What do you do when you think you believe someone, but doing so would risk your heart?

"I miss you, Mila." His words echo through my mind for the hundredth time this morning. Truth is, I missed him too. Like crazy. More than I thought I would, and I also believe him. I've gotten to know him in these past weeks, and Hayden doesn't seem like a cheater at all.

Not that there'd be anything to cheat on, really...

But still, I'm pissed as hell. I feel used, forgotten, and worst of all, I feel small. Hayden never made me feel small. Ever. That's one thing that draws me to him.

"You ready?" Jasmine's voice echoes through the hallway before she leans against my door, backpack slung over her shoulder. She shoots me another one of those worried glances, one that tells me she knows exactly what I'm thinking right now.

"Yeah, let's go." I muster up a smile before I dash past her, really not wanting to talk about this anymore. I'm so utterly confused and scared, and all I want to do is talk to Hayden right now.

I'm going to see my dad today, after over a year of no contact whatsoever, except for occasional letters. And as much as I'm excited to see him, I'm also nervous as hell. I don't like prisons; the last time I was there, one guard had to reprimand an inmate who wanted to lick my hand. It's insane.

And I want to talk things through with Hayden; it's what we've done so many times over the course of our...thing. I called or texted him whenever I felt anxious, and he just talked me through it, and suddenly it didn't feel like such a big issue anymore.

"Have you answered him yet?" Jasmine pulls me out of my thoughts as I close the door of her truck behind me.

"No. I don't know what to say."

"Mila...I'm just saying. Listen to him?"

"I know." I almost snap at her, the need to stop this conversation taking over. "I will. But not right now."

Her heavy sigh fills the atmosphere as we reach the highway, and I already know I'm about to be pushed again. "At least let him know that, because I'm not sure he wouldn't actually stand in front of our doorstep with a freaking helicopter if you don't answer him."

The simple truth in her statement conjures a smirk on my lips, although I still can't help but roll my eyes. "Fine," I mutter before I pull out my phone and type a quick message to Hayden. I have a busy day. I'll contact you tonight.

Unexpectedly, my phone vibrates mere seconds later. Thank you. I hope you have a great day with your dad. Let me know if you need anything, please.

My sudden longing for this man only intensifies when I read his words. That he remembers this appointment doesn't surprise me, but still warms my heart. And when we pull up in front of the prison, I suddenly want him by my side even more, my shaky hands clutching to the phone as I take in the cold gray walls.

"Hey." Jas gives my hand a squeeze. "You'll be fine. I'll come in with you and wait in the foyer, alright?"

"Okay..."

We soon step through the bare white hallway that leads us to the security check, where I already have to say goodbye to my best friend. She gives me another quick hug, which I return wholeheartedly before I follow the guard through the security gate.

My heart thunders when the officer tells me all the rules, as if I didn't know them already, and then escorts me into the visiting room. There are six plexiglass booths in a row, each of them dividing visitors and inmates with a glass screen.

I do my breathing exercise to calm myself as I take a seat in the very uncomfortable visitor's chair.

Five...six...seven...eight...exhale.

A loud buzzing noise makes me look up, and two officers enter through the other side of the booth, the sound of rattling chains ringing in my ears. They stand guard next to the door, and the second I see my father step out of it, I can't help the fresh onset of tears. "Dad..." I swallow the lump in my throat as I take in his appearance; his dark hair is already turning gray, and the wrinkles on his face are more prominent than when I last saw him. I so badly just want to run up to him and hug him so, so tightly. He doesn't look good. At all.

"Hey, buttercup," he whispers as he takes a seat on the chair on the other side of the room, the weak smile on his face causing me to choke up immediately. "Darling, please don't cry." His blue eyes seem almost pained when he moves to take my hand, but then pulls back when he remembers the glass between us.

He's right. I should use the time I have with him, not sit here like a mess he needs to sort out. He has enough on his mind as is. "Sorry." I quickly wipe my face and take a couple of deep breaths, trying to stay calm myself as much as I can.

"Ah, what did we say about apologizing, huh? Only do it when you did something wrong." He smiles, but his eyes hold more than the love he feels for me. I also see the pain in them; the longing to take his daughter into his arms is blatantly obvious. It takes every single shred of energy inside me to keep it together. I hate seeing him in here, for something he didn't even do.

"I know," I reply, shooting him the best smile I can muster up before I clear my throat. "How are you doing, Dad? Are they treating you well?"

"Ah, you know. I'd die for some cups, but other than that..." He shrugs, his trademark fatherly smirk playing on his lips. My obsession with peanut butter cups definitely comes from my dad. Whenever Mom didn't look, he'd pop one in my mouth, which is also probably the reason I had a bit of a chubby phase in my teenage years.

"I can only imagine."

"What about you, sweetheart? Life treating you well?" He seems almost hopeful now.

"Well, kind of. I'm writing my new novel, and it's finally going pretty well."

The smile on his face is so genuine, it instantly throws me back to the days when everything was different. When I'd read him my drafts, and he'd tell me what he thought I needed to change. He was my editor before I even knew what a proper one could do. "What's it about?"

