He's not my dad

part 26

The next few days crawl by in a blur of forced smiles and shallow breaths. I move through the office like a ghost, hyper-aware of Greg’s presence even when he isn’t on the floor. Every email he sends is painfully professional. Every passing glance feels loaded.

Chuck keeps calling. Voicemails stack up—concerned at first, then confused, then quietly worried. I don’t listen to most of them. I can’t bring myself to hear his voice when I don’t know how to explain the mess I’ve created by doing absolutely nothing wrong and yet feeling guilty anyway.
By Thursday afternoon, I’m exhausted. Emotionally wrung out. I’m staring at my screen, not really seeing the words, when the elevator dings and my stomach drops.
I don’t even have to look up. I feel him before I see him.

Chuck stands at the end of the floor, hair messier than usual, dark circles under his eyes, anxiety written all over his face. He scans the room until his eyes land on me. Relief floods his expression so fast it breaks my heart.

He walks straight toward me. Doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t care who’s watching.
“Taylor.”

That’s all it takes. My composure shatters. I stand up so quickly my chair skids back, and before I can stop myself, tears spill down my cheeks. I don’t even try to wipe them away.

He’s there instantly, pulling me into his arms like it’s instinct, like he’s been holding himself back from doing this for days. I bury my face into his chest, shaking.

“I was so worried,” he murmurs into my hair, holding me tighter. “You wouldn’t answer. I thought something had happened.”

“I’m sorry,” I choke out. “I didn’t know what to say. I didn’t know how to talk to you.”

He pulls back just enough to look at me, his hands still warm and steady on my back. “Is this about the kiss?” he asks gently. “Because if you’re avoiding me because of that… you don’t need to.”

I freeze. “What?”

He exhales slowly. “He told me. My dad. He told me everything.”

My heart stutters. “He—he did?”

Chuck nods, his jaw tightening. “Yeah. He came to me the day he found out we were dating. Said it was a mistake, that neither of you knew who the other was at the club, that he didn't realise until he saw you again .”

Fresh tears well up. “I didn’t want to hurt you,” I whisper. “I didn’t even know it was him. I swear to you, Chuck, I would never—”

He cuts me off by pulling me back into his arms. “I know,” he says firmly. “I know you. And I know him. This isn’t on you.”

I cling to him, letting myself breathe for the first time in days. “I quit my job,” I admit softly.

His body goes still. “You what?”

“I handed in my resignation. I couldn’t stay. Not after everything. It felt… impossible.”

He pulls back again, searching my face. “You don’t have to run,” he says quietly. “From him. Or from me.”

“I wasn’t running from you,” I say quickly. “I was trying to protect you. And myself. And honestly? I didn’t trust my own head anymore.”

He sighs, pressing his forehead against mine. “Next time, let me in. Don’t shut me out.”

“I promise,” I whisper.

There’s a beat of silence before he chuckles softly, brushing a tear from my cheek. “You really scared me, you know. I was starting to think you’d decided I wasn’t worth the drama.”

I give a watery laugh. “If anything, you’re the problem. In the best way.”

He smiles—soft, real, relieved. “Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get you out of here. You look like you could use some air.”

As we walk toward the elevator together, I feel eyes on us—curious, confused, maybe judgmental—but for the first time, I don’t care. Chuck’s hand is warm in mine, grounding me.

.....

By the time we leave the office, the knot that had been sitting in my chest for days has finally loosened. Chuck drives, one hand on the wheel, the other resting casually on my knee like it belongs there. The city blurs past the windows, and for the first time in what feels like forever, everything feels… normal.
We talk about his tour.
“I’m exhausted,” he admits with a grin. “But it’s the good kind of tired. The kind where you fall into bed knowing you actually did something you love.”
I smile at him. “You light up when you talk about it.”
“That’s because it’s my happy place,” he says. “Crowds, late nights, crappy motels, broken amps… it’s chaos, but it’s ours.”
I laugh. “You make it sound romantic.”
“It is. In a filthy, loud, sleep-deprived way.”
We both laugh, and then his expression shifts slightly, more thoughtful.
“So,” he says carefully, “are you still leaving work next week?”
“Yes,” I answer. “I’ve already committed to my notice period, but after that… I’m done.”
He nods, processing it. Then, almost casually, he asks, “Would you come with me? For the last two weeks of the tour?”
I blink. “Come with you?”
“Yeah,” he says, glancing over at me. “Nothing crazy. A few cities. I’d love to have you there.”
The answer bursts out of me before I can overthink it. “Yes. Absolutely.”
His smile is immediate and bright. “Really?”
“Yes—but,” I add quickly, raising a finger, “I am not riding in the van.”
He laughs so hard he nearly misses a turn. “Wow. Straight to the demands.”
“I’m not a snob,” I defend myself. “I just know how your bandmates live. I’ve met Freddie. And Anthony looks like he hasn’t met a shower since 2012.”
“They’re artists,” Chuck says solemnly.
“They’re pigs,” I correct.
He snorts. “Fair. Honestly? I wouldn’t subject you to that either. Freddie once used a pizza box as a pillow.”
I grimace. “My point exactly.”
“I’ll help you sort your own transport,” he promises. “Hotels with actual walls. Bedsheets that haven’t seen war.”
“Thank you,” I say sweetly. “I like you, but not enough for trench conditions.”
He grins at me. “You’re fancy.”
“I’m clean.”
He launches into stories from the road—missed flights, broken strings, Anthony accidentally setting off a fire alarm in a motel at three a.m. I laugh until my sides hurt, picturing it all, imagining myself on the sidelines of his world. Watching him do what he loves.
Everything feels easier now. Lighter. Like the tension that had been pressing down on us has finally lifted.
But still… there’s a quiet worry humming beneath it all.
Your dad.
I don’t say it out loud, but Chuck seems to sense the shift in me.
“You okay?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I say. “I just… hope things don’t get weird with your father.”
He sighs. “They already are a bit.”
“I don’t think he told you everything,” I admit carefully. “Not all the… comments. The flirting. The way he looked at me.”
Chuck’s jaw tightens for a moment, then relaxes. “He didn’t. And honestly? I don’t want to know.” He glances at me. “What matters is that it’s done. And that you chose me.”
My chest warms at that.
“I did,” I say softly.
He reaches for my hand, squeezing it. “We’ll figure the rest out. We always do.”
I lean back in my seat, watching the road stretch ahead of us, filled with unfamiliar cities, loud music, and possibilities.
For the first time in a long while, I’m excited about what’s coming next—even if part of me knows the past isn’t quite finished with us yet.