Chapter Text

GABE

It's early when I pull into the park and ride, the thick, foggy air outside the rental truck swallowing shapes whole. California sun has spoiled me, I guess. Pacific Northwest weather has teeth, chomping at the exposed skin on my neck and hands. I rub them together as I come to a stop in an empty parking space, trying to work some heat back into them.

My daughter Lily sits beside me, a small lump buried under layers of down, wool, and what looks like the entire contents of her closet. I can just make out the tip of her little nose peeking out from several massive, chunky scarves. The thick brows she inherited from me, so dark against her pale skin, arch delicately over her mother's green eyes—eyes that are currently fixed on the screen of her phone.

I frown at the sight of her fingers typing with a speed and intensity reserved for only one person in her life: Her boyfriend Jace.

"Everything alright over there?" I ask, the gruffness in my voice doing a piss poor job of covering up how I feel about my sixteen-year-old daughter's first ever romantic relationship.

Jace is all hormones and swagger, and he annoys the shit outta me. He's been hanging around our house pretty much every single day after school for the last three months, arms around my daughter, sprawled out on the couch like he owns the place, with the lanky, entitled posture of a boy who thinks himself already a man.

Lily doesn't look up from her glowing rectangular obsession. "Fine, Dad," she says, her voice muffled by the scarves. "Just talking to Jace. He wants to know what day we'll be getting back home."

How about the fifth of never. That's the day I'd like to see that pimply punk's face again.

"A week from tomorrow," I say, turning my attention back to the parking lot, scanning for any sign of my old college roommate's luxury RV. "Now please put the phone away. We're on vacation. You know, to spend some quality family time together?"

Lily lets out a soft sigh. "I know, Dad."

There's something off in her voice, a tremor I know better than my own name. I've heard it a thousand times—when she skinned her knee falling off her bike, when she got her first B on a history test, when we stood over her mother's casket.

"Lilypad?"

She finally looks up from her phone at the use of her nickname—a special term of endearment I gave her when she was just a baby. Her eyes meet mine, wide and wounded, her startling green irises with their darker rims shimmering with unshed tears. I blink, and she's ten years old again, standing in that funeral parlor, her small hand clutching mine tightly, a little girl clinging to her daddy, needing his comfort.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" I ask when she stays silent, my voice dropping from its usual gruff bark to something softer, something just for her.

Her slim shoulders hunch inward as if she's trying to make herself even smaller than she already is. My girl inherited her mother's petite frame and delicate bone structure. Standing at just over five feet, she's tiny next to my six-foot-four.

"Nothing, Dad," she says, pulling at a loose thread on her scarf. "I'm...fine."

It's a lie. The smile she offers is tissue-paper thin, transparent, ready to dissolve at the slightest touch. I hate that she hides things from me now.

She swipes quickly at her eyes with the cuff of her puffy coat, a clumsy gesture that does little to hide the fact that she's crying. Her breath hitches, a tiny, broken sound in the quiet cab.

"I can tell it's not nothing." I reach over and squeeze her hand with my rough, grease-stained one.

"Just allergies," she insists, turning her face toward the window, her reflection a pale, blurry shape against the foggy glass.

Allergies my ass. My jaw tightens. I know my daughter. I know her tells. "Talk to me, kiddo."

She sniffles and shakes her head, her long dark waves spilling over the collar of her coat. "Really, it's fine. I just—"

Her phone buzzes again on her lap. She flinches as she flips it over and reads whatever new message has lit up the screen, a second buzz quickly following the first. Her body language screams at me louder than any words she could say—the way her thumb trembles as she fumbles to silence the device, the little gasp of air she sucks in, the tears now freely rolling down her cheeks despite her efforts to hold them back.

"Lilypad," I say, my voice firm now. "Look at me."

That gets her. She never ignores me when I use that tone. The one that says she shouldn't hide this from me, that whatever's wrong is big enough that her dad needs to know. So I can fix it.

Her head turns, her cheeks wet and splotchy. I see it in her eyes; my little girl's devastated. "Jace is...upset. About me being gone all week. He doesn't think it's fair that I'm spending my entire spring break with you."

