The One That I Want (Scorned Women Society Book 3) by Piper Sheldon (e book reader android txt) 📕

he turned his head and shrugged me off. I withdrew my arm and balled my fist. I stepped back.

He mumbled something I couldn’t understand. I dropped to my knees to see his face. “What?” I asked.

His eyes were shining and red-rimmed. “I’m fucking awful,” he said.

“No. You are not,” I said emphatically.

“I am.” He dropped to his knees too and we faced each other, kneeling on the squishy plastic flooring of the playground. “I just said I was glad my father is dead.”

“Explain what you mean,” I said.

He bit his lip and looked up at the heavy clouds. “It was awful at the end. He was gone. All that was left was just this sad shape of a man that used to be my father.” He glared at his clenched fists. “There were many years where he was still mostly lucid. There’d only be flashes where he’d get confused and angry. Paranoid. He’d go missing and a neighbor would find him wandering down the street.”

He took a break to swallow. My own throat tightened in sadness.

“I can’t imagine how hard that must have been for you,” I said softly but his gaze was distant in memory.

“But at least there were times when he was still there. But at the end. That wasn’t him at all. I just wanted him to be at peace. I wanted him to go be with Mom and stop suffering.” His lip trembled and he took another breath. “He’s gone. The man who raised me will never … and I hate that I feel relieved.”

I held his hands in mine and he let me. “You’re not awful. I think most people would feel that way.”

He stood up and paced. “I don’t want to. Shouldn’t I be grateful for the time that we had? Even at the end. Even when it was hard. I should have been there every moment holding his hand.”

“You can love your father and be angry. You can feel sad and be thankful. You’re a living, breathing person. Nobody expects you to be happy all the time.”

“They don’t?” he snapped. “Because isn’t that who I’m supposed to be? Isn’t that what people want from me? The ‘good time’ guy. The guy that makes choices and moves forward.”

“I hardly think if you asked Skip what he liked most about you, it would have anything to do with you being happy all the time. People love you for you, not what you do for them. Isn’t that what you told me?”

That stilled him.

“I’m just tired of feeling like this.” He rubbed his chest one time with a fist. “This constant pain. I don’t fucking want this. He would have been okay. He would’ve taken it in stride and handled it like a man.”

“Your dad?” I asked.

“When my mom died, he kept it all together. He knew how to take care of me and be strong.”

“I’m sure he struggled,” I said desperate to soothe him. He was so hurt and fragile. This big, confident man so full of life was just as alone as the rest of us. My heart ached for him.

I stayed kneeling looking up at him as he walked in circles.

“You should be mad,” I said.

He stilled and looked at me. “No. Anger is for the weak. Anger is a young man’s emotion. For toddlers. That’s what he would say.”

“Emotions make you human,” I said.

“They make me a coward. They make me run.” He stopped and took me in. I saw myself in his eyes, kneeling in front of him, eyes wide, mouth open in wonder. “You have no idea how fucking weak I am. If you had any idea …” He tore his gaze away from me and paced.

“You can be angry.” I threw out my arms. “Just be mad. Feel it. Accept it. It doesn’t have to consume you. You can acknowledge it without letting it define you.”

He shook his head.

“Be mad, Sanders. Feel it.”

“At who?” he asked.

“The world. God. The universe. Me. Your dad. The situation. The air you breathe. It doesn’t matter. You can be angry. And then you can move on. Take it in like a breath and then let it go. It’s horrible and it is so not fair.”

“I am angry. I’m so fucking angry.” He kicked the swing but it must have not satisfied him enough.

He kicked the ground but the foam flooring just absorbed the impact. He punched the air. Finally, he went to the trees a few feet away and picked up a large branch. I wouldn’t even be able to lift it above my head and yet he swung it around, flourishing it like a sword. His arms flexed in strength. He smacked it against the swing set, the metal rang out in response. The muscles of his back and shoulders pushed and pulled with the effort. He swung it again and again like a blacksmith shaping a sword.

He looked like a man finding truth. As though he was trying to cleanse himself. Breaking free of the invisible chains that had been holding him to the earth. If wings sprouted from his back and lifted him into the air, I wouldn’t have been surprised.

When he finally stopped, his shoulders were hunched as he heaved in ragged breaths. Turning back to me, he dropped to the ground where I still knelt, pulling me into his lap and burying his head in my chest. I held him tight to me.

“It’s not fair that you lost them both,” I said.

“It’s not fair. It’s bullshit. He was everything to me. After my mom died, it was just me and him. And Skip,” he said with a sad laugh.

“Tell me about him,” I said.

“He had such a presence. Everybody loved him.”

“Sounds familiar,” I teased and I felt him smile against my chest.

“He was everything I wanted to be.”

“He sounds amazing.” I ran my fingers through Sanders’ hair.

“He was. Fuck.” He nuzzled deeper into me with a shuddering sigh.

“I know,” I said.

He wrapped his arms around me and squeezed