Daddy Dearest

Chapter Seventy Eight

Charlie

I'm sprawled on the couch, my legs flung over the armrest like a discarded rag doll, when Melody bursts through the front door. I can hear her footsteps race toward me, each one feeling like a tiny needle pricking my heart. Why do I have to fall for someone so unattainable?

"Charlie!" she exclaims, her brown eyes sparkling with excitement. "Guess what? I got an A on my calculus test!"

"Of course you did," I mutter, trying to sound nonchalant. "You're amazing, Mel. No surprise there." My words are like icicles, cold and biting, even though inside I'm melting under the heat of my own frustration.

"Aw, come on," she teases, nudging my leg with her foot. "Don't be such a grouch. You know you're happy for me."

And she's right. I am happy for her. But I'm also dying a slow, agonizing death every time I see her smile at someone who isn't me. It's torture – pure, unadulterated agony – and no matter how hard I try to bury my feelings, they keep clawing their way back to the surface.

"Fine, fine," I relent, sitting up and offering her a tight smile. "I'm happy for you. Really, I am."

"Thank you," she beams, throwing her arms around my neck in an impromptu hug. And just like that, I'm lost again, drowning in her scent and the warmth of her embrace. The pain is exquisite, like a sharpened blade driven straight through my chest.

***

"Mr. Davenport!"

My dad walks into the living room, and for a moment, everything seems normal. But then Melody's face turns as red as a ripe tomato, and I can feel the tension in the air like a taut wire.

"Ah, Melody," Dad says with that charming British accent that makes all the girls at school swoon. "How are you?"

"Uh, hi...um, I'm good, uh, Mr. Davenport," she stutters, her gaze fixed on the floor. "Thank you."

"Please, call me Ben," he insists, but Melody just shakes her head, muttering something about respect and boundaries.

It hits me like a ton of bricks – Melody has a crush on my dad. I don't know how I missed it before, but now it's as clear as day. And it feels like someone has plunged an ice-cold knife into my chest.

"Charlie, did you hear me?" Melody asks, snapping me out of my stupor. "We should get going."

"Right. Yeah, sure," I say, my voice barely above a whisper.

"See you later, Mr. Davenport," she calls over her shoulder, still blushing furiously as we leave the house.

"Bye, Melody!" Dad replies cheerfully, completely oblivious to the storm raging inside me.

Months pass, and I do my best to ignore the burning jealousy that flares up every time I see Melody and Dad together. It's not easy; my heart feels like it's being wrung out like a wet rag, twisted and tortured until there's nothing left.

Then one night, I come home to find Melody sitting in our living room, her eyes red and puffy from crying. My mom is there too, her face etched with concern.

"Melody, I think we need to have a private conversation," Mom says gently, her eyes darting between my dad and his amnesiac blank stare. "Ben, could you join us, please?"

"Of course, Waverly," Dad agrees, looking puzzled but willing.

None of them notice me standing in the hallway, just out of sight. I should walk away. I know I should. But something holds me there, rooted to the spot like I've been nailed to the floor.