Anger flashes hot and violent in my gut. Fair? A boy who's known my daughter for all of a few months, whose deepest connection to her involves shoving his tongue down her throat, is angry that she's spending time with the man who's loved her, protected her, and sacrificed for her since before she was born?

"He wants me to come home early," she says, the words choked out around a fresh sob. "He says if I don't, he's going to...to break up with me." Her small frame shudders with the force of her weeping now.

A vicious, ugly war erupts inside my chest. Part of me, the selfish, territorial beast I never let see the light of day, is thrilled. Break up with her? The kid would be doing me a favor. Good riddance. Don't let the door hit you on the way out, you punk-ass little shit.

But the other part of me, the father, the man who held her while she cried over broken dolls and lost balloons, sees her tears, and every muscle in my body coils tight with rage. My hands, calloused from a lifetime of turning wrenches, curl into fists on the steering wheel. The leather groans under the pressure. "A boy who cares about you wouldn't pull this kinda shit," I growl. "He wouldn't make threats, Lilypad. Wouldn't make you cry."

"I know," she sobs, hiding her face now in the mountainous folds of her coat.

For a fleeting second the impulse strikes me to turn the truck around. Drive back to the airport, go home to California, pull up in front of this skinny asshole's house and show him what happens to those who dare to upset my daughter like this. I know I can't actually put my hands on him, a minor, but I could put the fear of God in him all the same.

"Listen carefully, sweetheart. If he breaks up with you, it says everything about him. Not you. D'you hear me?" Before I can stop myself, I reach over and draw her to me, into the middle seat. I wrap one arm around her small, bundled-up frame and pull her against my chest, letting her bury her face in my worn flannel shirt. She fits there, tucked against my side, just like she always has.

My thumb runs a calming, circular path over her cheek while I hold her close. This is when I'm at my best, when I'm useful to her and she needs me. Being her dad is one of the greatest honors of my life. It has both saved me and slowly started to reveal a darker truth I refuse to acknowledge—I'm terrified of her growing up and leaving me behind. Of losing not only the little girl who still needs her daddy, but also the center of my universe.

Guess some would call that a flaw in my character. A possessive streak too wide for a father's hands. But right now, with her trembling in my arms, all I can feel is the burn of protective fury in my gut, the primal urge to make her pain go away, and a quiet, shameful pulse of triumph at the possibility that her world is about to get a whole lot smaller. Emptier. Without that boy in it.

Not because I don't want her to be happy. I do. More than anything. But she deserves better than an insecure little tyrant who'll threaten to end things just because she wants to spend a week with her old man. "He's not worth it," I murmur into her hair, breathing in the familiar scent of her coconut shampoo. "I promise you, Lilypad. He's not worth a single one of your tears."

I've long disliked Jace, and not just because he's created distance between me and Lily. There've been things that have always bothered me. Like how he always has to know where she is at any given moment, and who she's with, even going so far as to track her location using an app. Or the way he dismisses her passions, her love of books and of learning, rolling his eyes and calling it "nerd shit."

Then there was the time I swear I caught him staring at the ass of the next door neighbor girl. I can't prove that one; we were at a backyard barbecue and maybe I saw something that didn't happen because I don't like the kid. But it's been ruminating in the back of my mind ever since, a warning sign that the boy is not the good, loyal boyfriend he pretends to be.

A buzzing sound breaks the silence, only this time it's my phone. A call. I'm not a texter. Lily's the only one I send messages to.

I glance at the screen. Michael Langford.

"Hey, Michael," I answer, trying to keep my voice even while still holding a crying Lily in my arms. "Where are you guys? We're freezing our asses off out here."

A deep, familiar chuckle comes through the speaker. "Sorry, man. Running a little behind. Had to make an...unscheduled stop. My daughter has a way of distracting me from our timetable."

The phrasing's a little odd, but I brush it off. Michael's always been a little eccentric, even in college. A philosophy major, he can talk for hours about shit nobody else cares about.

"Everything okay?" I ask, tracing the delicate shell of my daughter's ear with the pad of my thumb. Lily shudders and presses closer, her body relaxing against mine as I continue to offer silent comfort.

"Everything's perfect, my friend. We're about fifteen minutes out. See you soon."

The call ends, and I toss my phone onto the dashboard. I turn my full attention back to the girl in my arms. "They're almost here. Just a few more minutes, and we'll be inside a fancy RV living the life of luxury." My arm around her tightens. "You sure you're okay?"

