by Izzy Sweet
It’s impossible to know. My father is being vague on purpose, and the question is completely loaded.
“I broke up with Tristan,” I admit and try to mentally brace myself for his reaction.
I’ve been dreading telling him this, which is precisely why I haven’t called him yet. There’s no way he’s going to be happy about this.
“You broke up with Tristan?” my father repeats as if he can’t believe it.
“Yes, I caught him—”
Talking over me and not giving me a chance to explain the situation, my father’s voice rises in pitch as he asks incredulously, “You broke up with the son of my biggest campaign contributor? The son of my biggest backer and supporter? The son of the man who has the power to make me or destroy me? The son of the man that could put me in the White House?”
With each question, his voice grows louder and louder with righteous anger.
And I find myself flinching.
I feared this would be his reaction, but a part of me, a very small part, was hoping that he’d understand. That he’d support me once he knew the truth.
Again, I try to explain, “Yes, I caught him with—”
And again, he cuts me off by loudly talking over me. “Do you have any idea what you’re doing? Are you intentionally trying to ruin me? Is this how you pay me back for everything I’ve done for you?”
Those words, everything he’s ever done for me, cause a thick weight of guilt to tighten around my throat like a noose.
I’ve never forgotten for one moment everything he’s done for me, and since he walked back into my life I’ve felt beholden to him.
Beholden for existing.
I try to defend myself, try one last time to explain it, but he’s not having any of it. “No, I’m not trying to—”
“Do you know how much money I’ve spent on you? How many strings I had to pull to get you into your fancy school out in California? How much networking I’ve done for your sake? The sacrifices I’ve made… the time I’ve spent… the money I’ve spent… I’ve given it to you so you can have the kind of life you deserve, the kind of life you’re enjoying right now. And this is how you repay me? You repay me by destroying what I’ve spent the last twenty years of my life accomplishing?”
The noose tightens, nearly choking me. I’m not trying to ruin my father or destroy his dreams, but I can see why he might think that of me.
Everything he said is true. He has spent a considerable amount of time and money on me. He’s invested in me, but he hasn’t necessarily done it selflessly. All the things he’s done for me he’s done because he gets something out of it. In fact, he used his money, power, and connections as a trap. Luring me in when I was at my weakest.
I’m not completely blameless, though. I knew when he walked back into my life when I was sixteen after abandoning me for fourteen years that he wasn’t doing it out of a sudden sense of remorse or regret.
He needed me. Needed me to complete his perfect family image for the public.
After my mother divorced him, my father found and eventually married a wealthy heiress. An heiress who could help him achieve his dreams of winning a public office.
An heiress that unfortunately turned out to be barren.
Unwilling to adopt but knowing he was unlikely to win the Nevada governor seat unless he could portray himself as a family man, my father turned to the only child he had.
Me.
If I could go back, I’d shake myself. I’d implore myself to be happy with what I had. That what he had to offer wasn’t worth the price of my soul.
But it’s too late for that now.
I’ve made this fucking bed, and now I have to deal with all the shit hiding under it.
“Well, do you have nothing to say for yourself, Aubrey?”
Oh, am I finally allowed to speak?
I take a small, calming breath before I rush out, “Tristan cheated on me. I walked in on him yesterday fucking my best friend Ashley in our bed.”
There. It’s out. Maybe he’ll back off now.
The line falls completely silent.
With each second he doesn’t speak, I find myself growing increasingly more and more nervous.
My father is rarely, if ever, speechless.
After what feels like an eternity, I finally hear him take a deep breath.
Then he says, “I’m sorry you had to see that…”
For half a second, I start to feel relieved. Obviously, my father will be on my side. There’s no way he could somehow condone or excuse Tristan’s actions.
Then his next words make me feel like I’ve gotten slammed into the wall all over again.
“Tristan should have been more discreet.”
Oh god, is he really defending him?
“I’m sorry?” I ask, wondering if I heard him right.
Without an ounce of shame, my father says, “It was inconsiderate and reckless of Tristan to do what he did. He’s a big boy now, he should know better. He should carry on his dalliances where you won’t see. I’ll speak to his father so that this doesn’t happen in the future.”
The future? Is this a bad dream? One long fucking nightmare I can’t wake up from?
He can’t possibly expect me to stay with Tristan…
“I’m sure Tristan’s future partner will appreciate that,” I say, unable to keep the sarcasm out of my voice.
“If you’re referring to yourself,” my father snaps back, “I’m sure you will.”
“No,” I immediately deny. Then I repeat it again more forcefully. “No. I’m not referring to myself because I broke up with him. We’re done.”
My father begins to breathe heavily into the phone. “Listen here, Aubrey…” he says, before stopping and taking an audible breath to calm himself.
While I wait for him to finish whatever it is he’s going to say, I mentally tell myself I’m not giving in on this. There’s nothing he can say or do that will make me take Tristan back.
“You and Tristan are not done.”
