker of realization hits me—his sudden interest in my music was nothing more than a thinly veiled attempt to butter me up for this request. A familiar disappointment claws up my spine. Was this the only way we could have a conversation?

Through strategic maneuvering and carefully placed pleasantries.

I realize he probably wants things to go smoothly for Philippa’s wedding, and it’s a hope we both share, given our tempers. It makes sense why he wants to ‘manage’ this situation—to mitigate the risk, so to speak.

“We’re family, Elena. Like it or not, she’s my wife. You’ve embraced Jack as your dad…” He hesitates on the last part, like referring to Jack as my dad causes him physical pain.

“She’s not my mom,” I snap, anger bubbling to the surface.

“No, she’s not. And no one can ever replace Vida. She was a formidable force,” he adds softly.

I cross my arms, shielding myself. I hate when he talks about her—he doesn’t deserve to even speak her name.

“Please, if not for me, then for Philippa?” he pleads.

Philippa.

I don’t want to put any more strain on her. She’s been nothing but kind and accommodating since I came back. If this is one way I can repay her kindness, then so be it.

“Fine.” I sigh, defeated.

His eyes glisten, and I let out a breath I didn’t realize I’d been holding. For the first time in my life, we managed to talk without it turning into a battlefield. No raised voices. No slammed doors.

Maybe it’s a step forward.

Maybe it’s just a ceasefire in a war that never really ends.

Either way, I’ll take it.

When I woke up this morning, I didn’t expect to end the day with two guests under this roof, both unexpected, both pulling at different parts of me.

I close my eyes for a moment, letting it all sink in—the risk, the hope, the wild, aching possibility that maybe, everything is starting to change.