by R. C. Martin
She doesn’t respond right away, and I can imagine the look on her face right now. I wish I was there, or that she was here, and that I could pull her against me and chase away those demons in her eyes.
“I—I should go,” she says, a slight tremble in her voice.
“Yeah. Me too. Love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“See you tonight.”
“Bye.”
As soon as I disconnect, I shoot my sister a text, asking if she’ll be working a shift at our parent’s restaurant tomorrow night. I’m making my way back to the sound booth when my phone alerts me to a new message.
Rosy: No. Why?
Me: Want to pick up an extra shift?
Rosy: Not really. Why?
Me: What if I promise to tip really well?
Rosy: For real?!?!
Rosy: Okay, maybe.
Rosy: But WHY???
Me: Call you later. Thanks, little lady.
Rosy: I only said MAYBE.
Me: Trust me. You’ll be there.
I’VE CHANGED THREE times, my discarded choices now strewn across the bed. I’m not exactly sure why it matters what I’m wearing. I’m not trying to impress the man. Not to mention the fact that I hadn’t gone to great lengths to pick an outfit for the first time he saw me. Then again, I had no warning. This time, I suppose I could argue that I simply wish to feel comfortable in my own skin, so the perfect outfit is necessary.
I decide on a pair of skinny blue jeans, a plain white, long-sleeved shirt, and my tan, cowl neck, poncho sweater. It’s both warm and flattering, a combination I appreciate, and it gives me an excuse to wear my brown, suede ankle boots with the double buckle on the side. I touch up my makeup—darkening my eyeliner and adding another coat of mascara—before I see to my hair. I’m just finishing up my loose top bun when I hear Sage let himself into the apartment.
While my request for him to stay at my place was a bit hysterical, I told him yesterday that I really did mean it. Our civilized and honest conversation sent him back to the house to pack a bag, and my spare key was added to his keyring without further argument. Now, hearing him waltz right in fills me with a sense of security that I cling to. It’s a relief knowing that he’s here because he loves me, because he cares about what matters to me, and because he wants me back to happy.
With him by my side, I know I’ll get there.
“Doll face?”
“In the bathroom,” I call out.
No sooner are the words out of my mouth, and he’s filling the doorway, his icy blue eyes behind those horn-rimmed glasses giving me a proper once over.
“Damn,” he mutters.
“What?” I look down at myself and then turn to face him directly. “Should I have picked something else? Is this too casual? It’s probably too—”
He interrupts me with is body, his hands reaching out to grab my hips before he pulls me flush against him.
“Need a taste,” he says before capturing my mouth in a kiss.
For a second, I’m absorbed in him. Then, before I’m ready, he pulls away from me.
“You look good to me, doll.”
“Thanks.”
He taps my ass before he lets me go, and I get a look at him, too. He’s got a worn, gray sweatshirt on, with a faded Mountains & Men logo across the chest, his white undershirt peeking out around the collar. He’s in his black leather jacket, a pair of dark washed, fitted blue jeans, and his black, high-top Converse sneakers. As usual, he makes the simplest attire appear mouthwateringly sexy. I would be jealous—but I’m smart enough to realize how ridiculous that is. I’m the girl on his arm. I don’t need to be jealous.
“You about ready to jet?” he asks, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check the time. “If we don’t leave soon, we’ll be late.”
“Let me grab my coat and my purse.”
While I’m in my bedroom gathering my things, I hear the front door open and close again.
“Hey, Sage,” greets Sarah.
“Hey, what’s up? Haven’t seen you in a few days.”
“Yeah, I guess we keep missing each other,” she says as I join them in the hallway. “We miss having you at Little Bird. Though, news on the street is you’re a busy guy these days.”
“Tryin’,” he says with a chuckle.
“Hey, Millie.” Sarah greets me with a smile and a wave. “You guys headed out for dinner?”
“Yes. We’ll be back a little later.”