"Well, uh..." I can't help the flush that creeps onto my cheeks.

"Do tell." Dad waves his hand, indulging me to continue as his low chuckle fills the room.

"It's uh...it's kind of...an adult story."

He laughs again, and the guard keeps shooting us weird glances, but I really don't care at this point. "Wow, who would've thought? My daughter is writing an erotic novel." His eyes sparkle with amusement as he leans forward, obviously wanting to know more. "So, what's it about, exactly?"

Dad inspired me to write from an early age. He never wrote himself, but always shared the passion for reading, and he was my very first supporter when I told him I wanted to become a writer.

"Well, it's about a girl who struggles in life, to an extent where she's driven to suicidal thoughts, and then she seeks help. She meets her new therapist, and well...things are just not as professional as they should be, I guess."

He laughs again, releasing his arms from his chest to run his fingers through his thick gray beard as he watches me with interest. Dad could always read me like an open book, which is why it's always been pretty impossible to lie to him. "Honestly, that sounds intriguing. I'd love to give it a read—"

"You're not going to read that, Dad."

"Why not? You're a good writer. I like good writers."

"I'm your daughter."

"Oh? You are?" He grins.

I laugh, realizing how much I missed his humor. It's scary, really. "Stop it, geez."

"I'm just saying. Give it some thought. I want to appreciate my daughter's talent."

"I will," I say, unable to stop the flush on my face.

He studies me again, his eyes narrowing as he leans forward, and I instantly know he's on to something before he can even ask. "So. Who's the boy?"

Oh, God... "What boy?" I ask, as if I wasn't flirting and sexting shamelessly with a certain quarterback.

His laughter fills the room again, and the officer gives us a stern look, signaling to keep it down, but Dad doesn't seem to mind. He just keeps on laughing as he shakes his head, his eyes glimmering with amusement when he points a finger at me. "Oh my God! You look like a tomato!"

"Dad..." I hide my face in my hands.

"I'm sorry, buttercup, but you know you were always too easy to read for me," he retorts with a grin on his lips.

"I know."

"So." His eyes glimmer with interest as he arches his brows. "Tell me about him."

I can't help but chuckle as I take a deep breath and try to think of a way to tell him everything. How the hell do I explain this to him? "Well, he's a football player."

"He any good?"

"You could say so." I scratch the back of my head.

"Mm-hmm..." He narrows his eyes at me. "And what's up with the secrecy?"

Of course he picks up on it. I'd never hide anything from him, not only because he'd find out anyway with the way he's able to read me, but also because I never wanted to. We've been inseparable my entire life, well, until... "It's..." I think about what to say. "It's complicated."

"Love always is, buttercup. What do you mean exactly?"

Love—such a strong word, and yet not misplaced in what my heart already feels for Hayden. "He's...he's in the NFL. The L.A. Lions."

"Oh. Wow. That's... He must be famous." His eyes widen at my revelation.

"Yeah, he is..."

"Okay... Does he treat you right?"

I think back to the past weeks, to those emotional evenings on the rooftop with him, to the dates we've been on, the way he pays attention to me. But then there's that image in my head, the image of this woman and him, and I feel a sharp pain in my heart as I think about the possibility of it being real.

"What's that look?" Dad picks up on my thoughts.

"I... He..." A sigh leaves my throat as I shake my head, trying to find the right words. "He's great, Dad. I mean, really great. You'd love him. I'm sure of it. He treats me well and pays attention, and he's charming, and everything I could ask for. It's just—the media..."

"Ahh, I see." Dad runs his fingers through his beard and leans back in his chair. "Let me guess, the vultures invented some story, and his picture is out there, and you don't know what to think?"

"Something like that," I admit, and he smiles knowingly, folding his hands together in his lap.

"You like him, don't you?"

"I do," I answer without hesitation, ignoring the fact that this conversation should be awkward, considering I'm having it with my father. It isn't, though. He knows me better than anyone, and he understands how I act and feel.

"That's good. And I guess you don't know what to believe now, huh?" he asks, the empathy visible in his eyes.

"Yeah."

"Oh, buttercup. It's easy. Really."

"Doesn't seem like it..."

My dad shakes his head, his typical smile curving on his lips. "But it is. Do you trust him?"

"I do." Once again, I don't even hesitate. I do trust him, really.

"Good, that was quick...then why do you believe what they say about him? You know the vultures as much as I do."

I do. The media ripped my dad into shreds when it all went down, and their coverage during the prosecution seemed to have influenced the jury and the public's opinion. Everyone was sure he was guilty, even though there was no solid proof.

"But that's just it, Dad. I know them. And we just got out of this spiral of attention, finally giving you space. I can't have him interfere with that."

"Oh, sweetheart. This isn't about me." Dad has this sad look on his face, and I have to swallow another wave of tears.

"Everything's about you, Dad. We need to get you out of here."

"You know we're working on it. The media won't change anything about that—it's the system that's failing us. You can't put your life on hold because of it."