Lily nods, her face still pressed against my chest. She pulls back, and her nose is red, her long dark lashes wet and clumped together. My amazing, brilliant girl who aced her AP English final without even trying, reduced to tears over a boy who can't possibly appreciate her.

My mind races with all the things I wanna say to her, all the ways I wanna protect her. But I know I can't push too hard. Since she turned sixteen last month, the walls around her have started going up. Even before that. Since she started dating Jace. I've lost the easy access I once had, the inside track into her thoughts and feelings, to a lanky pipsqueak whose only discernible talent seems to be making my daughter forget the value of herself.

This trip, planned months ago with Michael, my old best friend I haven't seen in fifteen years, might actually be a blessing in disguise. My daughter deserves someone who worships the ground she walks on. Someone who looks at her like she's the only girl in the world. Maybe our time in the wilderness will help her see that Jace is not that person. I can only hope.

***

A behemoth of a vehicle the color of polished chrome glides into the parking lot twenty minutes later, with gleaming rims and tinted windows so dark I can't see inside. Michael's always done well for himself, but this is a whole other level of luxury. I can't help but wonder how he affords it on a professor's salary, but I let the thought go. None of my business.

The door hisses open, and three chrome steps extends down to the asphalt. The first person to emerge is a girl Lily's age, with long, straight blonde hair. Michael's daughter Ali. We both only had one child, Michael and I. After several miscarriages, Lily's mom Kim almost died bringing her into the world, and the doctors told us no more children. They told us we were lucky to have Lily at all. So Kim and I made our peace with it. I always wanted a big family, but I let that dream go and focused all my energy on my Lilypad. My one perfect miracle.

I've always wondered about Michael, though. He and his now ex-wife Tanya divorced last year is all I know, something I learned in our recent phone conversations. I never asked why they never had more kids. It felt too personal, the kind of question that invites questions in return. Questions about your own life, your own choices, your own private grief. Some things are better left unspoken.

I step out of the rental truck and walk quickly around to the other side to open Lily's door for her. No sooner does she emerge from the cab than Ali is there, pulling her into a hug.

"Oh my God, I can't believe I'm finally meeting you!" Ali squeals, bouncing on the balls of her feet. "We're going to be the best of friends, I feel sure of it! We're the exact same age, Daddy says. Practically sisters!"

Lily, for her part, looks stunned. My little girl, so shy and reserved, has the expression of a deer caught in the headlights. "Hi," she manages to say in a small voice.

Michael steps down from the monster RV, then. He's grinning behind a pair of wire-rimmed glasses, looking the same and yet different from the guy I shared a dorm room with twenty-eight years ago. He's still long and lean, with a physique that's likely been honed in a gym rather than by wrestling with car engines like me. His dark blonde hair is styled in much the same way he wore it back then, a little long on top and combed back from his forehead. In our forties, we've both got a bit of gray, but neither of us are balding. We seem to be holding our own pretty well against Father Time.

Michael's got on a tweed coat, the kind with leather patches on the elbows that practically screams "intellectual." It's unbuttoned, revealing a sweater vest over a crisp, white button-down shirt with the collar standing stiff.

Everything about him screams professor. Smart, educated, sophisticated. A stark contrast to me in my worn-in flannel and scuffed-up work boots. He turns to me, and his face breaks into a wide, welcoming smile.

"You sonuvabitch," I say, pulling him in for a hug. "Look at this setup." I gesture at the monstrosity of an RV behind him. "You're living the high life."

"Perks of the job," he says with a shrug, a twinkle in his brown eyes. He slaps me on the back, hard. "Good to see you, Gabe." His gaze moves on to Lily. "And this must be the famous Lilypad."

My heart does a weird little lurch at hearing someone else use that special name, and I find myself instinctively stepping closer to her, my arm wrapping around her shoulders in a protective gesture.

"You're so bundled up! You don't get weather like this where you're from, huh?" Ali chirps, her over-the-top energy a stark contrast to Lily's quiet stillness. "Can I at least see what's under there?"

