Page 54 of Held-
A familiar ache blooms in my chest at the mention of Mom. She’s been gone for twelve years, yet Dad still wields her memory whenever he needs leverage.
“Mom would want me to be happy, Dad.”
“Happy with a respectable man, Cecelia.”
“I tried that, and look where it got me.” I gesture to the room around us. “Things are different with Brayden.”
Dad doesn’t flinch. “Ethan made mistakes, but at least he came from a good family. At least he?—”
“Cheated on me? Humiliated me?” My voice rises despite my attempt to stay steady. “Is that what you want for me? Another so-called respectable man who treats me like garbage once the doors are shut?”
“Marriage requires work and forgiveness.”
“Not that kind of forgiveness,” I say, the words sharp on my tongue. “And certainly not the kind of work where I pretend to be someone I'm not just to make him look good.”
“And I suppose this...biker...lets you be yourself?”
The question catches me off guard. Does Brayden let me be myself? No. He demands it. Expects it.
“Yes,” I say simply. “He does.”
Dad sighs, rubbing his temples as though I’m the source of his migraine. “He’s been trouble since he was sixteen. His father was a drunk, and his mother wasn’t much better. The company he keeps?—”
“I know who he is,” I cut in again. “And I’m not asking for your permission or your blessing. I’m asking you to respect my choices.”
Dad stares at me as if I’ve grown a second head. The Cecelia he raised never interrupted him, never pushed back. For a moment, something flickers in his eyes—not only disappointment, but confusion. Maybe even a trace of respect.
“I understand you're going through a phase,” he says finally, his tone softening into the one he uses for wayward parishioners. “After what happened with Ethan, it's natural to rebel, to seek out someone completely different.”
“This isn't rebellion, and it's not a phase. I’m not a little girl anymore, Dad. I’m a woman. A woman who is figuring out who I am when I'm not trying to please everyone else.”
“By running straight into the arms of a man with a criminal record?” Dad's eyebrows rise. “Don't look surprised, Cecelia.Everyone in San Salona knows about the Heaven's Rejects. They're not exactly subtle with their...activities.”
I bite the inside of my cheek. Dad would have done his research. He probably had the church secretary pull up every scrap of gossip about Brayden the moment I called this morning.
“I'm not blind to who he is,” I tell him. “But I'm not going to sit here and let you judge him based on rumors and ancient history.”
Dad leans forward, elbows on his knees, hands clasped like he's about to deliver a particularly solemn sermon. “Two years ago, he was arrested for assault. Put a man in the hospital.” His voice is calm but deliberate, each word a stone placed carefully in my path. “Did you know that?”
I swallow hard. Brayden hasn't told me everything about his past, but I'm not surprised by this revelation. “I know he has a history.”
“A history of violence,” Dad corrects. “The kind of man who solves problems with his fists isn't the kind who can build a stable future, Cecelia.”
Something flares in me—defensiveness, loyalty, anger. “You don't know what happened. You don't know him.”
“And you do? After what—a few days?” Dad's expression softens with pity, which somehow hurts more than his disappointment. “You’ve only just started to rebuild your life after Ethan. I don't want to see you tear it down again for someone who can't possibly give you what you deserve.”
I laugh, the sound bitter even to my own ears. “What I deserve? What exactly do you think I deserve, Dad? Another man who looks good on paper? Someone who makes you proud when you introduce me at church functions? A man who tears me down until there’s nothing left?”
“Someone who won't drag you into a world of violence and lawlessness,” he counters. “Someone with a future.”
“Brayden has a future,” I insist, though the truth hits me even as I say it—I don’t actually know what that future looks like. We haven’t talked about tomorrow, let alone next month or next year.
Dad must catch the uncertainty, because he goes straight for it. “What does he do for a living, Cecelia? Beyond whatever work those bikers do that keeps them in leather and on motorcycles?”
I open my mouth to answer and come up empty. We haven’t discussed ordinary things—jobs, money, day-to-day responsibilities. I know he’s with the Heaven’s Rejects, but what that means in practical terms is still a mystery.
“That’s what I thought,” Dad says. “You’re rushing into this because it feels exciting and different. Because he’s the opposite of Ethan.” He exhales, suddenly looking older than his sixty-two years. “You don’t belong in his world, sweetheart. You’re too good for that life.”