Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
He’s mimicking me.
This is fucking stupid. I just want to turn around and go inside. “What are you doing here?” I ask, almost exasperated. “Akara’s busy—”
“I’m not looking for Akara. I came to check on you.”
My face twists, anger simmering at the surface. “Why?”
He gives me a look like it’s obvious and I’m being dense. “You’re my son.”
I thread my arms over my taut chest. I’m gnawing on the words he just spoke like its decades old beef jerky. Tough. Grisly. Inedible. “No offense, but you haven’t been much of a father to me.”
I expect him to look away. Stare at the wall, the floor, the door. Anywhere but at me. Just like the night he said horrible, unforgivable things to my mom. To Thatcher. To me. Where he couldn’t even look us in the eye at the end of it all.
But I watch now as he never tears away from my pain. He stares me dead-in-the-eye with a flicker of remorse. “I understand that.”
“Do you?”
“I left you.” He swallows hard. “A piece of me died with him…and I pray to God you’ll never understand the pain of losing a child.” He has to turn away to collect himself. I hear him sniff hard before he looks back. Eyes a little redder. “I lost all of you…and I can’t get him back. But you’re still here.”
“I’ve been here,” I growl.
“I know.” Hurt flashes through his features. “I know.”
I blow out a rough breath. Suppressing the urge to shake my head with these pent-up emotions that want out, but I force them in.
“I’m sorry,” he professes.
“For what?”
“Everything.” His voice nearly cracks. He swallows again, like a lump is in his throat.
A rock is in mine.
It can’t be this easy. His apology. By the sunken lines on his face, maybe it isn’t. Why now? I could fucking ask. But does it even matter why it’s taken this long? We’re Morettis. Digging up painful shit in the past has taken fuckin’ eons. The Coyote would sooner catch the Road Runner. I’m lucky it’s even happening at all.
He could’ve taken this to his grave.
I loosen my arms and rub the back of my neck. “So you’re here to check on me?”
He senses my change in attitude. Easing more too. “Yeah.”
I must want to switch subjects because I spit out, “You know I’m in a poly relationship with Akara and Sulli?”
Akara said he’s stayed “strictly professional” with my dad. So they haven’t surfaced this either.
“The world knows,” he says. “Of course I know.”
I bounce my head, reading his features. “You’re fine with it?”
“It’s your life.” He lifts his shoulders again. “I have a close friend in California who’s in an open triad. It’s not unheard of to me.”
“Ours is closed.”
He nods. “If you aren’t straight, you know I’d always support you.”
Pressure to determine that answer weighs heavier. My dad always knew my mom was bi. Before they got together, she was dating Nicola in high school. It’s not like I ever thought he’d have an issue with me being not straight.
I might still be straight.
“I know,” is all I say.
An elevator dings. I whip my head down the hallway. Eyes pinpointed on the noise. No one exits. I scan the empty hallway, left and right, and then the elevator doors slide shut.
“Banks.”
I almost jump.
My dad notices.
I rake a hand through my thick hair, curling the strands behind my left ear, then right. “What?”
“I know what happened to your girlfriend might not be easy to process, but you need to remember the good. You did good, son. There’s nothing more you could’ve done.”
I’m not Thatcher. I’m not my dad.
I’m not blaming myself for things out of my control.
I’m just looking for the extra ammunition and the target so this won’t happen again. If that sets me on edge, so what? I’m on fuckin’ edge.
“I get that, sir,” I tell him, hating that I called him sir. I cringe at the taste in my mouth.
“She’ll be fine tomorrow.”
I can’t help but glare. “You think she’ll be fine tomorrow?” I know we’re all trying to move past this, but who’s he to say how fast it’ll be?
“It could’ve been worse.” He says it like this was a blip.
“It could’ve been fucking worse?” I’m almost shouting.
“At least she wasn’t raped. At least she wasn’t kidnapped, Banks.”
“That shouldn’t even be in fucking contention!” I yell, sick to my stomach even thinking about Sulli being raped or kidnapped. “The fact that we’re applauding my girlfriend having the barrel of a gun pointed at her face is not okay.”
“I’m not applauding,” he snaps back. “But you take the win.”
“It’s not a win to me. I had to watch a man point a fucking gun at her.” I grit the words out. “And I’m not a naïve twelve-year-old. I’ve been a bodyguard too long. I know it could happen again. But you’re saying I should just be fuckin’ happy she wasn’t raped or kidnapped, so…” I extend my arms. “Whoopty-fucking-do.”