Through his dad’s words, Garrett felt his throat close.

He also watched his father’s eyes get bright and felt wet hit his own.

He didn’t move.

He also still didn’t speak.

Dave Merrick cleared his throat, sniffed, and kept talking.

“Last thing I gotta say to you is to repeat, Cher Rivers is a different story. You’re worried about these issues you got. You’re worried you can’t get past them. What you don’t see is that you got your hands on a woman who knows how to weather a storm. So what you got is a woman who knows about your issues. This means you don’t have to do shit, Garrett, except count your lucky stars you’re able to hold tight to your woman so you can weather…the goddamned…storm.”

He knew Dave was done.

Then again, he actually was done because, fucking finally, he’d given Garrett just what he needed.

And it was just plain done because he needed his father to point out that Cher had already given him what he needed. And she did this days before, not putting up with the shit he’d pulled at dinner at her mother’s house.

But Garrett still couldn’t speak because his throat was still closed and he was having trouble with his breathing.

This meant he cleared his throat and sniffed, just like his dad.

“Now, your sister’s pregnant again, which fills me with joy,” Dave declared. “But she’s forty, so I’ll be havin’ words with Tanner about another go with that because, more time passes, it’s gonna start bein’ dangerous for her. And anyway, this kid makes four for Tanner and four is enough for any man, for God’s sake.”

Garrett smiled.

“But I’m not done with grandchildren,” Dave kept on. “Lived empty except for you two kids after we lost Cecelia. Time you two did what you can do to fill me up. Cher’s young, got a lotta baby makin’ in her. But you best get on that because you’re no spring chicken and I ain’t either.”

Garrett stopped smiling even though what Dave said was funny.

He also whispered, “Love you, Dad.”

“I know you do, son, and love you too. You make a kid, you’ll know just how much,” Dave whispered back.

He knew that. His dad didn’t say it often, but he didn’t shy away from it.

Since Garrett could remember, before his mother died and after, Dave Merrick always showed it.

Talking low, Garrett stated, “You’re not to blame about Mom.”

Dave didn’t reply.

“You aren’t, and Rocky and me never blamed you,” Garrett went on.

The guilt and pain sat in his dad’s eyes where it had been for years, never leaving, never even dulling.

“Mom wouldn’t either,” Garrett finished. “And you know it.”

Surprisingly, his dad spoke then.

“I know it.”

At least there was that.

Dave Merrick said no more.

And Garrett had said what he could. Whether his father took it in, that was his choice.

But he’d said what needed to be said.