To Love Jason Thorn

I contemplated getting on a bus, but I had enough money to hop on a plane. I was a damn bestselling author now; the least I could do was buy a plane ticket back home without counting every cent in my bank account.

So I did just that.

First, I raced to Jason’s house. Being married to a fucking actor had its perks, like how you didn’t have to carry your wallet with you when you were going out with said actor. The smallest clutch could hold your phone and maybe a lipstick, but that’s it, which is why I had to stop by the house to grab a few personal items, a change of clothes, and of course, my ID.

I didn’t want to think about it, but it was hard not to notice that he hadn’t come back home. Where he’d spent the night…I didn’t want to think about that either.

By 12:30 PM, I was in San Francisco.

At 2:00 PM, I was standing in front of the door of my childhood home, where this whole mess had started.

I took a deep breath and lifted my arm to knock on the door.

My dad opened the door, and we spent a few silent seconds looking at each other, which only caused my lips to tip down and tears to start flowing freely down my cheeks.

“Baby,” he sighed.

I wiped at my tears angrily. Why was I even crying?

“I know you are angry at me, but—”

I burst into more tears.

Pathetic, I know.

But then, I was in my dad’s arms and he was whispering the most beautiful words into my ear.

It was worth being a pathetic little wimp. There, I was safe.

It felt so good when he was hugging me so tightly. I could let go of everything and know that he would take care of his girl like he always did. Who could hurt you when your dad had his big arms around you? Who would dare break a little girl’s heart? Didn’t every woman feel like a little girl when their dad gave them a good hug? Didn’t everyone just want to stay there until the monsters went away?

No?

Well, good for you and your independence then. Pop some champagne and celebrate. Congrats, you made it into adulthood. Me, not so much. I would take my dad’s hugs over anything.

“Logan, who is at—Olive? Oh, sweetheart.”

When I heard my mom’s voice and felt her hand softly brushing my hair, I buried my face harder into my dad’s chest and let them love their little girl.