Chapter 7: Don't Leave Without Getting Drunk
Leah's POV
"That's great!" Kyle's voice lit up the moment I said I'd come home, his excitement spilling through the phone as though I were already standing at the front door. He started rattling off a menu — meat sauce pasta, all my favorite sides — and asked what time I'd be back the next day.
"Around noon," I told him, and left it at that. Even if those two managed to get through their apologies, I hadn't decided yet whether I'd stay the night.
He hung up before I could say anything else. I listened to the dial tone for a second, then tossed my phone aside.
When Matto got back, I told him right away that I was going home for the day.
"I'll come with you," he said, almost before I'd finished the sentence.
I shook my head. "You don't have to. It's a family thing — I'll handle it myself."
He looked at me for a few seconds, his expression going still and serious in a way that made me think he was about to push back. Then, unexpectedly, the corner of his mouth curved upward. "All right, my little firecracker," he said, with a slow nod. "You should go. See them clearly for what they are."
"What does that mean?"
He didn't explain — just moved on, his tone shifting into something quieter, more deliberate. "But Leah. Listen to me. If anything feels off — even a little — you call me. Immediately."
"I know," I said softly.
A beat passed. Then the look in his eyes changed, and he closed the distance between us until there was almost nothing left of it, his lips hovering just short of mine. "So before you go back," he murmured, "can I at least leave a little something on you to remember me by?"
"I have to go home tomorrow," I said. "I can't be worn out tonight." I knew exactly what he was like once he got started — the man had no concept of stopping. "Wait until I'm back."
He groaned, then pulled me into his arms and buried his face against me, sulking in the most theatrical way possible before finally dragging himself off to the shower.
The next day, I showed up at the front door right at noon. I took a breath, reached for the keypad — and the door swung open from the inside before I could touch it.
Lyra and Mia stood in the entryway together, both of them wearing smiles that were a size too wide, too bright, too carefully arranged. Lyra stepped forward and took my hand before I could react, her grip practiced and warm, as though the past few weeks had simply been erased.
"Leah, you made it — you must be tired from the drive," she said.
"Come in, come in, don't just stand there." Mia chimed in right behind her, voice syrup-sweet, already reaching for the bag in my hand.
"I've got it," I said, pulling it back. The irritation was immediate and instinctive, but I swallowed it. I was here for my father. That was the only reason.
Kyle was coming out of the kitchen when I walked into the living room, and the smile on his face was something I hadn't seen in a long time — easy and unguarded, the way he used to look before the company started bleeding money. "Perfect timing," he said. "Go wash up. Everything's ready."
The table was full. After we sat down, Kyle poured wine for everyone, let his gaze move across Lyra and Mia, and then settled on me. He cleared his throat. "Lyra. Mia. Didn't you two have something to say to Leah?"
Lyra rose from her seat and looked at me with an expression of practiced sincerity. "Leah, I owe you a real apology. I was wrong. I let my temper get ahead of my thinking, and I said things that hurt you." She paused. "Mia and I have had time to reflect, and you were right — we had no business taking that out on you. I hope you can let it go. We're still family."
Mia nodded along, though her eyes drifted slightly as she spoke. "I'm sorry too, Leah. Really. Can you forgive us — just this once?"
The words were patient, the posture was humble, the delivery was smooth. It had clearly been rehearsed more than once.
I looked at them. Then I looked at Kyle, at the hope sitting plainly on his face, and felt something heavy settle in my chest — like cotton packed too tight to breathe through.
After a moment, I looked away from him. "I heard you," I said, keeping my voice even.
I didn't say I forgave them. That would have been too easy.
Kyle's face fell slightly, but he rallied quickly. "Leah coming back at all is a good start," he said, with the quiet optimism of a man who had learned not to push. "We'll get there. One step at a time." He gestured for Lyra and Mia to raise their glasses toward me, and they did, both drinking. Then he turned to me. "Leah — drink with us. It means we can sit at the same table again."
I hesitated. Then I picked up my glass and took a small sip.
"Good." Kyle set his glass down and stood up, pressing a hand on each of Lyra and Mia's shoulders to keep them seated. "Now — there's something else I need to announce. Something that affects all of us." He paused for effect. "The company is going to be fine. The crisis is over. We're not going under."
Mia broke into applause before he'd even finished. The relief around the table was real, even if everything else felt performed.
"That's genuinely good news," I said, and raised my glass toward him. "To you, Dad."
I had always known that if the funding came through, Kyle's management would hold. The man knew how to run a business — he just needed room to breathe.
He laughed, pleased, and started piling food onto my plate with the focused generosity of someone who didn't know what else to do with his happiness. "Eat more. Drink more. This is good wine — the kind I save. Tonight, we celebrate." He refilled my glass without asking and lifted his own. "Tonight, Leah, we don't stop until we're drunk."
I shook my head a little — already feeling something shift at the edges of my focus, the faces across the table going slightly soft. Maybe now was the time to tell him. About the investment. About what I'd done to help pull the company back from the edge. Would he be proud of me?
"Dad, there's something I want to tell you—"
The words barely left my mouth before a wave of dizziness rolled through me, hard and sudden. The lights overhead seemed to split and blur, leaving faint halos that wouldn't resolve.
Kyle waved a hand. "Whatever it is, it can wait. Right now there's something more important." His expression shifted — something complicated moving behind his eyes — and when I glanced at Lyra and Mia, the smiles on their faces had changed too. Sharper. Knowing.
A cold drop of dread landed somewhere in my stomach.
I pushed back from the table and moved toward the couch where I'd left my bag, reaching for my phone. Matto had told me to call him — told me the moment anything felt wrong. I needed to call him now. But when I got my hands on the bag and dug through it, my phone wasn't there.
"Dad—" I gripped the edge of the table and tried to stand, but my legs wouldn't cooperate, the dizziness pressing down on me like something physical. "I think I left my phone in the car. Can I borrow yours? I just need to call someone to come pick me up—"
Kyle didn't answer. He was already walking toward the entryway, unhurried, like a man who had been waiting for a particular moment to arrive.
"He's here," he said, and opened the front door.
Through the blur that my vision had become, I watched him welcome someone inside.