"But I—"

"Mila Elizabeth Lyne." The use of my middle name makes me widen my eyes. "You listen to me right now. My situation does not interfere with your life, do you hear me? We'll figure this all out, in due time, but I won't have you running away from a man you like because his profession is inconvenient to us. I raised you better than that." His eyes suddenly have that understanding glimmer in them, and once again I want to throw my arms around him. "I can see you care about him, sweetheart. And I can see he does something to you too. You seem different, in a good way. If he's the guy who can do that, don't waste your time believing what some reporter wrote in the tabloids."

"Meredith was the one who wrote it, actually," I chime in, although I don't know why this fact stands out so much.

"What? Why would she do that if she knows you're with him?"

"I don't think she knows, actually. We had a fallout over him."

It's hard not to notice the hidden smile on his face when I say that. I know he never was a big fan of Mer, but it's not like I had many friends to begin with, so I stuck to the ones I had. "You know I don't like that girl. Maybe it's time to cut your losses here."

"Dad..."

"I'm serious. She always unsettled me. Get away from her, especially if she did this. Because there's no way she didn't know about you two, to some extent at least." He seems utterly serious, and I can't help but sigh. My father's advice has always been way too good to ignore.

"You might be right."

"Oh, and also. About that man. You go talk to him. Don't run away—let him speak, and you listen. If you think you believe him, make sure he knows who he's messing with. Because you're a force to be reckoned with, sweetheart, and if he doesn't know that, you'd better stay away from him."

God, how much I miss my dad's advice. He's always been such a strong man, lifting me up whenever he could, telling me I'm strong, independent, and full of worth. "Yeah. Okay."

We indulge in more small talk, and by the time a loud ringing echoes through the room, announcing the last five minutes of our meeting, I can't suppress the tears anymore.

"Oh, sweet pea, please don't cry. We'll figure this all out. I promise."

"It's just been so long, and I miss you..."

"I know, I know. These things take time. I need to find a better lawyer, and then we can figure this out."

I furrow my brows. "What's wrong with your current one?"

"Ah, he keeps forgetting appointments, and important documents go missing. I think it's time I settle for someone else."

My eyes widen at his words. I know we couldn't choose his lawyer back then, but I have other possibilities now. "I'll do my research, Dad. I have money. Let me have a look and see what we can do."

"I don't want you to deal with this in your—"

"Dad, I'm a writer. I literally have the most flexible job there is. Let me take care of this, for once. Please."

He regards me for a moment, his all-too-familiar warming my heart. "Okay, sweetheart. You know I love you, right? I'm sorry you're going through all this."

"What did we say about apologizing?"

"You're becoming more and more confident, buttercup. It's good." Dad waves his finger at me with a laugh.

I smile at his words, but the officer shoots us a stern look, tapping his watch to let us know it's time. "I miss you, Dad. Please stay safe. We will get you out of here."

"I will. And you try not to think too much. Maybe go for a run, get that brain to stop working in overdrive every once in a while."

We both laugh at that, shaking our heads in amusement as I retort, "Yeah, right. A run."

"Okay, I might have messed up in that regard when I raised you." He chuckles.

"No. I think you did everything perfectly right."

Another loud buzzing noise makes the two security guards step toward us, lifting Dad by his elbows to escort him out. I get up myself, doing everything I can to keep the tears at bay when he addresses me again. "I love you, buttercup. See you soon."

"I love you too, Dad. Stay safe, please."

I watch how they take him away, and Dad shoots me one last smile before he disappears into the dark corridor. I so, so desperately want to break down. To let pity overwhelm me and cry my eyes out over this fucked-up situation, because I miss my dad. Every single day.

But his words resonate in my mind, and I don't want to disappoint him. He said I'm a force to be reckoned with. I just have to believe it.

And so, after I cried the last tears, I take a couple of deep breaths before I walk out of there, a plan forming in my mind while I go through the security check.

I'm suddenly pissed. So goddamn pissed at everything and everyone. I'm going to listen to my dad. If Hayden doesn't know who he's dealing with, he'll be in for a hell of a surprise, that's for sure.

Jas gives me another hug and escorts me to the car, where I grab my phone to open the messenger app.

"Everything okay?" Jas asks, but I only nod as I type my text.

Hey, Meredith. I'd appreciate it if you stopped contacting me, as I'm sure you're aware of everything that's going on, and I really don't want to play games anymore. Have a good life, Mila.

"Who are you texting?" she asks again as we drive up to the highway, but I ignore her while writing the next message, fired up like a volcano right now.

Hayden. Pick me up at 10 AM tomorrow. We need to talk.

"Mila?"

I throw my phone on the dashboard before I turn to look at my confused best friend, my whole body still electrified on a completely new level.

Dad is right. I need to stand my ground. I'm sick and tired of being played with, of being left in the dark. I'm a force to be reckoned with, and I'm going to unleash hell on anyone who dares to cross me.

Because I've had it. I've had it with stupid excuses and misunderstandings and lies and deceit. I want normal. I want honest.

I don't want to feel small.