“Why don’t you tell me what’s really going on?” he says, snagging the spoon from my hand before sitting it on the counter.
I turn my gaze to find him watching me intently like he’s just waiting for something big to happen.
“I said it’s nothing,” I snip, spinning toward the fridge and proceeding to pull the milk out.
He follows me every step of the way, not giving me an ounce of space to avoid him. He waits patiently until I’ve poured three glasses and placed the milk back in the fridge before taking me by the shoulders and forcing me to face him.
“Bree, this is me. Just tell me what it is. Is it something I did?”
I feel an immediate knock of guilt as I realize what this must look like to him. Last night we shared an incredible kiss and then today I’m totally shutting him out. I can see it in his eyes, he thinks this is his fault.
“No. Of course not,” I say, watching relief flood in his eyes.
“Then what?”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Anything.”
“After you move, you’ll still come see Jack, right? You don’t just spend time with him because you’re staying here, do you?”
“Are you seriously asking me this right now?” His question is serious, but there’s a bit of humor playing on his lips. “Bree, I love the hell out of that little boy. Of course I will still come visit him after I move. You can’t get rid of me that easy.” He smiles, the action easy and genuine. “Is that what you’ve been worrying over?” He pulls me into his arms, dropping a kiss on the top of my head as he does.
“My grandma found out you were living here. She’s concerned,” I admit, pulling back to look up at him.
“And she got into your head and now you’re concerned,” he states.
“She just got me asking myself a lot of questions I hadn’t thought to ask before.” I let out a slow breath.
“You know me, Bree. You know I would never intentionally hurt you or your son.”
“Intentionally,” I repeat the one word.
“What?” He seems confused.
“You said you would never intentionally. Maybe it’s the unintentionally I’m worried about.”
“I can’t promise that I’ll never do anything to hurt you. I’m human, and I’m bound to fuck up from time to time. Even someone as perfect as me has his moments.” He winks and then laughs when I shove him and take two full steps backward.
“You take nothing seriously,” I accuse, wagging my finger at him.
“Trust me, I take this seriously. I may be trying to lighten the mood by joking, but I promise you I’m hearing every word you’re saying. No, I can’t say I’ll never hurt you. But I can promise you I’ll do everything in my power to never let that happen.”
“You mean a lot to me, you know?” I’m not sure where the statement comes from, but it just rolls right off my lips like it’s nothing.
“You mean a lot to me too.” He steps forward, pulling me back into his arms.
I take a moment to relish in the feel of him, to pretend for just a brief moment that our actions truly have no ramifications on any of us and that nothing will change. Only it is changing. Moment by moment, bit by bit, touch by touch.
“Mama.”
I pull out of Ant’s embrace at the sound of Jack’s voice. He bounds up to where we’re standing in the kitchen and holds his tablet out to me.
“What is it, buddy?” I ask, looking at the screen where the phonics game he’s playing is currently paused.
“I can’t get through this level.” He sighs, exasperated, and the action has me covering my mouth with my hand to keep from laughing.
I meet Ant’s eyes, and he seems to be doing the same thing. Jackson is such an animated child who sometimes comes across much older than his five years.
“Well, let me take a look.” I smile down at him before focusing on the screen as I un-pause the game.
I look it for all of thirty seconds and swear I’m already going cross-eyed. He’s doing some puzzle game, but the pieces are in all directions and you have to figure out the puzzle before you get the next clue to move on in the game.
Ant, sensing my dilemma, quickly snags the tablet from my hands with a chuckle.
“Come on, Jack man; let’s go figure this out in the living room while your mama finishes making dinner.” Ant winks in my direction before leading Jack from the room.
I stare at the doorway they just exited through for a long moment, wondering if this is what it feels like to have a real family. The mom, dad, and son; just a normal night at home. I know it’s a ludicrous thought, one that would never happen for the three of us. But the more Ant is around, the harder of a time I seem to be having reminding myself of this fact.
I think what happened last night is clear proof that he’s at least attracted to me. You don’t kiss someone the way Ant kissed me and not be at least a little interested. But then he was so quick to let me off the hook which leaves me wondering if maybe it was just his way of backing out because he changed his mind.
My mind continues to swirl around the possibilities as I finish up dinner. By the time it’s ready and I’ve made all three of us plates, an anxious knot has formed in my stomach and my appetite is nowhere to be found.
I’m not sure what I’m doing here. I work tirelessly to convince myself what I want everyone else to believe—that Ant and I are just friends. When in reality, he feels like so much more than that.
I’m just not sure what, if anything, I can do about it. But I’m also not sure if I can continue to ignore the way I feel either. I’m in a catch twenty-two, and I’m not sure which way is the right way.
“You need help with that?” Ant appears in the doorway of the kitchen, Jack sitting atop his shoulders with a wide smile on his little face.
The sight nearly brings me straight to the floor.
