Page 51 of Fragile (Cedar Lakes University #2)
part one…
Miles
I stare at my reflection in the mirror, running a hand through my hair for what feels like the hundredth time. My new apartment is quiet, save for the hum of the AC kicking in, but my heart’s racing, like I’m about to suit up for a game, but this isn’t about football anymore. This is something else entirely—something bigger.
I haven’t seen Dad in over a year. It’s been long enough that I’ve almost forgotten what his voice sounds like when he’s not yelling. Almost. The memory of our last conversation still sits heavy in my chest, like a stone I’ve been carrying around, pretending it wasn’t there. He walked out of my life the same way he’d always tried to control it—without warning and on his terms.
But that hasn’t stopped me from living. It hasn’t stopped me from trying to move on because my life is pretty damn good.
“Here you go.” Quinn breezes around the corner from the kitchen with a fresh cup of coffee in her hands for me. Her shrewd gaze takes in my outfit of an Oregon Beavers hoodie, repping my job as Team Physio Assistant that I’m starting in a couple of weeks, and she smiles. “You’re sure you don’t want me to come with you?”
Extending my hand, she takes it without hesitation, and I pull her toward me, wrapping my arms around her legs, resting my chin on her stomach. “I love you for offering, but this is something I want to do by myself.”
Her hands run through my hair gently. “I’ll be here when you get back.”
I nod, gesturing for her to lean in and kiss me, and she does, making all my nerves disappear for those few sweet seconds.
“I love you,” she says, and I’ll never get tired of her telling me.
“I love you too, Queenie.”
With one more kiss and the deepest breath I can muster, I’m out the door and on my way to the coffee shop in town. As soon as I’ve parked, I stroll across the street and breathe in the smell of freshly brewed coffee coming from the building. Pushing the door open, I head straight to the counter and order a black coffee.
A few minutes pass as I watch the steam rise from my coffee cup in front of me, unable to take a sip yet. Every time the door swings open, I glance up, half-hoping, half-dreading that it’s him.
The door opens again, and this time, it’s him. Dad stands there for a moment, scanning the room until his eyes lock onto mine. There’s a pause, like we’re both trying to figure out how to do this—how to meet after everything that’s happened. I can see the tension in his shoulders, the lines on his face that weren’t there before. He’s also not in his usual Mark Cooper suit. Instead, he’s in jeans and a plain white t-shirt. I don’t know the last time I saw him out of his formal wear.
When he sits down across from me, the silence between us feels thick, almost visible.
“You look good, Miles,” he says finally, his voice low, cautious.
“Thanks,” I reply, trying to sound casual, but my throat feels tight. “You too.”
I pick up my cup, swirling the cold coffee around unsure of who should talk first.
He looks down at his hands, his expression hard to read. He seems nervous, and I don’t think I’ve ever seen him like this. When he looks up, there’s something I definitely haven’t seen before in his eyes. Regret, maybe. Or guilt.
“I’m sorry, Miles,” he says, and there’s a raw honesty in his voice that catches me off guard. “I need to say this and be honest. I didn’t realize what I was putting you through. I didn’t see how much it was hurting you.”
His words hang in the air between us, and I feel a knot in my chest start to unravel. I’ve waited years to hear him say something like this, to acknowledge that the pressure wasn’t just in my head. It wasn’t me being weak—it was him being too blind to see what he was doing to me.
“I pushed too hard,” he admits abruptly. “I thought I was helping, but I see now that I wasn’t listening. I wasn’t paying attention to what you really needed.”
Not trusting myself to speak just yet, I simply nod.
“I know I have a long way to go and things between us aren’t going to be perfect, but I’m trying to improve. I’ve taken sabbatical at work, and I’m seeing a therapist. I’m trying.”
He’s trying , I remind myself. And I can see that. He set this up; he wants to make amends, so the least I’ll do is hear him out today.