Before I can object, he continues, his voice firm and resolute. “Once I get off the phone with you, I’m going to call Warren. We’re going to iron this mess out. I’ll speak to Tristan myself and make it clear his actions are unacceptable.”
“Unacceptable?” I repeat with disbelief.
“That’s correct. Unacceptable but not unforgivable.”
“I am not—”
“You will!” my father suddenly roars at me so loud I have to yank the phone away from my ear. “You will accept his apology if you know what’s good for you, young lady!”
My stomach clenches and my heart thuds sickly with panic. My father has never been this angry or unreasonable with me before.
I’m going to puke, puke all over the damn floor.
“And if I don’t?” I gasp out before I have to swallow down a throat full of bile.
“If you don’t,” my father snarls into the phone. “You will be solely responsible for ruining my career. You will be solely responsible for destroying all the good I’ve done for this state, for this nation, and the people.”
But I haven’t done shit to deserve that. If anyone should be to blame for that it should be Tristan.
“If you don’t, you’re no longer my daughter. I will no longer acknowledge you. I will no longer have any contact with you. I will fucking disown you. I will fucking ruin you. Do I make myself clear?”
Head spinning, I have to lean back against the door to steady myself.
“Well, do I?” my father demands harshly.
“Crystal,” I somehow manage to choke out.
“Good. I’ll call Warren now.”
Without a goodbye, he hangs up, the line going dead.
For the moment, the world is silent. Uncomfortably silent.
Then his words buzz in my ears.
No longer his daughter… disowned… ruin me…
If only I didn’t care. If only I could just walk away. But the weakest part of me has always
needed his approval. Always craved his acceptance. Needed it to justify my existence.
Needed it to not feel so worthless.
The thought of meaning nothing again to the man that created me hurts me in a way I can’t even explain.
When I was little, I tried to convince myself it was his loss when he walked out of my life. That it wasn’t my fault because I didn’t do anything wrong. But deep inside, I’ve always wondered why I wasn’t good enough for his love.
The only reason I could ever come up for him abandoning me was that something must be wrong with me.
That unlike everyone else around me, I’m broken and flawed.
My own father didn’t want me.
My own father didn’t want me because I’m not good enough.
It wasn’t until he strolled back into my life with his tempting promises that I started to finally feel as if I was worthy. That I deserved to take a place in this world.
I soaked in all the affection and love he gave me and used it to build myself up.
If I cut him off, if I refuse to do what he demands and he abandons me, will I return to that feeling that I’ll never measure up?
Squeezing my hand into a fist, I dig my nails into my palm until I’m breaking skin and drawing blood. It’s not until the bite of pain hits me that I can finally breathe.
Breathe and think clearly.
I’m not going to figure this out standing in this office, hyperventilating. I need to get the fuck out of here before someone sees me.
Releasing my fist, I glance down at my bloody palm then wipe it against my shorts. If I’m quick, nobody will notice.
Nobody will notice me cracking and breaking.
Turning around and grabbing the door handle, I feel like I’m operating purely on automatic mode. My brain begins to focus on only the things I need to do.
I need to walk back to the front desk to grab my purse. I need to tell Chase I’m sick and I need to go home.
I need to get the fuck out of here.
Slipping my phone into my pocket and pulling the door open, it’s simply a matter of putting one foot in front of the other to walk down the hall. There’s no need to think. No need to agonize over the past twenty-four hours.
It’s nothing…
Hold it all in.
It all means nothing until I can deal with it in private.
I’ve got everything inside me completely locked down tight until I turn the corner and set eyes on Emmett heading for the men’s room.
Suddenly, as if just the sight of him has thrown my system into complete shock, my legs stop working and I’m glued to the floor.
Emmett glances at me then looks away as if he didn’t see me at first.
I hold my breath, watching him and hoping he continues to walk by none the wiser.
Then he looks back to me in surprise and stops dead in his tracks.
I try not to shake, fighting off the trembling my bones want to give in to as his eyes rake over me from head to toe.
Too late, I squeeze my fingers together and slap my fist against my shorts.
“Bree?” he asks softly, his brows knitting together as he jerks his attention back to my face. “What’s wrong?”
What isn’t wrong?! I want to scream, but only end up shaking my head.
He takes one step toward me and I cry out, “Don’t!” as I stumble back.
For the love of god, don’t get near me. If you knew what was good for you, you’d run far, far away.
You’d forget me.
Ignoring me, he stalks toward me, the look on his face growing darker. Once again, I find myself having this unsettling feeling that he can see right through me. See right through to the very depths of my soul.
I take a step back for each one he takes forward until I’ve trapped myself against the wall.
Using his bigger body to block me in, Emmett reaches down as if he’s going to grab my hand but I jerk it out of his reach.
“Don’t touch me!” I snap.
A look of hurt passes over his face and I experience an immediate pang of guilt.
Oh god, the last thing I want to do is hurt him of all people.
We stare at each other in surprise before he shakes his head sharply.
