No doubt he saw the way I looked at her.
“I saw how you were looking at her. She’s too young for you, so don’t get any ideas.”
I raise a brow. “I’m not getting ideas.” But I’m lying to him. Rose fascinates me. She’s beautiful and sweet—
I cut those thoughts off.
She’s done with me, and I don’t blame her one bit.
She should be angry with me. She doesn’t deserve someone as fucked up as I am.
I stuff thoughts of her in a box, put a chain around it, and toss it in a dark corner of my mind.
I’ll forget about her, I tell myself.
After all, pushing people away is something I learned well from my father.
Tall and imposing with broad shoulders and a face made of granite, he’s a man who slams doors, speaks curtly, and gets shit done—no matter the cost.
He’s nothing like Mum, who is sunshine and light, but then at least he stuck around a little. Six months after Cate died, she was out the door with a new lover in tow. I still see her from time to time, in between boyfriends and vacations in exotic places. Our relationship is . . . sticky. I think it’s hard for her to see me and not think of Cate. On the other hand, it’s hard for me to see Mum and not think of her leaving me.
Father’s voice brings me back to the present. “Secondly, no drugs around Anne and Rose. It won’t be tolerated.”
My eyes find his and I exhale, my fingers twitchy as I drum them on my jeans. “With all these rules, I’m surprised you even invited me.”
He lets out a deep breath. “Believe it or not, I want you to be part of my new family. We haven’t seen each other in months.”
My lips tighten. “Six to be precise.”
Which is not unusual. When we first moved to the US, I barely saw him at all. He tucked me away in an exclusive boarding school called Briarwood and pretended I didn’t exist. I was a mixed up thirteen-year-old kid then, fresh from Cate dying and Mum leaving, yet he went on about his life as if nothing had happened.
I’m sure he sees that entire part of our lives differently, but I don’t. He deserted me when I needed him the most.
He gets up and pours himself a Scotch and sits back down at his desk. “Look, I just want you to hang around Dallas for a few days and get to know Anne. I also want to make sure you’re . . . okay. I hope you’re clean, Clarence. You don’t want to go back to rehab.”
My hands clench, remembering the two months I spent at a “spa” in Northern California a few years ago. “I don’t have a drug problem. I’ve never been better.” Lies. All lies. But I don’t care. I’m irritable and crashing from before, and I just want to end this conversation. I need a fucking bump. My fingers rub my ring. Maybe I can sneak off to one of the bathrooms upstairs . . .
I refocus as I feel Father studying me, searching for signs of me using. “I’m fine,” I say, my tone sharp.
He swallows and nods his head. “Okay. You’re welcome to stay here or at the penthouse I have in the city.”
I nod. “I’ll take the penthouse.”
“Fine,” he says, and I don’t miss the look of relief on his face. The thing is, he probably does want me here to meet his new wife and to check on me, but I do make him uncomfortable. Staying at the penthouse is easier on everyone.
I clear my throat. “You mentioned a monetary gift? An early inheritance, perhaps?” When he called to invite me, he said he’d make it worth my time, and I assumed that’s what he meant. I study him, searching for answers.
“Of course.” He takes a drag from his Scotch, and I eye it enviously.
I fold my hands in my lap. “How much money are we talking?”
He’s never given me anything. I’m not a trust fund baby. Sure, he paid for my boarding school and expenses, but once he figured out I wasn’t going to college, my Amex card was canceled. I’ve been supporting myself for the past five years. He called it tough love; I called it an arsehole who wanted to control my life. Maybe he’s right—maybe I should get a degree—but music is what I crave. It’s my skin, my fucking everything. I can’t breathe without it.
He taps a pen on the mahogany desk. “You mentioned moving to LA with the band. I imagine the expenses are high there if you want to fit in with the right crowd. I’ll do a hundred thousand.”
Holy shit. I try to keep the surprise from showing on my face. I expected maybe ten or twenty if he was feeling magnanimous. Frankly, I’m surprised he’s even offering me anything. I mean, I would have come anyway . . . eventually. He’s my father, and I still crave his approval after all these years.
Is it possible he’s trying to make amends?
He sighs and leans back in his leather chair, a tired expression flitting across his face. Lines feather out from his eyes, and I see that his hair has thinned considerably since the last time I saw him.
“You’re fifty-five this month?” I ask.
“I’m surprised you remembered.” He glances past me to look out the window at the carefully manicured grounds of the house, and I follow his eyes and see Anne sitting on one of the benches in the garden. She’s his type, namely beautiful and younger than him, maybe in her early forties. But, I’m surprised he’s remarried.
“After Mum left, I figured you’d written off marriage for good.”
In the years they’ve been apart, I’ve never known him to have a serious relationship longer than a few months, just a long line of pretty girlfriends who came and went.
“It’s different this time with Anne.” He rubs at a wrinkle on the bridge of his nose.
“Migraine?” I ask. He gets them nearly every time he sees me—just part of my charm.
“No.” He sighs heavily.
“Then what gives?”
There are a few beats of silence, the tension in the room shifting from me to him as his gaze drifts back over to his wife. His countenance softens. “She’s pregnant.”
“Shit.” My mouth flaps open. “How? Why didn’t you tell me that right off the bat?”
He laughs, the first one since he’s been with me. “I don’t know. I’m still . . . reeling from it. We met at a hotel convention and I thought I’d never see her again, but then she called me with the news.” An incredulous smile flashes across his face. “She’s five months along. It’s like . . . I’m starting all over again.”
I’m reeling too. “Haven’t you ever heard of a condom?”
“Indeed.” He gets up from his seat and paces around the darkly paneled room. “Anne is just as shocked as I am. She was told she’d never have kids.” He pauses. “She adopted Rose four years ago.”
Ah, interesting. I noticed they don’t favor at all.
“Anne never married?” I ask.
“No. She tried several IVF attempts with a donor, but nothing worked.” An uncharacteristic look of uncertainty crosses his face. “We’ve already had some complications with the pregnancy, and things have been touch and go. It’s important that you be on your best behavior around Anne. I was a bit hesitant at first, but now . . . I find that I’m quite happy.”
I start, coming to attention.
Quite happy?
Bollocks! That’s as good as a declaration of love from Father.