But I'm far from the little girl desperate for his approval. And he's far from the father I once knew. But he stands there without an ounce of the indignation I expect, accepting every word as if he knows he deserves them.
"Your excuses died the morning I worked up the nerve to tell you what'd been goin' on," I say pointedly.
"I told you what he did to me and you handed me right off to him not minutes later," I remind him. "Did you ever even look at the pictures?"
I know the answer before he even shakes his head. No. He didn't. Why would he look at photos that are evidence of an attack he never believed actually occurred? I doubt he ever even read my statement. He heard the Forbeses' side, and backfilled what he needed to in order to make it work. Of course, if he believed a word of my account, that meant he could have prevented it, and how could he admit that?
It infuriates me—his willful denial. His dereliction of his duty not only as a father, but as the district attorney, a job he'd always taken remarkably seriously. I don't doubt for a second that this was the first and last case he ever handled so cavalierly. I can't even imagine another situation in which he would decide on charges or plea deals without actually reviewing the evidence. No, this was a privilege reserved solely for his own daughter.
I lift the hem of my tee shirt and pull the waistband of my yoga pants just an inch, revealing my scar. "He almost killed me in that locker room. He would have killed me in Miami if Sam hadn't gotten there in time. And both are on you. You know what? You should have known somethin' was wrong even before I told you. You just completely stopped payin' me any attention, and I think... I think part of why I stayed with him, why it took so long for me to speak up, even when I was suffering like that, was because I wanted to please you."
I realize how true it is as the words flow out of me. My father's abandonment made me vulnerable to Robin. He's more at fault than I even realized. And though I realize I'm ranting, it's cathartic. I don't care if he wants to hear the truth or not, I need to speak it.
"But I finally worked up the courage to tell you the truth... Do you have any idea how hard it was for me to get those words out?"
My father bows his head subtly in shame. It's unexpected, but it changes nothing. "I can't even imagine," he mutters softly—to me or himself, I can't be sure. But I don't care, I have more to say. Even if he's the one who came to talk, I'm the one who has finally found her voice.
"Still, I was able to tell you because I was sure you would finally make it stop... I needed you to make it stop." I wait for him to meet my eyes again. "You were my daddy. It was your job to protect me. Not once did I consider that you wouldn't believe me. Or worse, that you'd blame me," I admit.
He rubs his face with his palm. "I'm so sorry, Rory."
Words I never thought I'd hear, but they aren't enough. No words will ever be enough.
"But you know what the worst part is? You made me blame myself. You made me believe that wearin' a short skirt or kissin' my boyfriend meant I asked to be assaulted, over and over again."
I glare at him intently. Part of me is taken aback by the dampness in his eyes. I have never seen my father cry. Not once. But I've shed more than enough tears for us all, and the fact that I'm finally reaching him doesn't negate what he's put me through.
"But it wasn't my fault. None of it." My voice grows quiet as I realize how fervently I believe it. "I know that now," I add softly.
One tear slides down my father's cheek, and it stuns me into silence, which he takes as his cue to respond.
"Of course it wasn't. It wasn't your fault. I'm so sorry, sweetheart—"
"Don't call me that."
He nods. "Okay. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Rory. I was blind. You were my little tomboy and then suddenly you were a woman and I didn't know what to do with that. I neglected you, and then... I couldn't let myself believe that I'd let that happen to my little girl." His voice cracks.
"But you did let it happen," I remind him. "Denying it didn't change it, it only made it happen more."
"God, I know that now. I don't know what I was thinkin'. I let myself forget you were the same little girl who broke that goddamn vase with a baseball," he sobs. Sobs.
My father is sobbing on my doorstep.
I know the vase he's talking about too, but I don't know what the hell it has to do with anything.
"I'm so sorry, Rory. You have to believe that. I won't ever forgive myself. But I need you to know that I believe you. That I know it wasn't your fault. That I was so goddamn wrong." Another sob.
I don't know what to say. I do believe him. That he's sorry, that he believes me... now. But what does any of that really matter now? It may be exactly what I desperately needed to hear from him a year ago, but now, his words are almost pointless. I don't need his support. I have support. From people who mean a hell of a lot more to me than he does.
"Okay," I murmur.
He takes a deep breath. "I don't expect you to just forgive me. I know I can't ever make it up to you, Rory."
I glare at him. Damn straight I don't forgive him.
"But I was hopin' you might give me a chance to try."
"I—" I blink at him. I really don't have a response to that. I don't even know what it means. "I don't understand what you want from me," I admit.
"I just want a chance to be better. To show you that I mean it when I say I'm sorry."
I shrug. "I don't get the point. You're goin' back to Linton, and I'm stayin' in New York. Nothing could ever be the same anyway. Does... does mom even know you're here?"
His expression tells me she doesn't. "She wouldn't have let me talk to you."
He's probably right.
"But look, I know things will never be the same. And I know that's my fault. But I resigned from my position. I have nothin' keepin' me in Linton, and if I have a reason to relocate, I'd do it."
"What?" I practically gasp. I don't want him moving here. I don't think. I don't know what I want. I don't know how to react to this complete about-face. I need time to process.
