This Life and All the Rest (Next Life, #2)

by Brit Benson

He’s asleep, sprawled across the cushions with his head on the arm of the couch and one leg on the floor, and he has baby Evelyn curled up on his chest like a little kitten. One of his big hands, the left one that’s covered in tattoos, is resting protectively on her back while the other is bent up and propped beneath his head.

Any fucking time of day. Any day of the week. I don’t care if it’s fucking Christmas morning, and we’re eighty years old in a nursing home surrounded by grandkids. You call me. I’ll be there.

“Maybe it’s too late for that, Dad,” I say firmly. “Maybe that bridge was burned four years ago. Maybe Claire poured the gasoline, you tossed the match, and Macon danced on the ashes. I won’t be forced back into a box that I outgrew. I’m not going to forgive him just to make it easier on you.”

I’m always going to be an addict, and she’s always going to be my greatest temptation. The only addiction worth ruining myself for.