Father and Daughter

Rebecca's POV

I had been back home for three days since the motel. Three days of smiling at breakfast and nodding along to my mother’s chatter about the neighborhood gossip. Three days of pretending I wasn't counting the hours until I could see Mark again. But the worst part wasn’t the pretending, it was my father.

Dave had always been a warm, easygoing man, the kind of dad who never missed a soccer game, never raised his voice, and always made time to sit on the porch with me and watch the fireflies. Tonight, as I walked downstairs to grab a glass of water, I found him alone in the living room, staring at the muted television, with a glass of whiskey in his hand.

"Hey, sweetheart," he said, looking up. His voice was soft and affectionate. "Can't sleep?"

I froze in the doorway. "I'm just thirsty."

He patted the empty spot on the couch beside him. "Come sit with your old man for a bit."

My stomach twisted. I wanted to run back upstairs but I forced my feet to move, sinking into the cushion beside him. The leather creaked under my weight. He stared at the TV for a long moment, swirling the amber liquid in his glass. Then he let out a long, heavy sigh.

"You know, I've been thinking a lot about you lately," he said, his voice low. "You're twenty-two now and all grown up. It still feels like yesterday when I was teaching you how to ride a bike."

I swallowed hard, my throat dry. "I'm still your little girl, Dad."

He chuckled, but it was a sad sound. "I know. But you're also your own woman now. And I just…." He paused, turning to look at me. "I just want to make sure you're okay. You seem... distant lately. Distracted. Is something going on?"

My heart nearly stopped.

I forced a smile, smooth and rehearsed. "I'm fine, Dad. Just tired and trying to figure out what I'm going to do with my life. It's a lot of pressure."

He studied me for a moment, his eyes searching mine. I held his gaze, terrified that he could see right through me, see the ghost of Mark's fingerprints on my skin, and the motel sheets still tangled in my memory. Then he nodded slowly, seemingly satisfied.

"Well, you take your time," he said, patting my knee. "There's no rush. You've got the whole summer to figure it out. And if you ever need to talk about anything….I'm here. No judgment. You know that, right?"

I felt a sharp, physical pain in my chest.

No judgment.

If only he knew. If he knew that I had spent the night in a motel, naked and screaming, underneath the hands and mouth of his best friend, he wouldn't be sitting here with no judgment.

"Thanks, Dad," I whispered, the words barely audible. "I love you."

"I love you too, sweetheart." He kissed the top of my head, just like he had when I was six years old. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow is a new day."

I stood up, my legs trembling. I walked toward the stairs, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst through my ribs. As I reached the top step, my phone buzzed in the pocket of my pajama shorts.

I pulled it out, my breath catching.

Mark: "I'm sitting in my garage. My wife is asleep inside, and all i can think about, is the curve of your waist. I need you tomorrow night. Same time. Same place."

I stared at the screen. My father was still downstairs, sipping his whiskey, thinking his daughter was just a tired girl trying to find her way in the world. And there I was, texting his best friend, agreeing to meet for another night of pleasure.

My fingers trembled as I typed back.

Me: "I'll be there."

I slipped back into my room, locked the door, and slid down against it onto the cold hardwood floor. I pressed my face into my hands, my body shaking.

I had just lied to my father's face. And worse, I had meant every single word of the lie. I loved him. I loved him so much it hurt. But I loved Mark too.

And that love, that dangerous, forbidden love, was going to destroy everything I had ever known.

I looked at the little hair tie I had taken from the motel room. I had stolen it from his nightstand before I left, a tiny, ridiculous trophy. I slipped it onto my wrist, letting the cheap elastic sit against my skin.

It smelled like his cologne.

I crawled into my bed, wrapped myself in the sheets, and let the tears come. Tomorrow night, I would be back in Room 14. I would let him take me apart again. I would forget the guilt, forget my father's kind face, forget the world outside the door.

But tonight, I just lay there in the dark, crying for the girl I used to be, he girl who never knew what it felt like to fall for a man she couldn't have.