The One Who Lived

Chapter Seventeen - Vanderbilt's POV

The entire drive back to the house, Kara never stopped talking about Ada.

She talked about how grown Ada is now, and how beautiful she has turned out. She talks about how she had always hoped that we would get together, and how she wants to be at our wedding.

I really wanted to snap at her. I wanted to demand if she really thought I didn't see Ada's beauty nor how she had grown into a fucking amazing person. I want to yell at her and demand that she not talk about our wedding that will never happen, and how we were together, but we aren't now. I want to tell her how her golden boy called Hawkins ruined everything, and I now have lost the love of my life in exchange for his secret about the love of his life.

I want to demand to know if this is how heartbreak should feel. I want to know if that day, when Ada walked away from me, if it should have fucking ripped me in half like it did. Because I swear that it did – a piece of me walked away with her when she walked away from me in that hallway.

But I don't – I refuse to hurt her in any type of way like I hurt Ada.

Instead, I smile at her comments and listen to her hopes, because I haven't seen her in over a year. I haven't seen her since the day that my parents fired her, and I have never been happier to see an adult in my life. Sure, I kind of wish my parents had come, but I am happier that it was her. I didn't realize that she was my emergency contact and I thank the gods above that she is.

Kara only ended up staying for one day before my dad reappeared and asked her to leave. I gave her one of my strongest hugs before she walks out that red door just like she did over a year ago.

The worst part is that my father and I haven't talked since he has come home. All he said was, 'happy you are okay, kid' and then he went off to his room to read some plays or something. I haven't seen him in three days, and I didn't even know my mother was coming home until she just now walked through the door.

"Vanderbilt!" She yells as she drops her bags and runs across the room to grab me.

"Hey, mom." I say as she squeezes me with way more strength than her tiny body should have.

She smiles, pulling away from me. "I was so worried. I am so sorry that I couldn't be there for you! I was in Germany when they called me, and I got on the first flight home." She grabs my hand and leads me towards the couch. "How are you feeling? Has it bruised? Any physical or mental repercussions since?" She fires away with her usual twenty questions.

"It is definitely bruised, but other than that, I am okay." I answer, plainly.

She nods. "I am so relieved. Your father said you were having some nightmares, but that is typical and should be expected." She says making my eyebrows furrow.

"Nightmares? I haven't been having any nightmares." I say just as my father exits the hallway to their wing of the house.

My father looks up from his phone and slides it in his pocket when he sees my mom. "You have a couple a night. I hear your yelling and come and wake you out of them." He comes over to the couch but stays standing.

I shake my head. "No, you don't." I insist making him nod his head.

"Yes, I do, son. You may not remember it, but I do." He states casually as he walks to the bar and pours himself a scotch.

My mom sits up straight and looks at the two of us. "I need to talk to the two of you." She says making both my dad and I stiffen because her starting a conversation with this has never been good.

The thing about my mother is that even though she shorter than my father by at least a foot – her presence is bigger than his. My father may be louder and more noticeable, but my mother holds your attention and gaze.

"Okay?" I question as my father comes and sits on the couch.

"First, I want to apologize to you." She turns and looks at me. "We have fucked up, Vanderbilt. Plain and simple. Your father and I fucked up." My mom curses for the first time I have heard in forever.

My parents have always said that cursing or swearing voids your fight or discussion. It makes you look stupid and sound uneducated. If you want to get a message across, you do it without cuss words.

"Yeah, you kind of did." I state, dryly.

My mother's eyes fill with tears. "I am so sorry. I didn't mean to do this to you. I didn't mean to become the mother I had, and never wanted you to experience." She straightens her back and looks at the both of us as a tear slips down her face. "So, that is why I have officially put in my resignation to the President that will become effective immediately." My mother says causing both my father and my mouths to drop open.

"Vivian!" My dad booms.

"Mom!" I exclaim at the same time.

My mom shakes her head, holding up her hand signaling for us to be quiet. "It needed to be done. I have done everything that I could ever want for our country, and now it is time for me to be a mom." She reaches across the bed for my hand. "It is something I should have done years ago." She looks deep into my grey eyes with her green ones.

I shake my head. "No, Mom. I can't ask you to do that. Your job is your life — your dream! Don't give that up for me." I beg sounding like I am four years old again and not almost a legal adult.

"No, it has been done. You guys are my dream. I think that I just forgot that, but I am not ever going to again." My mom looks at my dad and then back at me. "I thought that I had lost you from the message that Marie Jackson left me. I refuse to ever be full of that type of regret, and be so far away from you that I didn't have access to being with you and knowing you were okay."

"Mom, things can't be fixed like this. We have been messed up for a while – actually, since the get go. Quitting your job can't be the answer." I insist making her nod.

"You are right about how messed up we have been, but are so wrong about my job. I have done all that I can for this country at the cost of my son and husband. I don't think that we are going to be any type of perfect any time soon, but we can work towards it. I want to watch you in your games senior year and be there for all of your games into college. I want to fix this," She looks between us. "As long as you two are game."

My dad gives one of his rare smiles. "I am willing to try." He speaks.

I shrug. "I guess that I am too." I answer with little hope in my body because I am not a child anymore.

I don't believe my parents can give up their jobs. I don't think that they can be together in the same capacity as other married couples can be. I don't think that they can parents as well as they can be an NFL player and FBI agent.

But we shall see...