Ant, so tall and handsome, looking at me the way I’ve always wished he would. Jack, looking so happy his little cheeks might split apart, his head tilted back in laughter as Ant bobs on his heels causing Jackson to bounce up and down on his shoulders.
It’s hard fighting what’s happening between us—the magic, the pull, this weird gut feeling that this is how it was always meant to be—when they fit together in my life so perfectly.
“Nope. I got it,” I finally answer, shooing them out of the doorway.
Ant smiles wider and then gallops away making horse sounds while Jack squeals happily through the apartment.
I have to fight back the tears and the laughter at the same time because, honestly, I’m not sure I’ve ever felt quite so many conflicting emotions before.
I know what it feels like to be afraid. I know what it feels like to be ashamed, alone, and hurt—both mentally and physically. To feel like I’ll never be enough. Oddly enough those feelings I can handle.
But these feelings, the ones currently pumping through me—the hope and love and possibility—I have no idea how to handle a single one.
Maybe this is another one of life’s cruel tricks. Having something you’ve always wanted within your grasp but not having the courage to reach out and just take it.
“I already told you, Vi, I’m not coming home.” I hear Ant say just as I pass by the bathroom door seconds after putting Jack to bed.
Slowing to a stop, I lean closer to the door, knowing I shouldn’t eavesdrop on his private conversation but also unable to stop myself either.
“No, fuck that. You of all people should understand why.”
There’s a long pause, presumably where his sister is replying.
“I don’t give a shit. She made her choice. I’m done.” I can tell by the tone of Ant’s voice that he’s starting to lose his temper. “No. Damn it, Vi, do you hear yourself? You know what he put me through.”
Another long pause.
“Then let him die with the regret because I’ll be damned if I’ll do anything to ease his guilt.” I hear the bathroom cabinet slam shut an
d Ant growl in frustration. “This conversation is over, Vi. I’m not doing this with you right now. I have to go.”
I jump when the door swings open and a shirtless Ant is standing directly in front of me, eyes dark and nostrils flaring. His gaze centers in on me, and there’s no use even denying what I was doing; I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I don’t get the rest of my sentence out before Ant is pulling me into his arms, squeezing me so tightly it’s like I’m the only thing tethering him to this earth.
“Just be quiet for a second.” He drops his chin to the top of my head, and we stand like that for several long moments—his arms around my shoulders, mine around his waist as I try unsuccessfully to ignore the feeling of his bare muscles beneath my cheek or what that does to me.
When he finally pulls back and looks down at me, eyes conflicted, expression defeated, it takes everything I have not to push up on my tiptoes and kiss him. The thought comes out of nowhere but once it crosses my mind, I can’t seem to shake it away.
“Is everything okay?” I finally force myself to ask, needing to break the moment.
“Define okay?” He lets out a slow breath.
“Your sister?” I ask, even though I already know that’s who he was talking to. Unless he knows another Violet, Vi for short, which I highly doubt.
“I swear sometimes she just doesn’t know when to stop.” He shakes his head.
“Wanna talk about it?” I offer.
He thinks on that for a moment, indecision clear in his eyes, before he steps past me into the living room, claiming the seat on the far end of the couch. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and drops his head into his hands, letting out a frustrated groan before finally looking up to where I’ve taken a seat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of him.
“She wants me to come home,” he starts, running a hand through his hair as he straightens his posture.
“She’s your sister; of course she wants you home,” I offer, not really sure what else to say.
“She wants me to come home for him.” The word drips with disdain.
“You mean your father?” I ask, careful not to say anything that would give away the fact that I know about the fight that landed him in California to begin with.
“God, he doesn’t even deserve that fucking title,” he groans.
“Why would she want you to come home for your father?” I ask, still unable to piece together exactly what’s happening.
“Because he’s dying.” He finally meets my gaze, and the mix of emotions I see behind those gray eyes would bring me to my knees if I were standing.
“What?” The word falls from my mouth laced with an apology.
“Apparently the asshole finally did his liver in.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s in liver failure. Guess he’s pretty bad off.” He shrugs indifferently.
“Oh my God, Ant. I’m so sorry,” I start, but he quickly cuts me off.
“Don’t be. He fucking deserves it,” he grinds out.
“You don’t mean that.”
“The fuck if I don’t. He did it to himself, never too far from the bottom of a bottle. I don’t know what he expected.”
“Did your sister say what the prognosis is?” I push, knowing he’s not as unaffected by this news as he’s trying to appear.
“Apparently it’s pretty bad. He’s let himself go for far too long, ignored the signs that something was wrong. At this point, his only hope is a transplant and even then the odds aren’t good. She said they don’t think he’ll last more than a month without one, and because he’s a known alcoholic it’s not likely he’ll qualify.”
“So what then, they’ll just let him die?”
“I guess so.” He shrugs. “What else can they do?”
“You have to go home,” I say, leaning forward to take his hands in mine.
“No, I don’t.”
