Tragic

Chapter Thirty-Two: Damage Control

Hunter

Biting my tongue when it comes to Judah is the hardest thing I've ever done. I'm at the point where I could just say fuck it and quit my job so Elliot and I can be together with nothing to worry about. I would do that for her. Honestly, I can't think of anything I wouldn't do for her.

In the spirit of moving on and trying to get my life together, I've decided to go and visit my father. I've lived here for almost seven years and have only been to see him once. It didn't go well.

As I pull up to the Huttonsville Correctional Institute, I grip the steering wheel so tightly my knuckles blanch. He's serving a ten-year sentence for second degree felony assault. One of the main reasons he called is because he's up for parole next year. Rehabilitation couldn't possibly happen that quick, and for him, I'm not sure it can happen at all.

His sentence would have been life if they charged him with attempted murder. Unfortunately, my testimony prevented that from happening. Even after all the shit he put us through, I still couldn't be the one who put him away forever. It's not something I can explain. Saying it out loud would have made it too real.

A familiar sick feeling returns to my stomach as I pass through the metal detectors. It's been nearly six years since I've been here, but the memory is still burned in my mind. After placing my things in the bin, a stoic guard checks the guest sheet.

"Hunter Graham," he says my name slowly as he runs his finger along the computer screen. "Yep, you're listed."

I swallow back another wave of nausea threatening to spill all over the floor. The visiting hours are only an hour, but I don't think I'll need that long. It only took three minutes to say what I needed to last time.

He hands me my license with a stiff nod. "Have a seat. We'll call you when he's ready."

I force a half smile, and I shove my ID in my pocket and take a seat on the metal chair. For as many times as I've run through the conversation in my head, I still feel nervous. What could he possibly want from me? Forgiveness? If that is a learned trait, I haven't mastered it yet.

About twenty painfully long minutes later, I'm waved back to the visitation room. I spot him immediately at a table back in the corner. His sandy blond hair is longer than I remember, but the piercing blue eyes we share remain the same. The corners of his mouth turn up slightly as I approach. The chatter of the other visitors and their loved ones starts to blur together, drowning out the incessant thoughts in my head.

My father stands as the guard and I come to a stop at his table. I'm half surprised he isn't shackled or cuffed at all. He's in his light blue uniform, with the addition of a few tattoos I haven't seen before.

"I'm so glad you came," he says. I can tell he wants to hug me, but I make it clear that isn't going to happen by taking a seat in front of him.

He runs his hand through his hair and follows suit. "Your mother said you're teaching now. That's good, son."

I grit my teeth together and narrow my eyes slightly. "That's what you want? To make small talk with me? To pretend like you give a shit how my life turned out so far?"

His eyebrows pull in and he shakes his head. He reaches for me, but I cross my arms and lean back in my seat. "Hunter, of course I care what you're doing. I'm your father."

The scoff that explodes from me is louder than I expected. "My father, huh? You wouldn't know the first thing about being a father. You were a sperm donor at best."