It’s a sharp dig, and I feel it because it’s her father saying it. I know how it feels to never measure up, no matter how much you try.
“But the semantics over how you got here isn't what matters,” her father continues. “What matters is you're here, already working. We just need Jamie to finally fulfill his legacy too.”
“Y-you want me to?” she asks, surprised.
“Don't worry, we'll hold off on any more marriage talk. Arranged marriage isn't your thing, we get it, but with the girl and that quarterback out of your way, maybe you'll come around to the idea of it sooner-or-later.”
“I'm not coming back,” I say defiantly, squaring my shoulders.
“You aren't?” My father tilts his head with almost a hint of amusement. “So you are going to let her go through years of torment just to prove you can say no to your father?”
The worst part is, I know they'd follow through with it.
Years.
I picture courtrooms I’ve never stepped into. Letters I’ll never see. Tiff sitting across from a lawyer who doesn’t care about the truth, just what sticks. Ella growing older while strangers dissect her mother’s life because of me.
My chest tightens. This is how he wins. Not all at once—but slowly. Relentlessly.
I can’t outrun him. I can’t outspend him. I can’t outlast him.
I get it now. This is exactly how he learned to survive. Trade people for security. Love for leverage.
The realization turns my stomach.
“I will not let up, Jamie,” my father adds. “I will keep pushing her until she has no choice but to leave you behind for the benefit of your daughter.”
It's at that moment that I realize just how much my father hates me. One week of happiness. That's all I'm allowed to have.
If I walk away, Tiff pays for it. If I stay, I become him.
There’s no version of this where I win. Just one where my daughter doesn’t lose.
I need to protect them, and there’s only one way I know how to do it.
“Fine,” I grit out.
“What?” My father says.
“I'll join the firm, but only on my terms.”
I hate myself for it. I'm giving them up. Something I promised I'd never do, but it's for their safety. For their well-being. If I can't be the father I want to be, then I need to at least make their life easier. It's not the end. I'll still send them money and see them when I can, but I'm not going to let them go through the torture of being stuck in the Nicks-made hellhole I grew up in.
“Jamie. Stop,” Honey says, pulling me out of my misery. “You don't need to do that.”
“Uh oh,” my father says with a raised brow. “Is Hunniford pushing herself into places she doesn't belong again?”
I'm just about to speak up and defend her, but Honey takes a step forward, dropping her leather bag onto the mahogany table before leaning both of her hands against the wood.
“You're right, Mr. Nicks. That is a pesky habit of mine.”
“Honey—” her father warns, but she completely ignores it. She’s too busy glaring at my father.
“One that's helped me find out a few things I probably shouldn't know,” she says with mock innocence.
She pulls out two files I've never seen before and pushes them in front of them.
'BROADCHURCH' and 'NORTON' are printed on the front. I have no idea what they contain, or what the hell kind of power move Honey is maneuvering at the moment since she didn't mention this to me on the plane, but the way both our fathers stop talking suggests she's on to something big.