Call Me Daddy

by Emma Roberts

  My mother and father were deep in conversation with Brandon when we arrived. My brother looked as dapper as usual in a three-piece suit and a tie. He always tidied up well, though I knew he preferred his simple t-shirts when he bartended at the club. I'd always envied him his easy-going relationship with our parents. Had they simply not had enough time to care for me because they'd already used up their quota of love on Brandon?

  It was a thought I’d had constantly when we were all shoved together in close proximity like this. If he'd been a bastard like our father, I might have been able to write off my entire family without much thought. But of course, Brandon had to be likable. He had one of the sunniest smiles I'd ever seen and was as carefree as Jace was stern and controlling.

  Jace gave me a brief shake of the head when I tried to take the seat next to him. I bit the inside of my cheek to contain the nasty word I wanted to spit and took the seat next to my mother instead. Irene Farbridge was frigid and distant but rarely outright cruel, unlike my father.

  "Mr. McCarthy," my father said, shooting to his feet as soon as he caught sight of my date. He extended a hand toward Jace and plastered on a big, fake grin. "It's a pleasure to have you with us tonight. Whitney didn't tell us you were coming."

  My sadistic dominant patted me on the shoulder rather than take my father's hand. There was a little bit of glee in his electric blue eyes when he caught sight of my miserable expression. "Whitney felt just awful missing your dinner yesterday. So I thought I'd make sure we remedied that."

  My father finally dropped his hand to his side after a few moments more and sat down. Mom swirled the wine in her glass in a sort of disinterested fashion, only glancing up to give Jace a cursory once over and a smile.

  "I don't care for the vintage, dear. I think we should go with the '79 instead, don't you?"

  My father nodded. "If Mr. McCarthy agrees."

  "I'll be drinking water, if it's all the same," Jace said smoothly. "I hate starting my weekends with a hangover."

  My parents stared at him as though he'd said something unthinkable. For the first time since we'd started this little enterprise, I remembered just how secluded Jace had kept himself. He didn't interact with polite society much more than I did.

  My mother cleared her throat. "I thought you might like it, given what's coming up in just a few weeks."

  "Mom," Brandon began, a note of warning in his tone. "I don't think it's such a good idea to bring that up."

  She continued on ruthlessly, paying neither of us any heed.

  "I imagine it must still be painful for you, given the circumstances surrounding your parents’ passing."

  My eyes darted to Jace's face before I could help myself. He'd gone ramrod stiff in his chair, and he was glaring at my mother with undisguised dislike.

  "That was a long time ago."

  "Not so long ago," my mother disagreed. "You were, what, twenty when they got into the crash?"

  Before I could really think about what I was doing, I seized Jace's hand under the table and squeezed with all of my might.

  "Why don't we order, Mom?" I said with a brave stab at cheerfulness. "I've been craving the Lomo Saltado."

  "Not a chance," she sniffed. "All those fries? You'll get fat, dear. Who will want you then? It’s not as if you have much more than your figure to boast of. And we tried so hard to make something of you, too.”

  Her words slipped between my ribs with a neat little snick of betrayal and stabbed right into my heart. The burning started in the corners of my eyes, and I blinked hard and fast so that the tears welling in them didn't fall.

  Jace's fist came down on the table so hard that every glass jumped two inches off of it. He pushed out of his seat and loomed over the pair of them.

  "Who will want her?" he seethed. "How can you really ask your daughter that? No wonder she was such a basket case, with you lot as a family."

  "Now see here-" my father began.

  "Your daughter is smart and capable, and beneath the layers of bratty behavior, she is kind. If either one of you had paid her a bit of attention over the years, you'd have seen that. You got out of her what you put into her. You've only yourself to blame if you don't like the results."

  My parents' jaws were flapping in the wind. My chest felt like it was about to burst from the gratitude. This punishment was shaping up to be more of a reward for me. The hand that was still wrapped around Jace's received a nice, firm squeeze. He glanced down at me, and the anger in his eyes softened.

