Some Kind of Perfect (Calloway Sisters #5)

by Krista Ritchie

“You’re a better father,” he tells me. Stop crying. “A better husband.” Stop fucking crying. “A better man.” I drop my gaze, not covering my face. I cry in front of the man who always told me to goddamn stop. I’m hunched like if I try, I might be able to hug myself. Pain obliterates me from top to bottom, engulfing all that I was. All that I am. “Loren.” “Stop,” I choke. “Just stop.” I set a glare on him. He sets one on me. “I won’t stop because you can’t control your tears.” There it is. In my fucked up reality, I’m almost glad to hear it. One last time. My older brother would think it was sick, but I can’t help it. I rub my eyes with the back of my sleeve. When I look at him, he canvasses me like he’s remembering me for the final time. “I’ve always loved you, son.” I know. He never let me forget it. “It was a decent ride. The whiskey could’ve been better towards the end.” I can’t laugh at the joke. He stayed sober. My dad stayed sober for a long time. For me. For Ryke. For Willow. For himself. “Will you remember?” he asks, fear creasing his eyes for the first time. “Remember what?” “That I loved you.” I realize he’s worried about his legacy. That maybe in time Jonathan Hale won’t be remembered as the man who fought to bring his three children together—but rather as the old drunk who shouted slurs and spiteful things. I’m not sure what’ll happen in the future. How I’ll describe him to my children as they get older, but I know I won’t leave out the fact that he loved us. A...

The headstone he picked out towers above all the others. It’s fucking huge. I roll my eyes at it—and at the empty plots surrounding it. The ones he bought for his children, for our families.

What I say next, I have to say to my father six-feet-under. Because I never would’ve said it to his fucking face. I rub my jaw. Then I go still. My pulse slows. The wind howls around me. Quietly, I say, “I loved you in the fucking end.”

She grimaces at me. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” I layer on my usual glare, and her shoulders loosen. She’s glad that I act like I hate her just as much as she acts like hates me. In reality, I love her as much as Lily loves Rose—it’s just the way it turned out to be.