My girl's so shy, I know all the attention is making her uncomfortable, but she can't be rude. She's not wired that way. Hesitantly, with trembling fingers, she pulls the thick layer of scarves down to beneath her chin. Her small face emerges from the wool, her skin almost translucent in the gray morning light.

Ali lets out a little gasp. "Oh, wow. You are gorgeous. Seriously."

Lily blushes, a delicate pink blooming on her pale cheeks.

"I love your curls!" Ali goes on. "And those green eyes! They're incredible. Daddy, look! Aren't her eyes incredible?"

"Beautiful eyes, honey," Michael says to Ali, smiling warmly at my daughter. To Lily, he adds, "I hear you're quite the reader."

Lily nods, blushing even harder now. But I feel her relax slightly in my arms, her shoulders losing some of their tension. This is her territory. Books.

"Your father mentioned you're a straight-A student on the honor roll," Michael continues. "That's very impressive."

"Top of her class," I say, my chest swelling with pride. "Smartest person I know." I'm a simple man. I work with my hands. I never actually finished college. Dropped out when Kim got pregnant the first time, my priorities shifting overnight.

"Ali could use some of your discipline," Michael says, pulling his daughter into a hug. "She's more interested in...hands-on activities than schoolwork."

"Daddy!" Ali squeals, swatting at his hand. "Stop it! You're so embarrassing." But she laughs, her face glowing as she looks at her father. "I'm talented, too! Just in different ways."

"That you are, honey," Michael says, leaning down to kiss his daughter's forehead. He whispers something in her ear that I can't hear, and she beams up at him. "Now, why don't you help Lily get settled? We've got a long drive ahead of us."

Ali hooks her arm through Lily's, pulling her toward the RV. "Come on, new bestie! I'll show you my room. We can hang out while the men do boring men stuff."

Lily shoots me a helpless look over her shoulder, but I nod encouragingly at her. "Go on, kiddo. Have fun."

Michael and I watch as the girls climb the steps into the RV, the door hissing shut behind them. "Ali's been excited about this trip for weeks," Michael says as he helps me load our bags into the storage compartment. "I got full custody of her in the divorce, so it's been just the two of us for a while now. Tanya even stopped calling Ali when everything was finalized. Used her daughter as a bargaining chip to get more money. Once she got what she wanted, she just...disappeared from her life. Can you believe that?"

"I'm sorry, man. That's rough," I say. "Well I know Ali's got a great dad in you."

Michael's expression turns serious. "She's my entire world. My number one priority. But I know you understand that type of bond."

I nod. "I get it," I say, thinking of my own relationship with Lily. "It's just you and her against the world."

"Exactly," Michael says, clapping a firm hand on my shoulder.

I'm struck by a sense of camaraderie, the kind you only get with another single dad. Someone who gets the loneliness, and the responsibility.

"Come on," he says, climbing back into the RV. "Let's get this show on the road. The adventure's still ahead of us."

***

The RV's interior is even more impressive than the outside. It's like stepping into the penthouse suite of a five-star hotel. Not that I've been in many of those, but I've got a good imagination. There are granite countertops, and glossy wood and chrome surfaces, all of it polished and gleaming. And leather upholstery everywhere you turn.

"You like the setup?" Michael asks with a grin as I follow him through the living area toward the front. "It's custom built."

I whistle. "It's something else, alright."

We settle into the plush leather captain's chairs at the helm of this land-yacht, and soon we're pulling out onto the highway, the engine purring like a contented beast. The road ahead of us will lead us deep into the mountains, to the cabin Michael reserved for us for the next week. A week of hiking, fishing, campfires, and reconnecting. A week, I hope, that'll bring me and my daughter back together.

My eyes find Lily on the couch. Ali's chattering away, pointing to something on her phone, and Lily's nodding politely, but her shoulders are hunched, her body language screaming discomfort.

I know this is hard for her. New people, new places. My little introvert. But I also know that sometimes, we need to be pushed out of our comfort zones to grow. I just hope she doesn't resent me for it. I hope she doesn't hate me too much for dragging her away from the boy who currently holds far too much power over her happiness. The boy who, even now, is probably texting her, demanding to know why she isn't answering.

My fingers clench unconsciously around the armrest of my chair as I watch her pull her knees up to her chest, wrapping her arms around them in a self-soothing gesture she's done since she was a little girl. My instinct takes over, an ache to comfort her, but I push it down. She's not a child anymore. She doesn't need her daddy to fix everything for her.

