Chapter 130 Learning to Trust Again

Chapter 130 Learning to Trust Again
Jake POV

The smoke alarm goes off before I even make it through the front door, and for one wild second my heart jumps straight into panic mode, adrenaline still wired tight from everything that happened at regionals yesterday.

"It's fine, it's fine!" my dad's voice calls from the kitchen, followed by the sound of a pan clattering and Lily's delighted giggling. "Slight miscalculation on the garlic bread. Everything else is under control!"

I step into the kitchen to find my dad waving a dish towel frantically at the smoke detector, Lily standing on a chair beside him "helping" by handing him random utensils, and something about the whole scene stops me cold in the doorway.

My dad hasn't cooked dinner in this kitchen since before my mom died. Not once. Two years of takeout containers, frozen meals, cereal for dinner more nights than I'd ever admit to anyone. And now here he is, flour somehow already on his shirt, laughing with Lily like it's the easiest thing in the world.

"What's all this?" I ask, setting my bag down slowly.

"I'm making dinner," my dad says, like it's obvious, like it's not the strangest sentence I've heard all week. "I know it's been a while. I figured it was time to actually try again."

I don't say anything right away. Part of me wants to believe this is real, wants to let myself relax into the idea of my dad actually staying present for once. But another part of me, the part that's been burned two years straight, keeps waiting for the other shoe to drop.

"Started therapy this morning too," he adds, glancing at me sideways while he stirs something in a pot that's thankfully not on fire. "Court-ordered, technically, part of the plea agreement. But Jake, I think I would've needed it anyway. I think I've needed it since your mother died and never let myself actually get it."

"That's good," I say carefully, still not fully trusting this version of him yet, still waiting for the version that disappears the second something gets difficult.

"I also turned down the traveling contract job," he continues, plating something that actually smells decent despite the earlier smoke alarm incident. "Took a local position instead. Less money, less prestige, but Jake, I'll actually be home every night. I know that doesn't undo two years of not being here. I know actions have to prove it, not just words. But I wanted you to know I'm trying."

I sit down slowly at the table, still wary but unable to deny something warming slightly in my chest, watching Lily happily set the table with mismatched plates, watching my dad actually be present in this kitchen for the first time in what feels like forever.

We eat dinner together, actually together, all four of us, since Maren's stayed over most nights this week helping with Lily while everything settles. The food's a little burnt in places, a little underseasoned in others, but nobody complains, and something about the imperfection of it makes it feel more real than any polished takeout dinner ever did.

"Tell us a story about Mom," Lily says suddenly, mouth full of garlic bread. "A happy one."

My dad goes quiet for a second, something bittersweet crossing his face, and then he actually smiles, real and soft.

"Your mom used to make this exact dish," he says. "Except she never burned the garlic bread. She was better at this than me, always was." He glances at Lily. "She used to say cooking together was how families stayed connected. I think I forgot that for a while. I'm trying to remember it now."

Lily beams, satisfied, and dives back into her plate, and I watch my dad watching her, something raw and grateful in his expression that I haven't seen from him in years.

After dinner, while Lily's getting ready for bed with Maren's help, my dad catches me alone in the kitchen, drying dishes side by side in a silence that feels almost normal, almost comfortable.

"I know I haven't earned your trust back yet," he says quietly, not looking up from the plate he's scrubbing. "I know one dinner doesn't erase two years. But I wanted you to know I'm going to keep showing up like this. Every night, if I can manage it. Even the nights it's hard."

"I want to believe you," I say honestly, because pretending otherwise feels like exactly the kind of dishonesty we're both trying to move past. "I'm just not there yet. Not after everything."

"That's fair," he says, and something about him accepting that without arguing, without trying to guilt me into faster forgiveness, actually helps more than any speech could have. "Take whatever time you need, Jake. I'll still be here."

I nod, and for a moment the kitchen feels almost peaceful, almost like the version of normal we lost two years ago is slowly, carefully starting to rebuild itself, one burnt garlic bread dinner at a time.

Then my phone buzzes hard against the counter, and something in the tone of the buzz, too many notifications stacking fast, one after another, makes my stomach clench before I've even looked down.

Three missed calls from Penny. A text underneath, sent just seconds ago, all capital letters, completely unlike her usual careful, measured texting.

JAKE CALL ME RIGHT NOW. Karen woke up. She's talking to the police. And Jake, she's naming names.

My dad notices my face change and sets down the dish towel immediately. "What is it?"

I don't answer him. I'm already dialing Penny's number, hands shaking, my heart slamming so hard against my ribs I can barely hear my own thoughts over the sound of it.

The line connects, and before I can even say hello, Penny's voice comes through fast, breathless, terrified.

"Jake, she's naming your dad's name. But that's not even the worst part." Her voice cracks completely. "She's also naming mine."