Free Scandalous by Missy Johnson Page A

and reach up, gently trying to massage out the kinks caused by falling asleep at an awkward angle on the couch. The TV is blaring, and it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust to the dim room. I fumble for my phone and see that it’s nearly three a.m. Shit. I’m surprised I slept so long, and am even more surprised that Roman didn’t wake me up.
     
    Gingerly, I get to my feet and walk down the hall toward my bedroom. I peer inside, only to be greeted with an empty room, the bed still perfectly made up. It’s obvious he’s not home yet. Or maybe he decided to stay at his place. Anger seeps through me. Is it too much trouble to send me a message?
    Fucking hell.
    I flick on the light and storm over to the bed, throwing myself onto it. I’m beyond annoyed. It’s just then I remember the letter from earlier today. Sitting up, I reach for my bag and rifle through it until I find what I’m looking for. I gently ease the envelope open and pull out a handwritten letter. What the hell is this? Who writes letters in this day and age? Curious, I begin to read.
     
    Dear Beth,
    I struggled for a long time with what the best way to do this was, and in the end I opted to write you a letter because I wanted to give you time to digest what I’m about to tell you without the pressure of me being there.
    You have no idea who I am, but I know who you are. Regardless of what you might think, every day for the past 21 years I’ve thought about you. I’ve wondered what you were doing, what kind of person you were. I look at how much you’ve achieved and I’m beyond proud of you.
    So many times I’ve wanted to contact you and I’ve talked myself out of it, sure that you were better off without me in your life. Maybe you are. Maybe I shouldn’t be contacting you, but I can’t help myself any longer. I need to know my daughter. I need to know who you are. I need to make up for the years that I missed.
    Leaving you was a hard decision, believe it or not. I thought cutting myself out of your life was the best thing for you, no matter how hard it was for me. I hope you can understand and forgive me. I’d love the chance to get to know you.
    When you’re ready… If you’re ready, I would love to see you.
    Yours,
    Your Dad, Carlos.
     
    Holy. Fucking. Shit. My heart races as I struggled to breathe. This has to be a joke. After all these years he thinks he can waltz back into my life? After what he did to my mother? I went through hell because he deserted me. He chose his fucked up life over his own daughter and I can never forgive him for that.
    I read the letter again, the words not sinking in. I can’t let myself believe this is actually happening. I refuse to open myself up to getting hurt. It’s happened too many times before and I just can’t let it happen again. Angry, I shred the letter as wet tears roll down my cheeks.
    My eyes widen as I realize something: he knows where I live. That letter wasn’t mailed, it was hand-delivered. Has he been watching me? I shudder, crossing my arms over my chest. Of course he has. I run to the front door to check that it’s locked. I have to get out of here.
    Shaking, I grab my phone and dial the only person I know will answer.
    “Beth?” Coop mumbles. “Are you okay?”
    “No,” I whimper. “Can you… I need to get out of here. Now.”
    “Sure,” he says, sounding much more awake than he did a moment ago. “Give me twenty minutes and I’ll pick you up. Are you at home?”
    “Yes,” I sniffle, wiping my eyes. “Thanks for this.”
    Hanging up the phone, I reach for my duffel bag and begin shoving some essentials in there—a few changes of clothes, toiletries, chargers. Instinctively, I turn around and pick up the tiny pieces of letter, shoving them in the bag too. I zip up the bag and quickly change into a pair of sweatpants and a sweater. I grab my hoodie and throw that on too.

Chapter Twelve
    Coop
    She races out the front door the second I pull into her driveway. I have no