In His Bed (18+)

Chapter 31

Walking into the apartment on Saturday night, my eyes caught on the unfolded pages of a letter open on the kitchen counter.

Curiosity piqued, I made a mental note to ask Mom about it.

If I'd known what it was, I would have ripped it to pieces and thrown it away.

Back in my room, I dumped my bag and grabbed a change of clothes. After a full shift at the store, all I wanted was to wash the retail stench off of my skin.

"Hey!" I called out, heading for the bathroom, "I'm going to take a shower, okay?"

Mom's voice came, soft and muffled from her bedroom. "Okay, hun."

Under the hot spray, I felt the tensions of the day melting away. Taking my time, I ran my lathered bath pouf over my skin, thinking about the shower I'd taken this morning.

Or rather, the shower we'd taken...

A shiver raced across my skin.

Phantom hands caressed me as I closed my eyes, remembering Jason's touch, his taste...

"Hailey? You okay in there?"

Snapping back into the moment, I felt the tepid water and realized that I'd let myself get lost in thought.

"Yeah, I'll be right out!"

I finished quickly, dressing and making my way out to the living room in search of food.

"Hey, what's the plan for dinner?"

Mom appeared behind me, coming out of her bedroom. "Well, we have leftovers, but we also have a frozen pizza?"

"Leftovers tomorrow, pizza and a movie tonight?" I offered.

Mom nodded, "I'll get that started – I want you to read that letter."

Pausing, I glanced over at the papers on the counter. "What is it?"

"...it's from your grandfather."

"Wh-" Confusion consumed me for a moment, and then I realized her meaning.

Mom must have seen the dawning rage in my eyes, "Yeah. That one."

"He sent a letter?"

"He did."

I scoffed, "Did it include the eighteen years of child support his son still owes us?"

"It didn't, but I still want you to read it."

"Why?"

"Because it's about you."

"What could he possibly have to say to me now?"

"Humor me? Please?"

I bit back a snarl. "Fine." Swiping the letter off of the counter, I stalked over to the couch, sitting as I scanned over the first page:

Denise,

It has taken me eighteen years to write this letter.

There are so many things that I need to say, so many wrongs that I need to atone for.

To start, I owe you an apology that cannot be said in mere words. I was a fool – a fool to allow my pride to blind me, a fool to have treated you as abominably as I did. I see that now.

It is with the clarity of age that I also recognize my cowardice. I convinced myself that shunning you was the right decision to protect my family and my reputation – when in fact I was too scared to do the right thing and accept you and your daughter into our family.

In doing so, I robbed myself of the ability to know you, and to be a part of your daughter's life.

And now, in the waning years of my life, I feel the weight of these mistakes more keenly than I can express.

I know that I have no right to ask you for any favors, not after the way that my family has treated yours. Still, if you could find it in your heart to give me a chance, I would deeply appreciate the opportunity to speak with you and, if she is willing, with your daughter.

-Robert Griffen, Sr.

My hands were shaking as I set the letter down. Looking up, I saw Mom watching me from the kitchen.

"So?" she asked.

I met her eyes. "Fuck him."

"Hailey-"

"No," I crossed my arms over my chest, "he treated you like garbage, ignored me for my entire life, and now he wants to play 'family' to ease his own conscience? Fuck him!"

She sighed, "Hailey, you have to allow people to change."

I whipped my head up, facing her, "Do I?"

"What's the harm in meeting with him?"

I grit my teeth together. "I don't want him to think his slate is wiped clean just because he had a conversation with me."

"Then don't let him think that."

I stared at her.

Mom walked over and sat next to me. "Hailey, if you want to go to this meeting just to tell him off to his face, then I'll support you." She took my hand. "If you go and hear him out and still want to tell him to go to hell, then I'll be right there with you." She squeezed my fingers with hers. "I just think that if you don't meet with him, you will always wonder, 'What if...?'"

I felt my anger simmering within me, and I shook my head.

"Look, I don't need an answer right now – I just want you to think about it, okay?"

"No promises." I mutter.

"I'm not asking for any."