The look he gives me is the most emotionless I think I have ever seen Ant. I can see the wall going up, and I know he’s shutting down. I know because I recognize the same behavior in myself when faced with something I’m not yet ready to deal with.
“But he’s your father.”
“He’s never been my father,” he snips, pulling his hands from mine as he quickly pushes to a stand.
I turn in my spot to watch him pace the living room for several seconds before he finally speaks again, not once looking in my direction as he does.
“I won’t let him win. I won’t go home and pretend that I care if he’s dying. He’s been dead to me for years. He’s not my father; he’s just my piece of shit sperm donor who thought it was fun to knock me around for sport.” He stops pacing, finally meeting my gaze across the room.
“Do you know how many times that man came home drunk when I was a kid?” He continues before I can respond. “Do you know how many times he’d stumble in at all hours of the night, and I would wake up to the sound of him and my mom fighting? I tried to ignore it when I was young. I’d hide my head under a pillow and pretend not to hear them. But then it became impossible to ignore because eventually, his attention shifted from my mom to me. I remember one night he came into my room, I couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, and he was yelling at me about the trash cans sitting out on the curb. I tried to tell him that it was trash night and that we had to set them out, but he kept ranting and raving about how ungrateful and lazy I was. I remember watching his fist pull back. He’d hit me before but never in the face, so when his fist connected with my jaw I was completely caught off guard. That night was one of the worst. I didn’t go to school for two days after that and when I finally did, I had to explain the bruising on the left side of my face as a result of a bike accident. No one even batted an eye at my excuse. Either I was a really good liar or it was easier for people to ignore the signs than to actually do something about it.”
At this point it’s taking everything for me to hold back the tears welling behind my eyes. I’ve never seen Ant like this, never seen him so broken and defeated; never seen him so raw and vulnerable. It tears at my heart in a way I never knew possible. Because I don’t just feel sorry for him, I physically ache for him.
“He beat you?” I finally manage to push the words past my lips.
“Beat me?” He lets out a laugh that sounds so far from a laugh I don’t even think it would qualify as one. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I push to a stand but maintain the distance between us.
“Why, so people could feel sorry for me?” he bites.
“So that someone could have helped you.”
“No one could have helped me,” he grinds out bitterly. “There was no way anyone would believe me over my parents anyway.”
“Your mom?”
“She let it happen and turned a blind eye. In my opinion, she’s just as guilty as he is.”
“I had no idea.” I take a small step toward him. “You always seemed so happy and carefree. You were popular, played football, were always surrounded by the prettiest girls in school. Looking in, it seemed as though you had everything—the perfect life.”
“Funny how easy it is to keep the mask in place so that people see what you want them to see.”
I ignore his statement, feeling like he’s somehow referring to me.
“Your sisters?” I ask, not sure if I even want to know.
“Never touched them.” He shakes his head. “I would have fucking killed him if he’d tried.”
“So instead you took all of it,” I state, taking another step, stopping just a couple feet from where he’s standing.
“What choice did I have?”
“And you did it alone for all those years? No one knew?”
“No one but Sebastian, and even then I never told him how bad it was. He had enough shit going on with his own parents; he didn’t need my bullshit on top of that.”
“I
just… I can’t believe you kept this in. I mean, even I had no idea.”
“Guess you’re not the only one good at keeping secrets.” He gives me a knowing stare, and I swear it cuts right through me.
“So you’re sister wants you to come home, make amends, I presume, and say goodbye.” I refuse to let him turn this situation on me so I do what I do best, divert.
“Something like that.”
“And you’re not going to?” I question.
“Did you not hear what I just got done telling you? Would you want to go make peace with a man like that? A man who stole your childhood and put you through hell?”
A vision I haven’t had in a very long time flashes before my eyes. One of a man’s silhouette standing over me in the darkened room. I feel the dread creep in just like I did all those years ago, the knowledge of what’s to come and not being able to do anything to stop it.
“No,” I mutter, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that has suddenly settled over me. “I guess I wouldn’t.”
“Vi thinks I need to make amends before he goes, for my sake.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I’d hate myself for giving him that satisfaction, even if it was for me and not him.”
“So then what’s the plan? You’re just gonna pretend like he’s not dying?” I hate how the question sounds, but I also can’t help but ask it.
“I walked away from that life months ago. I made peace with it even. And then you... you gave me the courage to move on from it.”
“I did?”
“You did.” He nods, closing the remaining distance between us until we’re practically standing toe to toe. “You and Jack. You forced me to look at things differently, to see what I really want. I was wasting away at Sebastian’s, wallowing in self-pity. You and Jack brought life back into my life. You refocused me and made me see beyond my past. I’m done looking backward, Bree. I just want to look forward.” He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek just long enough for the heat to spread from the point of contact all the way down my neck.
“So you came here because of your dad?” I ask, just needing something to distract me from the sudden rush his touch causes. Of course, Tess already told me the jist of why he came here, but he doesn’t know that.
When Dawn Breaks Page 9
