Page 21 of Her Father's Best Friend
Bill steps away from the grill, moving toward me with deliberate slowness. "My daughter. My twenty-two-year-old daughter. And you—" He breaks off, shaking his head as if to clear it. "How long has this been going on?"
"About a month," I say honestly. "Since she came home."
"A month." He repeats the words like they taste bitter. "You've been sleeping with my daughter for a month and didn't say a word to me."
I don't deny it. There's no point. "I should have told you sooner. I know that."
"You shouldn't have touched her at all!" The explosion comes suddenly, his voice rising to a shout. "She's half your age, Mitch! I trusted you with her!"
"She's not a child," I say, keeping my voice calm despite the anger radiating from him. "She's a grown woman who knows her own mind."
"She's my little girl!" Bill steps closer, his face flushed with rage. "And you—you were supposed to be my friend. Like a brother to me. I let you into our home, into our lives?—"
"I know." Guilt surges fresh and hot in my chest. "I never meant for this to happen, Bill. But it did, and I can't pretend it didn't. I can't pretend I don't love her."
"Love?" He spits the word like a curse. "You think this is love? You think I'm going to believe that? Men like us don't go after girls like Delilah because of love."
The implication stings, anger flaring in response. "Don't talk about her like that. Don't reduce what we have to something dirty."
"What you have is a betrayal!" His fist slams against the railing, making the bottles jump. "Fifteen years, Mitch. Fifteen goddamn years I've treated you like family, and this is how you repay me? By sneaking around with my daughter?"
"It wasn't like that," I insist, though in some ways, it was exactly like that. "And I'm not here asking for your permission. I'm here out of respect—because you deserve to know the truth."
"Respect?" He barks a harsh laugh. "Don't talk to me about respect while you're fucking my daughter behind my back!"
The crude language makes my jaw clench, protective instinct flaring. "Watch how you talk about her."
"Or what?" He steps closer, chest puffed out, years of friendship disintegrating in the heat of his rage. "You gonna make me, Mitch? You gonna hit me for insulting the girl you claim to love? The girl whose diapers I changed? Who I taught to ride a bike? Who you watched grow up?"
Each question lands like a blow, highlighting the very concerns I've wrestled with myself. But I stand my ground, refusing to be cowed.
"I know how this looks," I say, keeping my voice steady. "I know the age difference bothers you. I know you feel betrayed. I get it, Bill. But what I feel for Delilah is real. What we have is real."
"She's twenty-two!" he shouts, as if I might have forgotten. "She doesn't know what she wants! She's barely out of college!"
"She knows exactly what she wants," I counter. "She's not some naive kid, Bill. She's smart, she's determined, she knows her own mind. And for whatever reason, she wants me."
Bill turns away, hands gripping the railing so tight his knuckles go white. For a moment, there's only the sound of the steaks burning on the forgotten grill, the distant chirp of birds, the heavy breathing of a man trying to contain his fury.
"How am I supposed to look you in the eye now?" he asks finally, his voice lower but no less angry. "How am I supposed to trust you ever again?"
The question hits me where I'm most vulnerable—the friendship I've valued for so long, the bond I've just shattered beyond repair.
"I don't know," I answer honestly. "That's up to you. But I'm not going to apologize for loving her, Bill. I'm sorry for the way it happened, for not telling you sooner. But I won't apologize for what I feel for Delilah."
He turns back to face me, his expression hardened into something I've never seen before. Not just anger, but betrayal so deep it's carved new lines around his mouth, his eyes.
"Get out," he says quietly. "Get out of my house."
I nod, having expected nothing less. "I want you to know—she tried to make me tell you from the beginning. This secrecy wasn't her idea. If you're going to be angry at someone, be angry at me."
"Oh, I'm plenty angry at you both." His voice is cold now, controlled in a way that's somehow worse than the shouting. "But you—you're supposed to be the adult here. You're supposed to know better."
The dismissal stings, but I let it go. This isn't the time to argue semantics or point out that Delilah is every bit the adult I am, just with fewer years behind her.
"I hope someday you can understand," I say, moving toward the steps that lead down from the deck. "Not approve, maybe, but understand."
"Don't hold your breath." He turns his back on me, a dismissal as final as a slammed door. "And Mitch? Stay away from my daughter."
