My Best Friends Father Novels & Stories

My father had only cussed at me a few times before, and only when I did something really, really bad—like sneak out of the house in the middle of the night or clog the toilet with all of Mom’s lipsticks after we fought. The disappointment and anger in his voice had me shaking. “We met weeks ago.” “You said that,” Mom snapped. I resisted sending her an angry look. Any aggression on my part would only make things worse. Dad gruffly cleared his throat. “He hasn’t said anything about this to me.” I eagerly leaned forward. “That’s because we didn’t know you two were friends until last weekend at the fundraiser. And I wouldn’t let him tell you. I wanted to let you know myself.”

I wasn’t sure if he was overwhelmed with love at his parents’ story or sadness for everything that could have been. “You remind me so much of him,” my dad says and his voice breaks making my own throat clench. “I know you don’t…. have many memories of him and I know it’s been an emotional day so I don’t want to add on but I- your dad was my best friend. From the time we were kids. We found our mates together, we built our families together, we built this pack together. Next to my mate your dad was the hardest person for me to lose. It’s equally heartbreaking and heart filling to be with you now. It still feels unreal.”

"Look who finally decided to show up in this humble abode!" Humble. I thought under my breath watching an older man in his late fifties. Armund Murray, my father's best friend snickered, tugging on his arm and they both hugged each other. They both were childhood best friends turned business partners. So it was natural for Francesca and I to be friends as well. "I hope it was a pleasant journey here." Francesca's soft voice floated around breaking my chain of thoughts. I blinked, adjusting to her presence as she embraced my mother.

As a caring father who has nothing more important than his daughters in this world, he wouldn’t run after his instincts while Avra was sad. And what is he doing right now? He messes around with his dear daughter’s friend like the selfish man he is. Such a good father. Maybe Mr. Robinson was right. Maybe it wasn’t that weird to ask Mathias to leave his daughters and it was obvious he could act careless. In the end, he is Alexander Raptis’s son. Like father, like son, huh? Running a hand through his hair, Mathias averts his eyes from Cassie. “Yeah, I did.”

At that time, I didn’t understand what was going on, in fact I didn’t know what it meant when my mother told me my father was dead. My father had always been a good man, he was kind to everyone and I just couldn’t imagine him betraying anyone nor could I wrap my mind over why someone would kill him, let alone his best friend. But then again, I had no idea who the best friend was or the type of people my father rolled around with.

I'm not even certain if my father had many friends. He called my mother his best friend, the only woman he ever loved. I knew he was devastated when she died, but the event destroyed our closeness. Finding out what my father was into hammered the nails into the coffin. I turned off the light, preferring the darkness, trying to make sense of everything, including the very reason I'd shut my father out of my life. I couldn't go back. I couldn't fix anything. I couldn't...

He let out a bit of a laugh, then spoke. “Of course, who wouldn't know him? Who is your father? You're actually reminding me of someone. An old friend. You look a little bit like him.” I didn’t know whether to answer him, but he seemed friendly. “My father is Albert Greyson. But he passed away years ago,” I uttered. He seemed shocked but soon kept his posture. “Albert Greyson is a friend of mine. He had a business, and he's actually known in the political world as a powerful one. Maybe that's the reason why I felt like I knew you,” he answered me. It's been a long time since someone talked about my father.

He smiled lightly before replying, "You must've misjudged me, Aria. I never stared at you that way. Why would I want to harm the daughter of my friend?" "You know my mother?" I muttered. "I suppose you meant to ask if I knew your father," he said, and my eyes flared open. I didn't know my father. I have never met him in person or even seen a picture of him. Mom never talked about my father, and hearing that someone knew my father ignited so much curiosity inside me. "You know my dad?" I asked, my curiosity so evident in my voice. He nodded slightly. "Yes, I do. Your father and I are best friends. We used to walk around the woods together, hunt little animals, and eat them together."

I instantly pulled away from the duvet as I turned the volume of the tv louder . “He choose me and he always does , I am not going to feel guilty because I’m with the man that I love , if you are not comfortable with any of this , then you can as well go kill yourske , because I do not care “ When she finished talking , my father had that proud look on his face . I have never seen him look this proud ever and it just makes me think that he was standing beside my best friend and ripping my heart apart . I hated him , I hated him with everything that I had left in me , why did he have to do this , just why .

“Welcome home.” The formality was deliberate. A wall between us. “Dom’s been keeping me company in your absence,” my father said, oblivious to the tension crackling between hid righthand man and his daughter. “Don’t know what I would’ve done without him these past couple years. Best friend a man could ask for.” The words landed like a physical blow. Best friend. As if I needed the reminder of exactly how wrong this was. “That’s wonderful,” I managed. “I’m glad you have each other.”