“Don’t let me keep you,” she insists, heading toward her room. “I’ll probably be at Brandon’s tonight, so if I don’t see you, have a good night.”
“You, too,” Sage and I reply in unison. He then takes my hand and leads me to the door.
For the duration of our drive, he talks to me about what’s going on with the band. They spent the afternoon practicing, as they so often do, gearing up for the end of the week. They’ll be back in the studio on Friday, and they’re hoping to finish up the album by then. It surprises me that they were able to get so many songs out so quickly; then again, they’ve been preparing for this for a while—for some of them, it’s been years. They’re certainly not messing around.
They’ve got a gig in town this weekend, and another lined up in Boulder for early next week. Before the month is out, their single will be released, and what comes after that could be anything. There’s been no talk of another tour yet, but I know it’s coming. Right now, I’m just happy to have Sage with me. I’ll soak up our time together as best as I can so that I’m ready to let him go when the time comes. I know, no matter when it happens, I’ll survive it a hell of a lot better than I did the first time. I have to.
“You ready for this?” he asks me as he parks the car across the street from the restaurant.
“As ready as I’ll ever be, I suppose.”
Truth be told, I’m not really sure what to expect. I don’t know what my father wants from me. The more I think about it, I’m not sure that I want anything from him. No matter what he says, he left me with Natalya and made one half-assed attempt to contact me after his next wife suggested he do so. He may have said that his leaving had nothing to do with me, but I was a casualty of his escape, and he can’t undo that. Definitely not after twenty years.
“Rosemary’s inside. She sent a text when she arrived informing me that both my parents are in tonight. I told her not to tell them we were coming. They’d make a big deal of it. But if you need me to, I’ll go get them. If you want me to have him kicked out, you just say the word, doll face.”
“I don’t think it’ll come to that,” I say, shaking my head at him.
“The offer still stands,” he says, leaning over to press a soft kiss against my lips. “Let’s get inside, yeah?”
“Yeah,” I reply before we both climb out of the car.
The closer we get to the front door, the more nervous I feel. The overwhelming sensation of shock that I felt the other day seems to be making a comeback. Only this time, it’s accompanied by a whole slew of emotions that I now associate with the man who is my father. There are so many things that were never dealt with between him and me, so much baggage that has gone ignored for most of my life. I hate that we’re now doing this on his terms. Sure, Sage and I set the time and place for tonight’s meeting, but Christopher just showed up in Colorado—without my permission; without so much as a phone call in twenty fucking years!
I stop before Sage can reach for the door handle, suddenly in need of another minute.
“Millie?” Sage speaks, reaching up to rest a hand on the small of my back.
I turn to face him, gripping onto his jacket as I peer into his eyes—his face lit by the street lamp and the Giuseppe’s sign above our heads. I don’t know what to say, so I say nothing. I feel like a child, unequipped and unprepared for what lies on the other side of the door.
“Baby,” Sage murmurs, wrapping his arms around me. “Listen to me. You got dealt some shitty parents—but you turned out just fine anywa
y. Better than fine. You don’t need him. You don’t. When we go in there, you’ve got all the power, not him. Hear me?”
I suck in a deep, cold breath and offer him a nod. I do. I do hear him, and he’s right.
I’ve got all the power. Not him.
“Let’s go.”
WHEN WE WALK in out of the cold, I see Rosy shootin’ the shit at the hostess stand. I don’t recognize the girl she’s laughing with, but the longer I stay away from this place, the less familiar the staff becomes. As we approach them, Rosy spots us and offers us both a grin.
“Hey, guys!”
“Hey,” I mutter, wondering why she’s so chipper.
“Your dinner companion has already arrived,” she says with a smirk. “I’ll take them, Jill. Be back in a minute.”