I finally swallow as I hold his gaze. “Growth is uncomfortable, Dad. I know. I’ve spent the last year facing situations that are hard, growing and becoming a man who mom would be proud of. I’ve made a life that I’m proud of with someone who loves me exactly as I am.”
“Your mother would be proud of you, without a doubt.” He pauses to look at me, but his eyes are filled with emotion. “You’re just like her, you know, resilient and caring…” he trails off, and I know he’s thinking that he misses her because I do too. “I’m not looking for forgiveness yet. I know that’s earned, but my behavior has been unacceptable, and I see that now. I just want you to know that I wish I’d handled everything differently.”
I think about what my therapist said to me in my last session with her, and I take a deep breath. “I do forgive you, because I need to, because I held on to so much anger and fear for too long, and I need to forgive you so I can move on.” His eyes drop down to the floor in disappointment before I add, “Before we move on.”
The look he meets my eyes with is full of hope and something I haven’t seen in him for a really long time—acceptance. “I never thought I’d hear those words,” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion. “I didn’t know if I deserved to. But...thank you, Miles. It means more than you know.”
I nod, feeling the weight of what’s happening between us. It’s not just about forgiveness—it’s about rebuilding, about finding a way to coexist without all the old wounds tearing us apart again. My therapist told me that forgiveness isn’t about erasing the past; it’s about freeing myself from the grip it has on me. And I’m finally beginning to understand that.
“I’m not saying it’s going to be easy.” I continue steadily, even as my heart races. “We’ve got a lot of stuff to work through. But I’m willing to try too.”
He nods, swallowing hard, as if he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. “I want that too, Miles. More than anything. I want to be there for you, the way I should have been all along. I know I can’t change what happened, but I want to make things right. I want to be better.”
There’s a sincerity in his voice that makes me believe him. It’s not just empty words or another attempt to control the situation. It feels real, like he’s finally seeing me—not just as his son, but as a person who has struggled, who has fought to find his own way.
“I think we both have to be better,” I say, offering a small, tentative smile. “I wasn’t perfect. I should’ve asked for help instead of finding other ways to cope. I have a lot of regrets over that. But I don’t regret my life now. I’m happy and I’m loved.”
He listens, absorbing my words. “I’m glad to hear that.”
I take a breath, feeling the weight of what I’m about to share. “I’ve got a job, too,” I say, and I can’t stop the excitement from creeping into my voice. “I’m training to be an assistant physiotherapist with the Beavers.”
Something flickers in his eyes—pride, I realize. It’s subtle, but it’s there, and it makes my heart swell a little. “Here in Oregon?” he asks, looking down at my hoodie.
“Yeah.” I smile, feeling a warmth spread through me. “Quinn’s doing her master’s at CLU, so I wanted to stick close by. We’ve been through a lot together, and being near her just feels right.”
“Quinn Dawson?” he asks, raising an eyebrow. “Are you two—?”
“She’s my everything,” I cut him off gently, but with a certainty that leaves no room for doubt.
For a moment, Dad just looks at me, his expression softening in a way I haven’t seen in years. There’s no judgment, no critique, just genuine emotion. “I’m glad you have someone like that, Miles. Your mother always said you two were like magnets.”
“Thanks, Dad,” I say, my voice a little rough. “That means a lot.”
He nods, looking down at his hands for a moment before meeting my eyes again. “I’m proud of you, son. Not just for the job or finding Quinn, but for finding your way through all of this. For standing up for yourself, for learning to be happy on your own terms. I know I didn’t make that easy.”
The words hit me harder than I expected, and I realize how long I’ve waited to hear something like that from him. It’s like a balm on an old wound, soothing some of the pain that’s lingered for so long. For the first time in a long while, it feels like we’re on the same team—not the one he tried to force me onto, but one we’re building together. I feel something shift inside me. It’s not just the release of the anger and fear I’ve been carrying—it’s the start of something new, something better.