  "Who would want her? Anyone with eyes and half a brain. But most especially? Me. So get used to seeing me beside her."

  Jace resumed his seat after a moment, ignoring the continued looks of shock and outrage from my parents. The silence was so thick that I probably could have cut it with a knife.

  Finally, the waiter made his way back to our table and pulled out a pad of paper to take our orders.

  "What can I get for you all this evening?"

  My brother clapped his hands, breaking the silence. His laugh was like a trickle of hot cider into my stomach. It thawed some of the dread that had formed in my stomach after Jace's outburst. I knew this night would not go unpunished. Jace would suffer repercussions for this as well, and he'd been willing to suffer them for me. And even better, my brother was on my side. And he liked Jace, if the admiring look he cast him was anything to go by.

  "Lomo Saltado for everyone, I think," he said with a jovial grin. "And tonight's dinner is on me."

  11

  Jace

  "What are you doing?" Whitney asked in a small voice as we climbed into the car. The driver checked to be sure we were buckled in before he put the vehicle into drive.

  I glanced up from my phone with a scowl. "Trying to see if there's a cost-effective way to cut your father's services from my company. I'd rather not associate with him after that fiasco in there."

  It had been a mistake to drag her into that. I should have guessed from their interaction in my office that things between the Farbridge family were tenser than they'd appeared. I hadn't anticipated her mother degrading her in a semi-public place and in front of her boss. I'd always credited Irene Farbridge with more decorum than she was clearly capable of.

  Whitney's gentle hand on my bicep pulled me from my furious musings. I followed the long, pale line of her arm up to her face. Her eyes were soft and pleading.

  "Don't. I know what she said was horrible, but it really isn't any worse than I hear at Christmas or at birthday parties. Please don't make your life and business dealings more difficult on my account. It's not worth it."

  Not worth it? How could she even think that? I clearly must not be doing my job right if she didn't think I wouldn't move heaven and earth for her. That the goddamn sun didn't rise and set on her. I seized her face roughly and brought my mouth down onto hers. As always, she became soft and pliable beneath my hands, arching into me and giving whatever I wanted willingly. I broke away after a few brief seconds but left my hand on the back of her neck.

  "You have come very far in a short amount of time, Whitney. You have no idea how proud that makes me. It was my error in judgment that got you hurt tonight. I don't want to repeat it again. If I have to restructure my company to make that happen, so be it. But I think even threatening to do it will have the desired effect. So please, just trust me."

  Whitney's eyes were huge in her face, and her lips were trembling. I wanted to still them with my own, to hold her until the fear and the hurt subsided and she was my Whitney again.

  "I still have to go to Brandon's party," she whispered. "They'll cut me off if I don't. And when this ends, where will I be?"

  I smoothed a hand down her hair, stroking her like a favorite pet. She sighed and leaned into my side contentedly. "It doesn't have to end. I've been thinking about extending this arrangement. Making it something more permanent."

  She glanced up and me, and something like joy was sparkling in the depths of those huge baby blues.

  "You m
ean it?"

  "I don't say things I don't mean, baby girl."

  "But why would you do something like that for me?"

  "Because I-"

  I bit my tongue so hard I tasted blood, cutting off the words I was about to blurt out.

  Because I love you.

  Ice water sloshed through my veins. No. No. This was insane. We'd been together for less than a month. This wasn't some fucking fairy tale, and I wasn't her Prince Charming. We didn't even have a proper relationship yet. I hadn't taken her out to dinner, made love to her, or done any of the myriad crap that constituted romance these days. I could love dominating her, controlling her, and even degrading her if it was proper for a scene. But I couldn't love her. I couldn't allow myself that luxury anymore. Not now. When I'd assured her that she'd hear those words someday, I'd pictured them far, far into the future. Sometime when the ache of April's loss wasn't so fresh. Sometime when the memory of my parents' deaths didn't haunt me.

  "You what?"