I frown at my sister. I didn’t tell her all Millie’s business, but she knows enough to understand that this isn’t some joyful reunion. Why she’s acting so weird about it, I have no idea. Then, as we walk into the main room, it all makes sense. Rosy looks back at me from over her shoulder, as if to make sure that I’ve spotted them, and then giggles. I nudge Millie, who looks up at me distractedly, and point to a corner booth on the far side of the room. Harry and Pepper are here with the boys and Sophia. Pepper looks away from Henley just in time to see us staring. She winks and then shifts her attention back onto her son.
“Did you tell them to come?” Millie whispers.
“No,” I reply with a knowing smile. “Remember what I said a few weeks ago? Told you my sisters would be all over your ass.”
A small smile tugs at the corner of her mouth as we continue to follow Rosy. That smile disappears when we reach our table. My eyes roam over the prick Millie told me about the other day, and I’m immediately unimpressed. He’s a slim dude, his face covered in a few day’s worth of scruff, a look that clashes with his collard shirt underneath his sweater. I can barely see how he and Millie resemble one another, but I can’t deny the dark green eyes that stare me down look familiar.
I like those eyes a lot better on my girl, I think to myself as I stare right back.
“Hi,” Millie speaks, drawing his attention in her direction.
“Hello,” he replies as he stands to his feet. “I was under the impression that you’d be coming alone.”
“I’m Sage,” I tell him, holding out my hand. I might not like him, but I was raised with manners. He shakes my hand, still looking at me with a perturbed expression on his face.
“Sage is my boyfriend,” says Millie. “Sage, this is my father—Christopher.”
He nods at me, as if he gets something I don’t, and then takes his seat. Millie and I take our coats off, hanging them on the back of our chairs, and then sit across from him.
“Sage, Millie, can I get you something to drink?” asks Rosy.
“I’ll just have water,” answers Millie.
“Me too.”
“Coming right up.”
“I take it you come here often?” asks Christopher.
“Not really,” Millie replies, opening up her menu.
“The waitress knew your name.”
“She better,” I say with a smirk. “She’s my sister.”
“I see,” he mutters, shifting his focus onto his menu.
I don’t bother looking. I always order the same thing. Even if I didn’t, the menu hasn’t changed much since I stopped working here three years ago. I could probably still recite the whole thing.
The silence that settles between us is awkward, but I keep my mouth shut. The way I see it, Christopher wanted Millie here. She’s here—the ball’s now in his court. I push the sleeves of my sweatshirt up my forearms before resting them on the table, looking around the room as I wait for father and daughter to decide what they want to order.
Christopher clears his throat, earning my attention. I catch him studying the bottom of my inked sleeve as he asks, “What is it you do, Sage?”
“I’m in a band. I sing lead.”
Fuck, it feels good to say that.
“You’re in a band?” he asks skeptically.
I ignore his tone and reply, “Yup.”
“And how old are you?”
“Twenty-one.”
He coughs out a laugh and Millie sets down her menu before she says, “Don’t. Don’t do that—don’t start interrogating my boyfriend as if you have the right to know anything about him. You don’t know anything about me.”
His lips press into a hard line, his minor amusement replaced with what appears to be impatience. He then looks to me and asks, “Is it lucrative? This band of yours?”
“We’re getting there.”
He grunts in response.
Just then, Rosy returns to the table with our waters. Impervious to the tension at our table, she asks if we’re ready to order dinner. We each take our turns telling her what we’d like, and then she collects the menus before disappearing again. This time, before silence overtakes the conversation, Millie jumps in.
“I still don’t understand why you’re here. I don’t know what you want. I’m not sure what we’re doing—here.”
I watch as he takes a breath, lacing his fingers together as he leans against his forearms on top of the table. “It was time, Millie.”
“Time?” she asks, confused.
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t come sooner; it just didn’t work out that way. But I’m here now, and I’m willing to put forth the effort if you are.”
“Put forth the effort into what, exactly?”
“Our relationship,” he replies with a scowl.
“What relationship? We don’t have a relationship. You made sure of that.”
