He frowned. “Yeah. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re never home.”

“Oh.” The frown deepened, and his chest lifted as he took in a breath. “Um. Okay.”

He put his book on the stand, took a sip of his coffee, and placed the mug next to it. He took a step toward me and folded his hands behind his back.

“Yes. I know I’ve been…” His hand tugged at his collar before it went back behind his back. “…absent for the last few months.”

“You think?” I retorted. I grabbed the ends of my shirt and fisted my hands around it, stretching it tight. It was becoming harder to breathe, and a hot and burning feeling started in my chest. “Why are you home?” I asked.

“Honey…” He stepped back, his eyes closed. “I’m sorry, Taylor.”

“You’re sorry?” I couldn’t have heard that right. “For what? For not being around? For not helping with Mom’s funeral plans? For not being here, ever? What exactly are you sorry for?”

“Honey—”

“Stop.” I stood up, shoving off from the floor. “I don’t want your apology.”

“Taylor—”

I shook my head. God. I could see it all over him. He felt bad. His face was filled with regret. He wanted to take everything back. I saw all of it, and none of that helped. “Don’t.” My voice dropped. “You can’t take anything back.”

He looked at me, drawing in a deep breath. His lips pressed together before he said, “I’ve not been here for you…”

I kept shaking my head. He had no idea. None at all. “I lost my mom, and you. I lost both of you.”

“Taylor, I…you’re right. I can’t take it back.”

I held up a hand, stopping him again. “Why are you here today?”

“We don’t have a game, and…” He scanned my face, seeming hesitant to say his next words. They came out in a rush. “I got tired. I got tired of hiding and avoiding. I did leave this morning. I was going to stay at the arena all day, but no one was there.” His head hung low. “I couldn’t think of a reason to stay away, so I came home.”

A guttural laugh ripped through me. I didn’t know how to take this. He was my father, and he’d left me high and dry.

But he lost me, too, honey. A lump formed in my throat. I could hear my mom in my head. Even now, even gone for so long, I knew she would’ve been forgiving. She would want me to forgive, too.

“You weren’t there for me,” I said, my voice hoarse.

“I know.” His eyes shut tight and his forehead wrinkled. “I am so, so sorry, Taylor. I really am. I…it sounds stupid when I say it out loud, but I woke up today. I’ve been…escaping takes a lot of work, I’ve realized. I need to use that energy for something else, so I’m here. I’m not leaving tonight, tomorrow. I’ll be home in the evenings. I really will. You and me, it’ll be like we’re father and daughter again. Not—”

“—roommates?” I supplied.

He stopped, and his shoulders slumped. It was like I’d taken whatever oomph he’d had in him. My father was gone.

I was staring at a husband who’d lost his wife, and seeing him that way, I understood the grief still there. They’d been best friends and soulmates. He lost his other half. I could see the battle and how it weighed on him. A knot formed in me, and seeing my father as a man, not just as my dad, made it even tighter. It was bittersweet, and it was necessary.

“I’m sorry, too, Dad,” I whispered.

His eyes lifted, haunted. “I’m so sorry, Taylor. I really am.”

I had to say some things, and I knew they were going to hurt him, but if I held my feelings in, they would never leave me. “I’m angry at you.”

“Oh, honey. I know. And you have every right to be.”

I shook my head. I wasn’t done. “I’m angry at you for so many reasons, but mostly I’m angry at you because you haven’t been around.” I flinched, remembering what I’d said. “Your daughter shouldn’t be your roommate. Ever.” He was supposed to be here. “You were supposed to hold my hand at the funeral.” He made sure someone else sat between us. “You were supposed to hug me when we buried her.” He stood on the other side of the casket. “You were supposed to tell me everything would be okay.” Never. I hadn’t known if it would be or not. “I get it. You’re mourning her, too, but so am I. I wanted to mourn with you, beside you, together. Instead I lost you too. I’m not supposed to lose both of you—not when one of you is still walking, talking, breathing. Not when you’re right here in front of me.”

“Taylor,” he whispered, tears falling down his face.

“We don’t talk. I don’t talk. I learned that from you and Mom dying, we need to talk about that. We have to talk about her. We have to just talk, Dad.”

“I know. You’re like me. Your mother was the talker. She made everything better for us, but you’re right. We need to talk more.” He tried to smile, but couldn’t. He nodded instead.

“Are you going to be okay?”

At that question, a ragged breath left him, and he shook his head. I was staring at a battered man. I saw the bags under his eyes, the wrinkles I never noticed before. There were extra lines around his mouth, and his entire face seemed to hang loose. The skin sagged where it had been tight before. He aged ten years.