"I was hopin' we might get a chance to get to know each other again," he says contritely.
"I don't know," I tell him honestly. The little girl in me wants that more than anything, but the woman who's been to hell and back knows it's all a facade—the father figure he once was, the one he's saying he'd like to try to be again.
"You don't have to decide anything now. Maybe I could just take you to breakfast? We could talk some more," he offers.
"I already have plans," I murmur.
If I ever doubted Sam was listening, him emerging from the front door right on cue tells me he's heard every word.
His fingers find mine and I turn to him, his expression unreadable. "Ror."
"I'll be right in," I tell him.
Sam licks his lips. "It's okay, Ror. If you want to go have breakfast with him, I understand. I'll wait for you right here," he says meaningfully.
I stare at him. I know how he feels about my father. I know the last thing he wants is to watch me drive off with him right now. But he will. With Sam, there's never any judgment, there's only selfless support.
"I don't want to."
The last time I stood on a porch with a man who betrayed me and another who loved me, I chose wrong. It's a mistake I won't make again.
"I told you I wanted to have breakfast with you," I remind him. "That there was nothing I'd rather do. I meant it."
Sam stares at me, his expression still unreadable.
I turn back to my father. "I appreciate what you're trying to do. And I don't know, maybe we could do that sometime. Get somethin' to eat and talk, I mean. But right now, like I said, I have plans," I tell him, and then I turn back to my front door, and pull Sam through it after me. I close it behind me and lean back against it.
Neither of us speaks for several minutes, until we hear my father's car start and drive off to God only knows where.
"You heard all that?" I finally ask Sam, even though I already
know the answer.
Sam nods. "I heard all that," he confirms, wrapping his arms around me. "How do you feel?" he asks.
I think about his question. How do I feel?
"Strong," I tell him.
Sam nods. "I'm so fucking proud of you, baby girl."
The truth is, I'm proud of myself too. Never in a million years did I think I would have the nerve—the strength—to say those words to my father. And now that I have, I feel even more unburdened. Freer. The door to my future—our future—seems wide open, and I'm finally ready to walk through it. Not just ready, but hopeful. Excited even.
I know I can't predict what will happen. No one knows better than I do the kind of curve balls life can throw at you. But I'm finally realizing that I can handle anything, and that while I know I still have a lot to work through, I am lucky. I have the love and support of an incredible man. One who wants to marry me someday. And that's not only a future I can look forward to with all my heart, but a present I can't help but be eternally grateful for.
It turns out Sam was right all along. I am strong.
Epilogue
I watch her closely, vigilant for signs that I'm about to witness my favorite fucking sight. I feel every part of her against every part of me, and I lift only my face just to see her. Her cheeks are flushed the sexiest pink and I feel other signs of her pleasure against my skin. Her mouth is slightly open, swollen from our kisses, her eyes shut tight. She's feeling. I love that I'm making her feel.
But I have to watch her.
"Look at me, Ror," I demand softly. She complies immediately, like she always does when we're like this.
When we connect like this, when I'm inside her, there's no sign of her defiant nature, or her snarky sarcasm. There's only eagerness and desperation for more, mirroring my own.
She moans a strangled version of my name, and I almost lose control. She's not like other girls who say the things and make the sounds they think guys want to hear. No, Rory is all instinct. Her reaction to what I'm doing to her, how I'm making her feel, and it's an emboldening thing to hear. Inspiring.
Now that everything is out there in the open between us, that we are both finally starting to understand just how committed we both are to this relationship, there's a new level of intimacy we are only beginning to discover. Every day that passes I fall deeper in love with her, but I also feel that fear dissolving. The one that whispers that she could leave me again. That reminds me that the harder I fall for her, the more it would destroy me to lose her. But I'm starting to really believe that won't happen. That she needs me just as much as I do her.
I wasn't kidding when I told her I wanted her to be my wife someday. What I didn't tell her was that I'd ask her now—that it would be a great relief to get a ring on her delicate little finger, to know with that kind of certainty that she was mine forever—if I didn't think it would scare the shit out of her.
"That's it, baby," I whisper, my voice inexorably husky with lust. I need her to keep her eyes open. "I want to watch you." But that's not the only reason.
I want to see when she's close. I want a warning, because I don't want this to end yet. I don't care that we have somewhere to be, things to do. I just want to be inside her as long as possible.
I'd never had a problem with control. Not since I was an inexperienced fucking kid. But Rory... she makes me totally lose my senses. My attraction to her is fucking consuming. I've always had an active sex drive since I hit puberty, but Rory makes me just utterly mad with lust. She's fucking beautiful—honestly the hottest girl I've ever laid eyes on, though I know she doesn't believe it. But it's not just my attraction to her, or even our inexplicable chemistry. It's a great deal more than that.
I love that she trusts me. It is such a fucking turn-on, especially from someone with good reason not to trust guys. I love that she is so willing—so fucking eager—to be vulnerable with me. To let me take control. To touch her how I want to, taste her, make love to her. It's a gift I can't resist, and one I don't take for granted. And it's the hottest fucking thing imaginable.
