All Over You (Unforgettable You, Book 1.5) (18 page)

“
Will you do it?” I ask.

“
Of course. I’ll make the arrangements.”

“
I don’t want you to be there.” I need to be clear about that. That me wanting to meet my siblings doesn’t mean I want a relationship with
him.

“
I know. I know,” he says softly, his tone resigned.

My heart squeezes with sympathy for him he doesn’t deserve.

I swallow hard before I speak again and will my voice not to crack or my courage to abandon me because what I’m about to say has been burning a hole in my gut for too many years.

“
Sixteen years. It took you sixteen years to call me. It took you sixteen years to decide you wanted a relationship with me. I didn’t have a say in that, I just had to accept it for what it was. When I wanted you, when I would have been thrilled to have a father, you didn’t want me.”

“
Rebec—”

“
No! Just let me have my say, okay?” I close my ears to the anguish in his voice. He’s going to hear me out. Determined, I go on. “You didn’t want me,” I say, my voice whisper-soft now. “And I learned to accept that. I’ve always said you can’t miss what you never had, but that was a lie. Even though I never had a father, for the longest time I wanted one. At one point I think any functioning, caring adult male would have done. But you know what, I’m over that now. I’m okay with it just being me and Mom.” I really am. “I’m not your daughter, not in a way that’s ever going to matter. So I wish you’d just stop trying. I wish you’d just leave things alone.”

The ensuing silence lasts so long I’m in the process of ending the call when John breaks it by clearing his throat and it sounds as uncomfortable as the silence itself.

“
Bec-Rebecca, I didn’t do right by you or your mom, I can’t deny that and I have no excuse for it. None. So I’m not going to insult your intelligence by trying to make excuses for how poorly I behaved and the kind of man I was. Believe me, I understand why you don’t want to have anything to do with me. I wouldn’t want a relationship with me either.”

I’m having such a hard time digesting what he just said, I can’t even move, my cell glued to my ear, my sweaty palm clutching it tight. These are the words I’d secretly waited years to hear, certain they would bring me…closure? Vindication? I’m not sure. Instead all it does it make my heart ache.

“
I know nothing I can ever do will make up for the last nineteen years. Nothing can. And I would do anything you ask me to do except that. I can’t stop trying. I can’t. You may never forgive me or it may take you twenty years to give me another chance but I won’t stop trying. You deserve that and more.”

The boulder lodged in my throat makes it impossible for me to swallow. I try to blink away the tears smarting my eyes. “Jo— Da—” Damn. I don’t even know what to call him anymore. It’s a weird feeling when some of the anger fades. What’s left? I’m not even sure and it leaves me questioning everything I think about him and everything I know about myself. I shake my head wearily. I’m so confused.

“
I’ve changed. I’m not the same person who walked away from you nineteen years ago. All I’m asking is that you don’t close the door just yet. I’ll be here if you ever decide you want to see me or whatever. But I’m never going to stop trying, sweetheart. You’re my daughter and I love you. Will always love you.”

I try to harden my heart against him but it’s no use as I feel it getting mushier by the moment. As shaky as I’m feeling and as much as my emotions are seesawing all over the place, I try to pull it together, compose myself before I say another word.

“
Listen, I have to go.” I’m proud that my voice cracks only a little. “I’ll be in touch a week or so before I fly home.”

A sigh follows several beats of silence. “Right. I’ll let Renee and the kids know. Thank you. You take care, sweetheart.”

I end the call because I’m afraid if I speak he’ll hear the raw emotion in my voice and know how close I am to caving. And I can’t cave.

Thirteen years of my life I would have given anything to have him contact me. I would have performed cartwheels if he’d called and asked to see me. But he hadn’t. I’d had no father to take to my sixth grade father/daughter dance. No father to tuck me in and kiss me goodnight. No father to intimidate Matt when he took me out on my first date.

For a second it’s like my legs can’t support me anymore. I slide slowly down the wall until my butt hits the floor, my hand not easing the death grip it has on my phone. Why had he waited so long to want me? Now, when I have nothing left to give?

I’m not sure how long I sit on the floor fighting to hold it together. Right now I’m experiencing so many conflicting emotions. Emotions I don’t want to feel. I really thought I was over this.

God, I need Scott. I need to talk to him. Need him to hold me and kiss me.

Scrambling to my feet, I grab my purse and keys from the counter, my jacket from the tiny hall closet before heading out to my car. Fifteen minutes later, I’m standing in front of Scott’s apartment, knocking on his door, trembling.

“
I’ll get it.”

I barely have time to register the sound of a female voice before the door is yanked open.

“
Chelsea, don’t—”

My eyes go wide at the sight of a pretty blonde-haired girl. I instantly recognize Scott’s younger sister. She’s certainly matured since the last pictures I’d seen of her when she was ten. Which would make her twelve now.

“
Hi!”

It takes less than a second for my surprise to wear off and then I find myself smiling in return. Well isn’t she friendly. Scott had said she was the most outgoing of the kids.

“
Chelsea Marie Carver, you
do not
open your brother’s door.” With that stern reprimand, an attractive—equally blonde—woman hurries toward the door, coming to a stop behind her. After giving Chelsea a chiding look, she turns her attention to me, her gaze both quizzical and expectant.

It’s clear I’m looking at mother and daughter; the resemblance between them is that striking. The blonde hair, the dark-green eyes and the shape of their mouth. Now I know where my boyfriend gets his looks.

Over his mother’s shoulder, Scott steps into view. But the expression on his face forcibly wrestled my smile into submission. To say he doesn’t look happy to see me would be putting it nicely. The guilt and dismay is so palpable, it’s as if it reached out and slapped me in the face.