“Fuck, I’m sorry,” he says and reaches up, raking his fingers through his hair as he takes a step back. “I don’t know what I was thinking. I’m sorry for bothering you…”
Dropping his arm down to his side in defeat, he turns his back on me and begins to walk away.
I want him to leave… and yet I don’t. In fact, something inside me begins to panic as he walks away.
After what I just did, he’ll probably never speak to me again.
“Everything turns to shit,” I whisper.
The words just slip out of me on their own as if my soul is sending a distress signal.
I press my lips together, horrified that my thoughts are starting to leak out, and hope he didn’t hear it.
“What was that?” he asks, whipping around to face me again so quick it’s as if he was ready for me to call him back.
When I refuse to answer, he walks toward me again, quickly closing the distance between us.
“What was that?” he repeats and his gaze bores into me, willing me to answer him.
Unable to resist him, I find myself explaining, “Everything I touch turns to shit… so please, don’t touch me.”
Shock. Pure, unadulterated shock appears on his face and stares back at me.
And I wish I could shrink into something small. I wish I could disappear into the wall.
Then the shock fades away.
What it leaves behind, I can’t even explain. But it’s suddenly like I’m the one staring into his soul.
Staring at someone who’s just like me.
“That’s okay, baby girl,” he says with a mixture of both tenderness and sadness as he reaches out his hand and cups my cheek.
His palm is warm and a little rough, but I find something about that touch of roughness soothing.
“I’m already shit,” he says as he leans in so close his breath hits my face. “I’ve been shit for a long time.”
It’s my turn to be shocked as I look up at him. Is he messing with me? How could he possibly believe that? Especially after what he did for me today?
Hating the expression on his face, I tell him honestly as his thumb strokes against my cheek, “You’re not shit to me.”
His thumb suddenly stops, and my heart skips a beat, afraid he’s going to pull away or dismiss me.
Before he can disagree, I blurt out, “In fact, I think you’re pretty fucking great.”
An unwanted blush blooms on my cheeks and heat creeps down my neck. I’m not the least bit eloquent, but I couldn’t live with myself if he walked away thinking he’s lesser than he is in my eyes.
Still trapped in his penetrating gaze, I watch a transformation take over his face. What little bit of tenderness that was there disappears, replaced something fierce and hard.
Something that both terrifies me and takes my breath away.
Suddenly he makes this deep, rumbling sound in the base of his throat and his fingers curl possessively around my cheek.
Before I can prepare myself or pull away, he’s pushing into me and kissing me.
The first press of his lips against my lips is downright electrifying, and I swear my entire body lights up with a sizzling, crackling heat.
As if he’s just as surprised, he stiffens up for a moment. Then he’s groaning and pushing me up against the wall.
The first press of his lips was hard and possessive, as if it was meant to claim me, but the next pull of his mouth is done like he’s a man that’s been starving.
Starving for me.
There are so many reasons I shouldn’t be doing this, so many reasons to push him away, but I find myself grabbing at him. Grabbing at him like I’m afraid he’s going to suddenly disappear like a phantom from a dream.
His kiss is
better than any drug… better than any self-inflicted pain.
With his hard body pressed up against mine, fitting like it was always meant to be right here, the rest of the world is falling away.
There’s only him and the way he makes me feel.
And like this he makes me feel… free.
Even with his body acting like a cage, trapping me against the wall, my soul is soaring.
Hand sliding from my cheek to the back of my head, his fingers thread through my hair. Then he tugs, arching my head back so he can further devour me.
His lips push and pull, urging me to open for him. Urging me to give the last bit of myself to him for safekeeping.
I resist at first, afraid of where it will lead.
As if he can sense my conflict, his kiss suddenly softens, becoming tender and loving. With his mouth, he shows me I can trust him.
Trust him to keep me safe.
Melting against the wall, all my insides turn into mush. And no longer conscious of what I’m doing, I give into him, parting my lips so his tongue can sweep inside.
The first touch of his tongue against mine is so intense I find myself jolting in surprise.
His fingers tighten in my hair to keep me in place.
If I thought the simple press of his lips was earth-shattering, his tongue stroking against my tongue is downright mind-blowing.
Each rub of his tongue feels like he’s lighting all these tiny sparks inside me.
And a craving like no other takes ahold of me.
Craving for more of his touch, craving for more of his taste.
Craving for more of his safety.
Fingers gripping at his shirt, I try to pull him closer. Try to pull him inside me.
I moan into his mouth, partly in pleasure and partly in frustration, unable to get what I need.
Perfectly in tune with I want, he suddenly grinds his hips into my hips, his hard bulge grinding into my pussy.
Pure liquid heat shoots through my veins and my knees go weak.
As I start to slide down the wall, his hand is there to catch me. Grabbing me by the thigh, he lifts my leg up, locking it around his hip.
Then, rocking his hips in a fluid motion, he moves against me.
Caught up in the friction, I find his rhythm, chasing the sensations building inside me. And I’m so close, so close to what I want, what I need. It’s there, just out of reach, when the sound of someone gagging penetrates the haze.