And when I'm here with her, intimate like this, I'm completely in the moment. In a way I'd never been with any of the not-so-few girls I've been with. And being in the moment, completely absorbed in Rory, it's already difficult to keep any semblance of control. It's even harder to stay in your head when you experience the most beautiful, erotic thing you've ever witnessed. But it's feeling it—her entire body's reaction to me—that always takes me over the edge.
Nothing has ever felt as incredible. Nothing ever will.
Rory whimpers in the most sexy fucking way and I can see she wants to close her eyes again. Like I said, she's all instinct and that's the instinctual thing to do right now. But she fights it for me. And that's an even headier feeling.
This is what I meant when I said she makes me feel like a god. What could make me feel more powerful than a fucking goddess giving herself to me like this?
I would do absolutely anything for her.
I move faster, because as hard as I try to focus, my body is taking over. She is fucking heaven and I have to have her the way I have to have her. It's the way she wants me to take her. It always is.
Her breaths come quickly and I know she has no control over the small, sweet sighs that slip from her open mouth. Her thighs tighten around my hips, and her mouth opens wider as she stops breathing and starts gasping. I try to concentrate, because I know what's about to happen and I want desperately to watch her and at the same time to keep some semblance of control.
Because like I said, I don't want it to end yet.
I keep moving, watching intently as her back arches, thrusting her chest into mine, her mouth round, her brows scrunched in ecstasy.
Most beautiful fucking thing I've ever seen.
How did I live without this? How could I have almost let her let me go?
God, she is utterly riveting.
"Fuck, Ror," I tell her. "You are fucking... fuck." Not so eloquent, I know, but there is no actual word to describe her beauty. Her fucking perfection.
"You are fucking perfect," I try to explain with a low groan. She is fucking perfect.
I move even faster as she comes down from her high, and kiss her deeply. I love her like this too—completely drunk from the aftershocks. She is lax and open and she lets me utterly plunder her mouth, matching my vigor. Fucking yes.
My lips move down her neck, licking her, tasting her skin and the light, sweet sweat. This is my third favorite taste in the world, right after her mouth.
Rory throws her head back when my tongue makes contact with that spot she loves just under her ear. I can already hear the subtle change in her breathing, telling me she's gone from satisfied to needy again.
But needy is how I want her. Because I intend to deliver.
And I do. I take her harder now—she’s more than ready for it—and within minutes I have her moaning and crying out my name again. This time the sensation is too much. The way she contracts around me takes me with her and I nearly pass out from the force of it.
Nothing has ever felt as incredible. Nothing ever will.
We lay tangled together, each struggling to catch our breath, but my fingers play lightly over her hip, unable to stop touching her.
"Sam…" Rory tries to get my attention, but I keep my face buried in her neck.
I know she's going to chasten me for distracting her. We don't have that much time and now we're all sweaty and disheveled.
She giggles and swats my ass with her palm.
I groan in feigned annoyance. "I don't want to move," I tell her.
"We have to. We have to get my things over to the dorm and then get all the way back uptown by seven!"
She's right. But I still don't want to get off of her. I don't even want to pull out of her.
But I've made us deviate from our schedule by almost two hours. She's supposed to be moving into her dorm today and she hasn't even met her R.A. yet. She was supposed to che
ck in with her by noon, which was over three hours ago. After a summer of spending most of her time in my apartment, most of her stuff is already here. I convinced her to leave most of it here since she'll be sleeping here more often than not, but we still have a few things to move. I'm hoping that over time I'll get those things back to my place anyway. I want her living here. I don't want to have to think about whether or not she'll come over after class, or if I'll have to head downtown to sleep on her thin twin mattress in a room the size of a prison cell.
After we get her settled we have to make our way back uptown for dinner. We're meeting my parents and Bits. After my father helped me with Rory—including intervening with the judge, which was unbeknownst to me at the time—we kept in touch. It just happened. He'd call me about this or that, and we'd end up talking about other things.
Our relationship is far from perfect, but we are getting to know each other in a way I never thought possible.
It was Rory who convinced me to tell my parents I knew about them. And then a few weeks later my mom told Bits. She took it a lot better than I had. Tonight is the fourth, or maybe even the fifth family dinner we've had since then—always at Harry Cipriani—and Rory's been present at every single one.
Needless to say, now that he's gotten to know her a little, my father understands why I was so intent on keeping her safe.
Rory's also been in touch with her father, but only via a few emails and it's all still very uncomfortable. I try to be supportive, but mostly I wish I could just tell her she should forget the bastard ever existed. But I guess that would be hypocritical. She's still unsure about the whole thing, and I won't push her one way or the other. Either way, I know she can handle it. My girl can handle anything. And she knows that if she needs me, I'm here, no matter what.
Rory and I shower together quickly, a domestic dance we've yet to perfect. It's hard to get things done when your greatest obsession stands naked and dripping wet only inches from you. It's only because I've just had her that I can resist. Well, that, and the fact that Rory can tell the moment I'm considering making us even later and she hops out of the shower before I can give into temptation.
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