"You must be so proud of her," Michael says, following my gaze. "A smart, beautiful girl like that. Must take after her mother."

I'm so focused on my daughter that the insult flies right over my head at first. I snort when I realize what he said. "You trying to say I'm dumb and ugly, you sonuvabitch?" I flip him off.

Michael laughs, that easy, confident laugh of his that used to annoy the shit outta me in college because he was always so goddamn sure of himself. "I'm just saying, she's obviously grown up to be quite the young woman. You must have to beat the boys off with a stick."

"There's one I'd like to beat," I grumble, turning my attention back to the road. "The one who's currently got her in tears."

I stare out the window at the wall of green trees blurring past, but my mind is still on Lily's sad little face. On the raw, helpless feeling of being her father, but unable to fix her problems with a simple hug and a kiss anymore.

"Ah, yes," Michael says, taking a sip from a metal travel mug. "I've been there. The problem with teenage girls that age is they don't know what they don't know. They're drawn to flash, not substance. To boys who play at being men."

"Lily's too smart for that," I argue, though my own words feel hollow, considering the current situation. "Or she used to be."

"Intelligence and emotional wisdom are two different things," Michael counters, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "You can't tell her that this boy is wrong for her. You can't forbid her from seeing him. That will only push her toward him faster, cementing the misguided love she thinks she feels. Teenage rebellion is a powerful force."

"Then what the hell am I supposed to do?" I ask, frustration bleeding into my body language, my tone. "Just stand by and watch my daughter get her heart broken?"

"No," Michael says, shaking his head slowly. "You show her. You don't tell her what a real man is like, Gabe. You demonstrate, with your own actions, how a woman should be treated. With respect, with devotion, with fierce protection. You make her feel cherished, truly cherished, in a way this boy never could. That's the only way she'll see the difference. Not because you told her, but because she's felt it."

The logic in his words is undeniable, and it resonates with a deep, primal part of me. I've always been a show, don't tell kinda guy. Actions speak louder than words. But there's something about the way he says it that makes the hair on my arms stand on end.

"Once she experiences that kind of genuine devotion," Michael continues, "the cheap imitation will lose its shine. She'll see it for what it is. An empty promise."

I nod slowly, my mind turning over his words. He's right. He's absolutely right. But I can't shake the feeling that there's something more to what he's saying, something beneath the surface that I can't quite grasp. But if anyone understands the human psyche, it's Michael. He's spent his entire adult life studying it. I'm just a mechanic. What the hell do I know?

I look at Lily again, frowning when I see she's staring dejectedly at her phone screen again. She looks so small, so fragile. So vulnerable. And I know, with a certainty that settles deep in my bones, that I would do anything to protect her. To make her happy. To make her see her own worth.

"Thanks, man," I say to Michael, my voice gruff with emotion. "Appreciate the advice."

"That's what I'm here for. In fact, I think this week will be really good for the two of you," Michael says, his eyes fixed on the winding mountain road ahead. "No better opportunity for you to show your daughter what real love looks like. No TV, no internet, no distractions."

The RV lurches as we take a sharp turn, and I grab the dashboard to steady myself. Lily glances up from her phone, her green eyes meeting mine. Instantly I can tell something's wrong. I know my baby girl. My protective radar flares to life. "You okay, Lilypad?" I call out across the cavernous space.

She shakes her head, and I can see the tracks of fresh tears. "No," she says, her chin trembling.

"What is it?" I'm already up and moving toward her, my long legs eating up the distance between us. Ali looks up as I approach, her expression shifting so subtly I almost miss it. There's a flicker of something in her eyes...understanding? Satisfaction? It's there and gone so quickly I wonder if I imagine it, but I've only got the inner workings of one teenage girl's mind on my radar: my daughter's.

"It's Jace," she says, her voice cracking. "He...he texted again."

Ali's chattiness dies instantly, and she looks from Lily to me. "Do you want me to give you guys some privacy?"

"Yes," Lily and I say at the same time, but Lily says it so quietly it's almost inaudible.

"No problem." Ali pats Lily sympathetically on the knee. "I'll go up front with Daddy."

