by E. K. Blair
THWACK!
“Tell me who owns you.”
“You own me.”
THWACK!
“Tell me you love me.”
“I love you, Declan.”
THWACK!
“On your elbows,” he barks, and the moment I lower myself, his mouth is on my pussy, sucking out the melted ice from inside me.
His hot tongue is an erotic contrast to the freezing shards, and I let go of a heady moan while he buries his face between my legs. My mind rushes in waves of mania at the infliction of a multitude of sensations that I didn’t even notice that he’s now fucking me with his cock.
I close my eyes when the whole world blurs, and all that matters is this moment—having our two bodies blended as one—and it’s only together that we’re whole.
THE ICE BUCKET and tie still remain on the floor from earlier. Declan has refused to let me clean myself up, so I sit and wait for him to finish his shower. I decide to log onto the laptop and search to see if Hailey has any social media accounts. When no hits come up, I move on to search her brother, Steve, which brings me to a link for a Steve Corre in Gig Harbor, Washington.
Clicking the link, I pull up his page. His profile picture is of him and a few of his buddies. I start clicking on different tabs on his page, but there’s no real information aside from his birthday, which lets me know he’s thirteen years old.
It’s not until I open one of his photo albums that the vile hate from earlier resurfaces. I scroll through picture after picture of family photos, my dad being in most of them. Photos of family vacations, birthday parties, holidays fill the albums—all the things I never got a chance to experience.
Once I was in Posen with Pike, I never got a birthday party, and most holidays I’d find myself locked in the closet so Carl and Bobbie wouldn’t have to deal with me. Pike would always manage to steal or use his drug money to buy me something small, but aside from those private gift exchanges in my bedroom, we never celebrated anything.
I despise these kids for the life my dad has given them, the life I never had. I look at their smiles, and I want to slit their throats. And then there’s my dad. Enlarging a photo with him in it, I zoom in on his face. His eyes are still the same, even though the crinkles in the corners from when he smiles have deepened. He no longer has the scruff of a beard, exchanging it for a clean-shaven face. When I close my eyes, I can see the younger him in vivid color. I can hear his laughter. I can smell his cologne.
God, I miss him so much.
Opening my eyes, I’m greeted by this stranger who wears the same face. I don’t know this man—Asher Corre. My heart double beats in love and anger. I love my dad, the man who danced with me, sang to me, and laughed with me. But I hate this man on the computer screen. I hate him for wearing the mask of my father, because he’s nothing like my dad. My dad loved me beyond love, and this man, I don’t even exist in his world. I’m nothing but an evaporated memory.
“What are you looking at?” Declan questions when he walks into the room, fresh from the shower dressed in navy slacks, a fitted light blue button-down, and the same black belt he used to restrain me a few days ago.
“Looking at family portraits,” I respond, and he tilts his head in curiosity.
When he sits next to me, I can smell the cardamom from his shampoo. Even in the midst of everything going on around us and our quarrel this morning, I feel the need to be close to him.
He is already sliding the computer from my lap when he asks, “Where did you find these?”
“It’s his son’s social media page.”
“His son? How did you even know how to find this?”
“Because I followed them. I got his name from his sister, Hailey.”
“I need you to tell me what happened this morning.”
“Can you control your anger?” I snark, to which he responds, “You’re testing your limits today with that smart mouth of yours. Tell me what happened.”
I go through everything that occurred, from following the car to what was said between Hailey and me.
“You shouldn’t have ever approached that girl,” he scolds. “She’s just a kid.”
“There are worse monsters out there than me, Declan. If I could handle my life at eleven, then surely she can handle a conversation in a smoothie shop.”
“That girl is a part of your dad.”
I look at him, angry that he would go there, and snap, “But I’m all of him.”
“I’m on your side here.”
“Then stop defending that family.”
“I need you to see things rationally though,” he says.
“Nothing about this whole situation is rational, Declan.”
He backs off and turns his attention back to the computer, scrolling through the photos. When there’s one I want to look at, I tell him to stop. It isn’t until a few more photos pass that I realize the kid tags his location when he posts.
“Scroll slowly,” I murmur to Declan when I lean in to get a closer look.
“What are you doing?”
“He tags his location in his pictures,” I tell him, and we strike gold. “Stop. Click on that one.”
Declan enlarges a photo of my dad and his son that has the comment: Spending my day at work with Dad.
“Enterprise Brokerage and Realty,” Declan reads off.
Declan opens up another window and types the business name into the search bar, and up pops their website with my father’s picture on the main page.
“He runs his own firm,” he says. “We’ve got a point of contact now.”
“Do we just call him?”
“No. We need to find a way to get him to come to us. But, listen, we have to be careful about this. Whatever he’s hiding from is big. I mean, your case worker, a state employee, came to you and told you he died. The man even has a grave site, right?”
“Yes. In Illinois,” I say. “I went to the cemetery. He has a gravestone and everything.”
“So, this isn’t some man who just skipped town. This is a man who needed to kill his identity.”
“How do we do this?”
Declan takes a moment to think and then pulls out his phone. “I’ll just schedule a meeting with him. There’s nothing that links you and me that he would be able to find out about. We’ve never even been photographed together.”
