"This is all my fault." My father shook his head sadly. "What do you want me to do?"

"I can't face him right now," I whimpered, sobbing into my sleeve. "Just make him go."

50 Daryl

I knew showing up on Molly's doorstep was a horrible fucking idea, given the eruptions in my kitchen earlier, but I couldn’t not go after her.

I'd tried to call her a million times on the way over, but every time I dialed, it went straight to voicemail. Any other person would take the hint, but I couldn’t.

Not when I was responsible for blowing her world to pieces.

It was a little after eleven that night when I pulled into her driveway and killed the engine.

My hands were shaking so bad, I was surprised I hadn't wrecked my truck on my way over here.

Greeted by the sight of her father's Bentley, I bit back the urge to roar and forced my legs up the steps of her front porch instead.

It felt strange knocking on the front door when I had always used the back door to come and go – or her bedroom window.

Shaking out my fists, I rapped my knuckles on the glass panel of the door and stepped back, shoving my hands into the front pocket of my hoodie while I waited.

For my world to end.

When the front door finally opened inwards, I wasn't surprised to find Nick Peterson staring back at me.

"I know what you're about to say," I quickly started. "And before you say it, just know that I am so fucking sorry. I didn’t mean for her to find out like that. I didn’t mean for her to find out at all. I didn’t – I wouldn’t do that to her. Not intentionally. You've gotta believe me, sir –"

"I don’t blame you, Daryl."

My mouth fell open. "You don’t?"

"No." Nick shook his head. "This is on me, son. I should have told my daughter the truth a long time ago. I thought I was doing what was best for her – protecting her. Shielding her from an ugly, cold side of life, but I was wrong. She was always going to find out the truth."

"I need to see her," I strangled out, feeling my heart thunder wildly against my chest. "Please." Begging wasn't something I ordinarily did, but I was begging him now. "Just let me talk to her – explain my side of things…"

"She doesn't want to talk right now, Daryl," he replied gently. "I'm sorry."

"To me," I croaked out, feeling like I was suffocating under the weight of my guilt. "You mean she doesn't want to talk to me."

"If it's any consolation, she doesn’t want to talk to me either," her father offered. "I just so happen to own the roof over her head, which makes it pretty impossible for her to avoid me."

"Can I at least come inside and try?" I asked, desperate. "Please?"