As soon as she's gone, I drop down beside my daughter on the insanely comfortable couch, the white leather cushions sighing under my weight. I put my arm around her and take her hand in mine, her fingers small and fragile, swallowed up by my big, calloused palm. I lean in close, so that my bearded cheek almost touches hers. "Tell me what's going on," I say, my voice low and gentle in that way it only ever is for her.

The tension in her slender frame relaxes almost immediately, her body sinking into mine, head dropping to my shoulder. It feels so right, holding her this close. Like a missing piece of my soul clicking back into place. We have a good relationship. Great, even. And yet, as I embrace her now, I can't remember the last time she let me in like this. The last few months she's been so distant I started to worry this feeling—the simple joy of comforting my girl—was gone for good.

"He's so angry," she says in a small, wavering voice. "He says I'm a selfish, spoiled princess who only thinks about myself."

A dangerous urge to hunt the kid down and wring his scrawny neck surges through me, hot and violent. A red haze of fury clouds my vision for a second.

She is a princess. If he can't see that, maybe I should introduce him to my fucking knuckles, or some of my tools I use at the shop for beating the hell out of stubborn steel bolts. I don't give a fuck if I wind up in jail because he's a minor. No one talks to my little girl like that and gets away with it.

"What else did he say?"

She hesitates, chewing her bottom lip. "It's stupid," she mumbles, dropping her head. "I'm embarrassed to tell you."

"Hey," I say, hooking a finger under her chin and lifting her face so she has to look at me. "There's nothing you can't tell me, you hear? Ever. I'm your dad. I'm on your side. Always."

The trust in her eyes as she looks up at me makes my chest ache with a fierce, all-consuming love. My thumb strokes the back of her small, delicate hand, feeling the fragile bones beneath her skin.

"Okay." She takes a shaky breath and holds her phone out, showing me the screen. My heart does a little flip. This is new. She's never let me read their texts before. The fact that she's sharing them with me now feels like a victory, a small crack in the wall that's been building between us. A rush of triumph goes through me, potent and intoxicating.

I focus on the screen, on the poisonous words there. There are multiple new messages, one after another. He's spammed her, I think is how the kids say it these days.

JACE: guess ur dad is more important than ur bf

JACE: hope u have a nice vacation. u know, what u were supposed to b taking w me before u ditched me for ur daddy. always knew u were a selfish, spoiled princess. all u care about is urself

JACE: but dont 4get who u belong to. when u get back, u better b ready to finally show me

JACE: better yet, show me now. u know what i want

The last one makes a hot, angry tide rise in my chest. My jaw clenches so tightly my teeth ache. The possessiveness, the entitlement, is staggering. This isn't the behavior of a loving boyfriend. This is the playbook of a manipulator. The thought of him touching her, of him demanding anything from her, sexual or otherwise, sends a white-hot shaft of murderous rage through me so intense I can feel it taking over my body, coiling in my muscles.

My fingers tighten around her phone. I wanna throw it against the wall. Smash it into a thousand tiny pieces. I need to break something, but I'd prefer it be Jace’s smug face.

When I speak, my voice is dangerously quiet. I'm barely keeping it together. "He asking you for nudes?"

Lily flinches as if I've struck her. Her cheeks flush a bright, humiliated red. "No!" she says quickly, a little too quickly.

"Baby girl, I know the way teenage boys think. I was one, remember? Sex is all they think about." The words come out as a feral growl. The calm, gentle facade is gone, replaced by who I really am underneath: a predator who'll do whatever it takes to protect my girl, and I snap. "He wants pictures, doesn't he! Of your tits? Your pussy?"

Lily gasps, her eyes wide with shock at my language, at the vulgar words I've never used in front of her before, but she doesn't pull away. Instead, she burrows closer, pressing her face into my chest, seeking comfort from the very source of her embarrassment. The contradiction isn't lost on me. She's ashamed, but she's also not running from me. She's coming to me for safety. My heart pounds against my ribs, a wild, frenzied beat.

"Okay, yes, but I've never sent him any! I told him I'm not ready for that. I keep telling him, but he won't listen."

I'm on my feet before I even realize it, my fists clenched. "Motherfucker," I snarl. "I'm gonna kill that little shit!"