**_Chapter 11

Maisie

_**I’m woken up the next morning by the warmth of the sun on my face. It’s such a good feeling, like a hug. _Kind of like Davian._

I shake my head as that thought runs through my mind. I almost smiled, I almost let myself be happy.

I sigh as I sit up leaning against my pillows, as I let my head fall back. Today’s the day. The day that hole in the ground will be filled. The day that Mom will really leave me, the day her name will be on a stone, with her birthday, with the date of the crash.

A gentle knock on the door makes me jump as a single tear slides down my cheek. “Maisie?”

It’s him. That voice, a stranger. The door creaks open and his face peaks in my room, a small smile on his lips. He’s trying.

“Are you ready to go?” He asks softly even though I’m sure he can see that I’m no where near ready.

I shake my head once. “No.”

“That’s alright,” he swallows. “Take your time.”

The door closes before I can say anything else, not that I was going to anyways. I climb out of bed, my eyes falling to the black dress that hangs from my door. It’s not new, I got it a while ago. Mom helped me pick it, I was going to go to a school dance. Homecoming, the first dance of the year. But after listening to all the girls around me talk about dates and everything else that I didn’t have, I didn’t really see the fun in going any more.

I was mad that Mom spent money on the dress, I tried to pay her back but she said it was fine. I’ve never worn it, I never thought I would. It was supposed to be the dress I wore on one of the best nights of my high school life, how did best switch to worst?

I pull the dress off its hanger, the smooth, silky fabric exactly how I remember it. I slide my shirt off and then slip into the soft dress. It still fits good, even though it was last September when I bought it. I guess that wasn’t too long ago, but there’s still something in me that wishes the dress didn’t fit.

I run a brush through my hair, not even bothering to stare at myself in the mirror like all the girls in my school do. I always wish I looked as good as those girls, I always wished they’d see that they didn’t need to worry, all of them were absolutely beautiful.

He’s waiting in the hallway when I open my door. If I wasn’t mad at him, I might hug him. That’s what fathers and daughters are supposed to do, right? Comfort each other on the hard days.

He gives me a nervous smile as I walk over to him. “You look beautiful.”

I almost want to smile. “Thanks.”

I leave it at that. I don’t compliment him, I don’t say anything else. I would, but what else is there to say? I don’t even know his name, he really is just a stranger living under the same roof as me.

The drive to the cemetery doesn’t last nearly as long as I need it too. I want the car to turn around and drive me back home, drive me back to that night, drive me away from everything.

He turns the engine off, but doesn’t move. Out of the corner of my eye see his tear stained cheek. He’s crying . . . Did he love Mom?

“Did you love her?” The question comes out of me, softly, almost like I know the answer.

He turns to look at me with my eyes. “I did.”

Is it wrong that his answer makes me mad? He loved her, and he left her, why?

“Why did you leave?” My voice begins shake, I don’t want to have this conversation. I just want my mommy.

He lets out a shaky breath. “Have you ever been scared?”

“That’s the wrong question,” I swallow my heart starting to race in my chest. I’m talking to a stranger, I’m opening up to one. “The real question is, when haven’t I felt scared?”

He nods, letting his eyes fall to the dashboard. “I was scared.”

“But you loved her?”

He bites down on his bottom lip. “More than life itself.”

Then it was me. He loved Mom, so what was he scared of besides me? “You could have just given me up.”

His eyes shoot to me, filled with anger. “Don’t . . .”

I feel all the breath leave my lungs as tears fall like rain down my face. “You left her,” I choke out. “But you loved her. It wasn’t her that made you leave, it was me.”

He parts his lips but no words come from them. Silence falls around us, all the answer I need. I was the problem, he left Mom because he was scared of me. He broke her heart, because of me.

“She was my mom,” I cry. “The only person who ever stuck by me. The only person who loved me. Why did you do this to me? You say it’s not me that made you leave, but it was. It was me that made you break her heart!” I start to yell, louder than I ever have before. “She cried herself to sleep every night! And when I’d ask why I didn’t have a dad like all the kids at school, she’d always say she didn’t know. But she did, and I did, and you do!”

He lifts a hand to his mouth, muffing the sobs that are begging to escape him. I want to feel bad that I’m making him cry, but I can’t. He made me break Mom’s heart, and that’s something I’ll never be able to forgive him for.

I can’t say anything else, I have so much to say but I can’t. All I can do is cry, all I can do is listen to his choked sobs, and I still can’t feel sorry for him.

“It’s not all that simple,” he wipes at his damp cheeks. “I loved her, but I was scared. And fear powers over everything.”

I shake my head. “Fear doesn’t have real power. Love does, fear controls.”

He shuts his eyes, his sobbing less now but his tears still flowing. “And I was weak.”

“You were.”

I’ve never agreed with someone about them being weak. I’ve always tried to find the strong side of them and make that shine. I can’t do that here, because I can’t see a strong side. And I hate that. This person is my dad, but I can’t love him, not like I loved Mom, not after everything he’s done to me.

“I didn’t want to ruin everything,” he breaks the silence that fell around us. “My dad . . . He was never around and when he was, he would hit me. He would come home drunk, he’d yell at my mom. I didn’t want to be that, I had two choices. Leave and never come back, or stay and try.”

Part of his story makes me feel bad for him. But it doesn’t change the fact that I grew up alone. When I was younger I used to think he left because I couldn’t throw a football with him in the back yard after work. I hated myself, I wanted to have short hair, I wanted to like football and basketball and everything that boys liked. I wanted to be who I thought he wanted me to be.

“I didn’t even know dad was a word until I went to school,” I guess it’s story time. “I thought everyone around me just made it up. So one night I told Mom, and she told me the truth.” I turn to look him in the eyes. Eyes that will always be too close to mine. “I didn’t know what a dad was. I felt so stupid, I felt like it was my fault.”

He nods. “I know, Maisie.” He whispers. “I know and I’m so sorry.”

I believe him, I don’t know why, but I do. “All I ever wanted was a dad.” I mutter.

I gasp softly as he grabs me, holding me close to him. I can hear the gentleness of his sobs in my ear as he squeezes me tight. “I’m here now, baby.”

I lift my arms up, wrapping them around him. I want to be mad at him for calling me that, for hugging me. This moment is all I’ve ever wanted, to have a dad, to have a hug, to know I was loved by two people. Just like everyone else at school.

“I’m here.”

I nod against his shoulder as I let my tears soak into his shirt. Maybe he’s not a stranger anymore, maybe he’s a friend.

“Okay . . . D—” I stop before I can finish the word. He’s not my dad, not yet.

“Kai, is fine,” he mumbles into my ear. “I’m not looking for anything else right now.”

“Okay,” I say again. “Kai.”