“I told you—”
“Yeah,” says Millie with a laugh void of any humor. “You told me you couldn’t deal with my mother so our relationship had to be sacrificed. Now she’s dead and you’re here.”
“It’s not as simple as you think,” he mutters, shaking his head.
“Right. Because you had another family to take care of.”
“Look, I’m not a bad guy,” he insists, planting a finger on the table as if marking his point. “I did the best that I could under the circumstances.”
“The best that you could?” Millie scoffs. “It took you twenty years to get here. I grew up without a father because of you. I barely had a mother. I did the best that I could—I—I don’t know that it’s fair for you to say the same.”
“I can’t change the past.” He shrugs. “We could sit here all night talking about what was. But what’s the point in that? I can’t go back in time.”
I force in a deep breath, leaning back in my chair as I stare down this douchebag. He’s treating Millie as if she should just sweep the majority of her life underneath the rug; like his excuses are worth a damn and he deserves a second chance. His apology is flat out shit, and it’s pissing me off.
Millie falls silent, and I reach over to rest my hand on her thigh. She places both of her hands on top of mine as I give her leg a squeeze.
“I still don’t understand,” she murmurs, her gaze in her lap. “I can’t understand what you want from me.”
“You never will if you don’t forgive and move on. I can’t make myself anymore clear. I traveled across the country to have this conversation with you. I’m here. I can’t make up for twenty years. You can’t hold onto my mistakes forever—you can’t hold it against me.”
Millie’s fingers curl around mine, her nails digging into my skin as she shakes her head from side to side. “Do you hear yourself?” She looks up then, her eyes glassy with tears. “You left me—you left me with full knowledge of who Natalya was, of what kind of monster she was capable of being. She made me miserable, and you weren’t there. Not for any of it. And now you want me to forgive you? You want me to move on?
“Christopher—I think what you fail to realize is that there’s nothing to forgive. You’re my father, but you aren’t my family. You haven’t been my family in decades. And I have move
d on—without you. I had no choice. You gave me no choice. And here you are again, trying to rob me of my choice. I didn’t ask you to come here. I didn’t ask for any of this.”
He taps his fingers against the table, like he’s losing what little patience he has left, a snide smile crossing his face.
“So, let me get this straight—I’ve come offering you an olive branch and you’re tossing it back in my face?”
“What the fuck, dude?” I scowl, unable to keep my mouth shut any longer. “What did you expect? Red carpet treatment?”
“You stay out of this,” he mutters, pointing a finger at my face. “This doesn’t concern you.”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” I state, enunciating every syllable. “You couldn’t be more wrong. See, unlike you, I love this woman. I want her to be happy. Right now, you’re not making her very happy. That makes you my problem.”
“Cute. How about you let the grown-ups talk?”
“Don’t speak to him like that,” Millie hisses, leaning against the table to shorten the distance between him.
“I will not be treated with disrespect.”
“I’ll show you respect when you’ve earned it, Mr. Valentine,” I mutter.
“For Christ’s sake, what am I doing here?” he mumbles.
“What?” asks Millie.
“I knew I should have just gotten straight to the point. Reconciliation is bullshit.”
“Wh-why did you come?” she asks, her voice breaking. “You told me—you told me in my office that you knew this wasn’t going to be easy, but you’re not even trying. You’re not listening to me. You don’t even seem sorry.”
He twists in his chair, pulling an envelop from out of his coat pocket before throwing it down on the table. “It wasn’t me who found out about your mother. It was Gretchen. She’s the one who insisted I come out here, though it didn’t take much convincing. I want this garnishment to stop just as much as she does. It was a ridiculous move on your mother’s part in the first place.”
My eyes shoot to Millie when I hear her gasp. She sits up taller, staring at her father in some sort of enlightened shock. Suddenly, she’s got answers to questions that have been sitting stagnant in the back of her mind for the past few weeks.
