I know it would be nearly impossible for you to forgive me, but if you could find it in yourself to offer me a few words every now and then, I would enjoy that. Your boyfriend is very different from anyone I thought you would end up with, but he seems to love you and to be very protective, and even though it’s not my right as your father, I couldn’t ask for more. Your mother would have been thrilled that you found someone who obviously loves you so deeply. I love you, Sophie. I know I didn’t show it when I should have, but there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t think about you and the woman you have become. I wish I could have been a better father to you. I just didn’t know how to do that after your mom died. I’m so sorry.
I hope this letter finds you happy.
Love,
Dad
I pull a sobbing Sophie into my chest, rocking her back and forth like a child, trying to offer her some comfort. After reading that letter, I hope she will be able to find some closure.
“I got you, babe,” I shush her, rubbing her back.
When the sobs racking her body start to die down, I pull her face out of my chest, taking a second to look at her. Even with her face splotchy with tears, she’s beautiful.
“I know that was difficult, but how are you feeling?”
“Torn,” she says quietly, grabbing my wrist. “I feel like I want to talk to him. He’s the only connection I have to my mom. I feel sad that it took him so long to realize what he had, and the other part of me hates him for not being there for me when I needed him. That’s the part I don’t like. I don’t want to hate him. My mom loved him. They were so in love that, even as young as I was, I could see their love was the kind that would never die. When I was young, my dad would come home from work and walk into the house, and the first thing he would do was go to my mom and kiss her, even if I was waiting by the door for him. Then he would come and pick me up.” I don’t tell her that that’s fucked up. Our kids will be just as important as her. “When my mom died, I felt like my connection with him died too.” Yep, totally fucked up. “I think I need time to think about this.”
“You have all the time you need.”
“Thank you for being here with me.” She does a face-plant back into my chest, making me smile.
“Nowhere else I would want to be.”
“Do you remember when I told you I used to want a tattoo?” she asks quietly.
“Yes.” I run my hand down her back, holding her tighter against me.
“My dad had my mom’s name tattooed along his ribs. I wanted that, only with my husband’s name, but then I lost my mom. And not long after that, I lost my dad, and I stopped believing love could last. Now I know it can. After I have this baby, I want a tattoo like that of your name along my ribs. I belong to you—will always belong to you. You brought me back to life.” She lifts her head to look at me. Her finger runs along my jaw then up to trace my bottom lip.
I can’t talk with the emotions choking me, so I pull her in for a deep kiss, gently pressing one hand to her stomach. After I find my voice again, I tell her, “If you want that, baby, I’ll take you.”
“Thank you,” she whispers
“There is nothing in this world I wouldn’t do for you, sweet Sophie.” I pull her closer to me and smile into her hair, thinking about my name being tattooed onto her perfect skin.
“You sure he’s here?” I ask Kenton, looking at the run-down house across the street from us.
“Yeah. When Ian called, he told me that Justin found a hit on his credit card. The stupid fuck ordered shit from Amazon and had it deliver here.”
“How the fuck did he run drugs without being caught for so long?” I shake my head. I swear I don’t know how most criminals are able to get away with the shit they do. Half of them are dumb as fuck.
“I don’t think he was the one in charge,” Kenton says, shaking his head.
“So what do the cops say about him?”
“They think his partners are turning on him. They want to offer him a deal, but they haven’t been able to track him. You know they always have too much red tape when it comes to this shit. Their hands are tied, so they want us convince him that he needs to come in.”
“So what’s the plan?” I look across the street again, seeing that the only light on is the one in the basement.
“We go in and do just that—use the power of persuasion to convince him to do the right thing.”
“And if he doesn’t agree?” I ask with a smile, knowing what the answer will be.
“By the time we leave him, he will be running to the cops.”