  Her voice drew me out of my horrified revelation and back into the present. She was still pressed against me, lush and distractingly feminine. I cleared my throat.

  "Because you're mine," I finished. "Because I don't take kindly to people criticizing something that's mine."

  It sounded like a lie, even to my ears. Whitney didn't call me on it, though. She changed the subject, moving on to a topic that was almost as volatile as the first.

  "What was my mom saying in there? About your parents?"

  "No."

  "What?"

  "No, I don't want to go into it."

  She hesitated before pressing on, despite my look of warning. "You said I needed to act like a grown up. That's what I'm trying to do. I want to avoid more scenes like the one we had in there. But I can't help you if you're constantly treating me like a little girl. I can handle the truth. I don't want you to be the only one who goes to bat in this relationship. We're in a partnership. So I get to kick ass for you, too."

  The concern for my well-being softened the worst of my anger.

  "I killed them."

  Whitney jerked out of my grasp, drawing back so that she could look at my face. Her jaw was slack, and her eyes were too wide.

  "What? No. That can't be right."

  I shook my head, swallowing thickly around the lump that had lodged itself around my Adam's apple.

  "I might as well have." I squeezed my eyes shut and tried to ignore the memory battering my mind.

  Light. Squealing tires, the rending of metal, and the last, startled cry of a woman.

  "I wasn't supposed to drink that night," I whispered. "But I was seventeen and stupid. I thought my father was just being a hardass. So I passed vodka off as water. And I was too ashamed to tell him what I'd done when he gave me the keys to the new car and insisted we take a ride."

  I drew in a deep, shuddering breath. "We went careening across six lanes of traffic, and the Firebird looked like a crumpled soda can when we finally came to a stop. My father was killed instantly. My mother..."

  I tried to speak, but grief stole the rest of the sentence, and I couldn't go on. Whitney's soft, tentative fingers brushed my cheek. "Oh God, Jace. I'm so sorry. That's awful. And my mother mentioning it… My God. I can't believe she'd do that."

  "Irene was a friend of mother's. She still visits her in the hospital sometimes, I think."

  Whitney's eyebrows disappeared into her hairline. "I thought you said they both died."

  "They did. Mom's body just hasn't caught up with her yet. Persistent Vegetative State."

  Tears dripped onto my sleeve, and I glanced up in time to see Whitney wipe at her cheeks.

  "I'm so sorry. No wonder you don't want me driving. All those accidents… And all around this time, too."

  "It's fine. I served time in Juvie, and then I got my head on straight."

  "Is that the reason for all of this BDSM stuff? You just need to control things?"

  I snorted, some of the grief abating. "Tch. It's a fetish, not an outlet for emotional damage, Whitney. I'd like putting you over my knee, no matter what. It's part of who I am."

  She lapsed into silence. I was holding her too tightly, and I knew it. I ought to let her go and put as much distance between us as possible. I’d grown too attached to her already. We still hadn’t reached our agreed upon time limit. Her brother’s birthday was still a week away.

  Would it be better or worse to let her go now? I could wire funds to her the day of, so that the gift could be taken care of and there was no risk she’d spend it all before the party. I could let her go and hope that my instructions thus far had made her more pleasant for the next man.

  But even thinking of her with someone else made my blood boil.

  Whitney was mine, plain and simple. I'd just have to book that therapy session that Alma had been nagging me about. It was time I sorted my shit out. If I engaged Whitney the way I wanted to do with all of my baggage still intact, I was going to crush the spirit from her. That was the last thing I wanted.

  Devlin's exclamation from the front of the car drew me out of my musings and back into the present.

  "Fuck! What the hell do they think they're-"

  But that was as far as he got before the car careened sideways. Bile scalded my throat as lights shone through the window and a blur of dark blue metal impacted the vehicle. For a dizzying second, we were airborne.

  We rolled end over end, only coming to a stop when we hit a concrete divider.