I know when I’m not wanted. And it won’t take me thirteen years to figure it out either.

It’s obvious Scott doesn’t want me here. I feel my body go cold at the knowledge and with it an icy shiver ripples through me. “I’m sorry, I didn’t realize you had company.” I’m mumbling, my eyes downcast as the heat of embarrassment floods my face. I hurriedly turn to leave.

“
Becca!”

Ignoring the desperate note in his voice, I quicken my pace, hoping to catch the elevator as it’s leaving. There’s no way I’ll beat him if I take the stairs.

“
Scott, what’s going on?” asks his mother.

I hear the pounding of feet behind me seconds before I’m jolted to a stop by his hand gripping my forearm.

“
Becca, wait.”

Oh God, please don’t let me cry
. But I know I will if I look at him.

Shaking my head, I mutter, “I’ll talk to you later.” I don’t really mean it but at this point I’ll do anything to get him to let me go.

“
I know what you’re thinking and
you are wrong.
” His tone is fierce and the vise-like grip he has on my arm says he’s not letting me go.

I blink rapidly before turning my head and gazing up at him. His jaw is rigid as his eyes bore holes into me. I take a deep breath.

“
Trust me.”

The stark urgency of his plea constricts my breathing. Then he slowly pulls me closer until we’re touching, chest to chest. The feel of him warm and hard against me causes my breath to hitch in my throat.

Bringing his mouth down to my ear, with his warm breath misting the shell of it, he whispers, “Come back and let me introduce you to my family. I promise, I’ll explain everything when they’re gone.”

I waffle in indecision for a few seconds, but the worry furrowing his brow and his eyes begging me to trust him makes it impossible for me to say no.

I love him. It’s that simple.

So I relent with a jerky nod and allow him to lead me back to his apartment.

Once inside, I see his mother and sister have moved to the couch in the living room. His brother—who I also recognize from pictures Scott has of him on his phone—is there too. His attention is fixed on the TV as his fingers frantically work the controller of Scott’s Xbox. He barely glances at us when we enter. Very unlike his mother and sister, whose eyes are glued on me. His mother comes smoothly to her feet.

“
Mom, this is my girlfriend Rebecca. Rebecca, this is my mom.”

Smiling, Mrs. Carver extends her hand. “Nice to meet you, Rebecca. Scott was just talking about you.”

Nothing like shaking your boyfriend’s mother’s hand when yours is at its clammy best and hers is dry, the handshake firm. Unfortunately it can’t be avoided. Luckily for me, she doesn’t appear the least bit bothered by the fact.

“
Nice t-to meet you too.” I can’t help the nervous break in my voice because his mother is kind of intimidating. And not in a mean way because the warmth in her smile appears genuine. It’s more in the way she’s dressed, the way she carries herself. So professional. When I look at her hair, her manicured nails, her makeup and her dress that reeks of a designer’s stamp, I get an image of a corporate big-wig. Not at all how I’d imagined her and so different from my mom, who does her own nails, touches up her own roots and whose most expensive indulgence is a Coach handbag she bought herself for Christmas two years ago.

“
Hi, I’m Chelsea,” his sister chirps from beside her mother. I feel my face soften and my nerves ease. Open and friendly. Pretty as can be. I warm to her immediately.

“
Yeah, that’s brat number one and over there is brat number two,” Scott nods toward his sister then his brother from whom I get a cursory look and a monosyllable, “Hey.”

“
Jeremy, manners.”

At his mother’s reprimand, he mumbles, “Sorry. Hi,” giving me something that looks like half a salute and half wave with the hand not holding the controller. Introduction over, he immediately directs his attention back to the game.

Boys.

Mrs. Carver and I share a look. The only thing missing is us rolling our eyes. Okay, maybe I did a little but I’m happy that we’re sharing something, apart from the love of her son. And maybe she isn’t as intimidating as I first thought.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

S
COTT

“I like your family,” Becca says when we wander back to the living room. I sit down on the couch and she curls up beside me, tucking her feet under her.

I heave a sigh of relief. Things had been touch-and-go two hours ago. What can I say? I was in shock and I’m an ass. Now, it’s time to come clean.

“They like you too.”

“How can you tell?” she asks, tipping her head back to look at me.

“Believe me, I can tell. My sister thinks you’re pretty and nice. My brother thinks you’re hot.”

She huffs a laugh. “Could’ve fooled me. I think you’re confusing me with—what’s the name of the game—
Call of Duty
?”

“Take my word for it he does.” I know my brother. Plus he told me when we went to my room to grab another game for him to play.

“As for my mom, she’s never held a conversation with any of my friends.” And never with any girl I’ve ever brought home. But then, it might have to do with the kind of girls I’ve brought home. I stifle a wince. The conversation ahead is not going to be pretty. The truth never is.

“So are you going to tell me now that they’re gone,” she asks, pulling back a bit, her gaze probing. “Why did you act like that when I showed up?”

“Do you remember last summer when I told you I had to go home? That I had to do something with my parents’ business?”

She gives a wary nod.

“Well technically that was the truth, only my mom is the Senator of California. I had to join the rest of the family on the campaign trail for a week. She was the incumbent and running to keep her seat.”

Becca’s spine straightens as she pushes off my chest until she’s no longer pressed against my side. Her eyes widen as if she’s been dealt a roundhouse blow to the gut.

“What?” she croaks. And then in a flurry of movement, scrambles to her feet.

I have no other choice but to follow her lead, rising to my feet as well.