Chapter 43

Paul's POV

I take the Coke can from Bella, my hand still shaking. After my break down, Bella practically dragged me into her house and sat me on her couch. She held me while I cried and screamed and cursed my father. My goddamn father.

"Maybe…maybe you should go talk to him," Bella suggests, patting Daisy's head. That dog follows her everywhere, and has finally started to like. For some reason, from the first time Daisy laid eyes on me, she hated me. I don't know what made her like me, but now she does.

"I can't talk to him," I say, shaking my head.

"Why not, Paul? He and his family live here now. You guys are going to see each other no matter what. You have to talk to him sooner or later," Bella says.

I stare at her.

"What?" She asks.

"Please tell me you're not serious," I whisper.

"Paul, you need to talk to him."

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!"

"I can't trust him! Not after what he's done!"

"Paul, that was ten years ago! He's changed! You said that he started a new family. Has he beat them? Is he drinking anymore?"

"No, but-"

"You need to go and talk to him. He needs to explain to you what happened. You need to hear him out. Both of you need to talk and fix your relationship."

"I can't believe this! You're taking his side!"

"I am not taking anyone's side! I am trying to fix this! You always tell me how you wished you're relationship with your father was better! This is your chance! This is your chance to get to know your father and have a relationship with him!"

"What would you do if this was your father we were talking about!" I yell, knowing it was a low blow; I don't care though. At least, not right now.

Bella stares at me, her mouth open. She's speechless.

"Oh my god," she whispers. Before I know it, Bella is crying and is upstairs in her room. I stare after her, shocked by what I did. I run to the staircase and take them two at a time. Running to Bella's door at the end of the hall, I knock on it.

"GO AWAY!" I hear her sob out.

"Bella, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean that. I swear," I say.

"I said go away!" She says again.

"Baby, please talk to me," I say, putting my forehead on the door.

I get no answer.

"Bella, honey, please," I beg. I'm ready to go on my knees and beg.

Slowly, I hear Bella the door. I take a step back so I wouldn't fall. She opens the door, her face tear-streaked. She holds something in her hand.

"Paul," she says, "I will not talk to you until you talk to your father. Both of you need to come to terms with what happened in the past. I don't care when you two talk, but it better be soon. If not, then do not expect to see me at the altar. After what just happened and how you've been acting, you are not the man that I said yes to. You need to suck it up and be a man that I can trust and that can provide for his family. You need to be a man who will hear people out and not judge them on what they had done in the past. You cannot move forward until you do this," Bella says. She grabs my face and kisses me.

She presses her lips to mine and holds me to her. I wrap my arms around her waist, not wanting to ever let her go. After a while, she unclasps my arms and takes my hand, squeezing it. And then she let's go. After her bedroom door leaves, I look down at my fisted hand. Slowly, painfully, I open my hand. A tear falls. The engagement ring that I gave to Bella lay in the middle of my palm, glistening in the light.

It's a cute house. White wood with a light blue door and light blue shutters. The trim around the roof is light blue. The porch is white with three steps leading up to the front door. A swing in one tree, a hammock in the other. A rocking chair, a coffee table, and regular chair beside one door while there is a couch and two chairs and another coffee table on the other side of the door. The cushions are light blue with white trimming. A paved pathway leads up to the front of house, with grass on either side.

Slowly, I walk up that path, up those steps, and straight to the door. I stare at it, arguing with myself. Before I have time to make a decision, the front door opens. My brother, Scott Lahote, looks up at me.

His eyes widen as he takes in my huge form, my clenched hands. The kid recovers quickly though.

"So, you're Paul?" he asks, crossing his arms.

I nod my head, not knowing what else to do.

"Scott! Get back here! You need to finish- oh!" Wendy Lahote gasps, her hand over her mouth. She takes the last step of the staircase and walks slowly toward us. She puts her arm over Scott's shoulders, pulling him into her side; a protective move. "Paul," she says, smiling.

"H-hi," I say, my voice shaky.

"What are you doing here?" Wendy asks, rubbing her swollen stomach.

"Um, I was wondering if my dad was here?" I ask, shocked that I called him dad.

Wendy's eyes soften, but she shakes her head.

"You just missed him. He just left for the supermarket five minutes ago. But he'll be back soon. Do you want to come in and stay?" Wendy asks, opening the door wider.

"N-no, it's okay," I stutter.

"Oh hush. You will come into this house and wait for him. He shouldn't be long," Wendy says, grabbing my hand and dragging me inside. She's strong for such a small lady.

"I just made cookies, so you can have some. Just sit at the kitchen table and make yourself comfortable. Now Scott, I want you to go upstairs and bring your homework down. You're father and I are not happy about your math grade," Wendy scolds.

"What's his math grade?" I inquire.

"A D-, barely. He's going to be a freshman next year, and he does not care about his grades. We keep telling him, but it's not working. He's so talented at soccer, but he won't make the team if he doesn't get his grades up," Wendy says, taking the cookies off the sheet and putting them onto a plate.

"Um, if you want, I could tutor him. I was in advanced math in highschool," I say.

Wendy whirls around, shocked. "Really? You would do that for us? Oh my god! Thank you so much!" She says, hugging me. I put my arms around her, awkwardly.

"Wendy! Scott! I'm home!" I hear my dad say. I wench myself away from Wendy. I'm scared shitless. I shouldn't be here. I shouldn't have come. This was stupid.

I freak out. I make a run for it. I run into my dad. I try and jump around him. He catches me.

"Let me go!" I yell.

"No, Paul. Look at me!" My dad says.

"No!" I yell.

"Paul, look at me!" My dad yells, taking me by the shoulders. He's shaking me, trying to get me to look at him. I refuse. I can't do this. I pretty much go into shock.

"Paul!" My dad says, and then he slaps me. It breaks my walls, and I start crying.

I cling to him, my father. I bury my face in his neck, clench my fists in his shirt. He holds me to him, moving his hand in small circles on my back, and talking soothing words in my ear. He leads me to the couch, and just holds me. After a while, I stop crying.

"I'm sorry," I say.

Silence.

"I'm sorry too," my dad says, kissing the top of my head.