  The seatbelt was biting into my chest hard, and all of the blood rushed to my head as we came to a stop in the upside down position.

  Beside me, Whitney hung limply. All I could see was the fall of blonde hair and a smear of dark red blood.

  12

  Whitney

  I had two men, instead of just one, glowering at me when I tried to creep out of the hospital bed.

  “Sit the fuck down,” Jace growled. His hands and arms were bandaged, and he was probably in worse shape than I was. That didn’t stop him from ordering me around, though. Typical.

  “Seconded,” Brandon said, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re in no condition to be moving, Whitney.”

  I gestured at Jace, whose arms were swathed in bandages. He'd cut himself to ribbons trying to clear the glass away from Devlin and I before the paramedics had shown up. As a result, he'd needed more stitches than either of us. I had a concussion from where my head had impacted the window, a laceration on my scalp, and bruises from my seat belt, but that was the worst of it.

  "So I'm strapped into a bed, but Tutankhamun here gets to wander around free?"

  Brandon was struggling not to smile. Jace was still frosty and unamused. He'd been acting like an overbearing jerk since we'd arrived. His explanation about his parents meant that I understood exactly why he was behaving this way, but that didn't mean I liked it.

  "A concussion is still a big deal, Whitney."

  "Apparently not," I grumbled. "Mom and Dad didn't come."

  Brandon sighed and lowered himself into the gray armchair situated next to my hospital bed. "I think they're still a little offended."

  "Fuck them," Jace growled.

  Brandon nodded. "Agreed. Don't get too upset about it, Whitney. They'll get over it eventually."

  I didn't want to think about my parents right now. The fact that they couldn't get over themselves long enough to visit me still hurt, even though it didn't surprise me.

  "So, what did you want for your birthday, loser?" I asked, giving my brother a lopsided grin.

  His answering smile warmed me by a few degrees. "Well, if it were up to me, I'd say get me some top-notch tequila and a stripper, but I'm pretty sure that's not going to fly. Dad told me that I need some new cufflinks, so there's an idea."

  I nodded. I could probably afford a pair of cufflinks from Cartier at the end of the month. They'd completely wipe out everything I’ve earned from Jace, but it was still something. The fact that I'd earned every cent of the mone
y made me feel unexpected pride. This was my gift to Brandon and no one else's. Not Jace's, not my father's. Mine.

  "When did they say I could be out of here?"

  "They're going to keep you here for observation overnight. I can stay with you if you want," Brandon offered.

  "I'm staying," Jace said shortly and pulled a plastic chair to the side of my bed. He seized my hand in one of his and glared down at me as if expecting me to protest. But he wasn't going to get it. Having him here was comforting, even if it was the heavy, constraining comfort of being swaddled in a straight-jacket.

  "Fine with me," I said with a shrug. "But since I'm not allowed to get up, will someone please get me a candy bar? I've been wanting one since we left the restaurant."

  Jace's expression didn't flicker. His stony expression hadn't budged since we'd been pulled from the twisted wreckage that was the Mercedes. I was beginning to worry that his face was going to get stuck that way.

  He nodded shortly and pushed away from the bed without a word.

  I really hoped he'd learn to laugh and smile again by the time of Brandon's birthday, or no one was ever going to believe he was there as my date.

  As if he could read my thoughts, Brandon propped his feet up on the side of my bed and asked, "So, how long have you two been an item?"

  I jerked guiltily and glanced away from Jace's retreating back. "We're not-"

  "Oh, come on. I'm not Mom, sis. I know the signs. I'm not going to fuss at you, if that's what you're afraid of."

  I sighed. "I was going to say that I'm not sure if that's what we are. I mean, we've slept together but..." I shrugged. "I just don't know. Sometimes he's really intense and he seems to love everything about me, and then the next..." I gestured toward the door. "That. I swear, sometimes he's moodier than me."

  Brandon chuckled. "Now there's a scary thought. Do you want me to lie to you, or do you want my brotherly opinion?"