I nod, and when he dials, I tell him, “Put it on speakerphone,” because I need to hear his voice.
With each ring, my pulse quickens, and then the line connects.
“Enterprise Brokerage and Realty, how can I help you?”
“Is Asher Corre available?” Declan asks, his accent seeming to catch the woman off guard.
“Oh . . . um, yes. Whom shall I say is calling?” she says, and I roll my eyes at Declan when her whole voice changes in reaction to his voice.
“You can tell him this is Declan McKinnon with McKinnon International Development.”
“Just one moment.”
I’m practically holding my breath while we wait, and then he picks up the call, his voice crystal clear.
“Asher Corre here.”
I bring my hands to cover my mouth when I hear the voice I never thought I’d hear again.
“Good afternoon. This is Declan McKinnon, owner of McKinnon International Development. I have to excuse the short notice, but I’m in town for a few days and was hoping to discuss a possible land purchase for commercial development.”
“What line of commercial development are you in?”
“Hospitality on the high-end scale.”
“So I see. I just pulled you up on my computer. McKinnon, is that of Scottish descent?” he asks Declan, and I can’t believe he’s actually having a conversation with my dad. Declan responds, and then my father continues, “I can start pulling some locations to email you?”
“Call me old-fashioned, but I hope you don’t mind my preference to conduct business in person rather than over the phone. I want to establish that you’re
the right man to be working with. After all, if a purchase is made, you’ll be receiving a substantial commission. I want to make sure it’s going to someone with integrity.”
“I couldn’t agree with you more. I’ll tell you what, how does your evening look tonight?”
“I have a few emails that need attending to, but other than that, I’m free.”
“Would six o’clock work?”
“That works. I’ve had a tiring couple of days, so why don’t we meet at The Pearl’s Edge where I’m staying. I’m in the Presidential suite.”
He doesn’t even hesitate when he responds, “I’ll see you at six, Mr. McKinnon.”
I watch Declan end the call and set the phone down. “His voice . . .” I start and then lose my words.
“Are you okay?”
I can’t speak for a while as I try to digest hearing my father on the phone. It doesn’t even feel real, and to know that he’ll be here in only a few hours is something I’m unable to process.
“Darling?”
“I never thought I’d hear that voice again. I believed it was gone forever, and now . . .”
“I know. You don’t have to try to put it into words.”
“I don’t even know how to feel. One minute I’m relieved he’s alive, and the next I’m so furious. But now, he’s coming here, and I’m excited and terrified.”
“There’s no right way to feel. I think the most important thing is to allow yourself to feel it all,” he says.
“I just need you to hold me right now,” I tell him.
I curl up in his arms and close my eyes while he runs his hands up and down my back. I open myself up to his comfort and take all I can. It’s a myriad of extremities in my heart and head, but somehow, Declan is powerful enough to temper the storm in me.
His warmth is able to relax me enough that eventually I drift off, and when I wake, he’s still holding me. I look out the windows and see the sky rippled in waves of pinks and oranges.
“How are you feeling?” Declan asks softly.
My voice is sleepy when I respond, “That’s a hard question to answer.”
He leans down and kisses me. “Why don’t you freshen up before he gets here?”
What does one wear when they meet their dead father for the first time after twenty-three years? After I shower, I dig through my suitcases that I never got around to unpacking yesterday and pull out a pair of black pants and a flowy green top. I busy myself, focusing on making sure I look nice for him; maybe it’s me subconsciously distracting myself or maybe it’s because I honestly want to look pretty for my dad.
I don’t really know.
I dry my hair and fix it with free-flowing waves and then apply my usual light makeup and sweep a little gloss across my lips. I slip on a pair of black flats before giving myself a lookover in the mirror.
My stomach twists in nervousness. I have no idea what I’m going to say to him or how I’m going to react. I’ve dreamt endlessly about magically getting my dad back, and now that it’s here and it’s real, I’m suddenly terrified.
“You look perfect.”
When I turn to Declan leaning against the threshold, I give him a tight smile. “Are you sure?” I ask, suddenly feeling self-conscious.
“I know you’re nervous and worried, but try not to psych yourself out.”
“What if I can’t do this?”
“And what if you can?” he counters. “Come here.”
I walk into his arms and hold on to him.
“You’re trembling,” he notes. “Why don’t I get you a drink to help with your nerves?”
I follow him into the living room and before we make it over to the wet bar, there’s a knock on the door.
Stopping dead in my tracks, all the air is sucked out of my lungs, and I’m momentarily paralyzed. Declan looks back to me, and I’m in shock.
“That’s him.”
MY WHOLE BODY freezes, and I swear my heart skips a beat or two. I’m wide-eyed as Declan looks at me. I can’t speak. My skin pricks in goose bumps
Declan places his hands on my cheeks and tells me with sure-fire intensity, “You can do this.”
Nodding my head, I speak around the lump lodged in my throat. “Don’t let go of me.”
“I won’t.”
Hand in hand, we walk over to the door. Each step I take feels like a marathon’s worth of strides. My heart tremors, pumping erratically beneath my bones.
Another knock.
I reach out my jittery hand, and a wave of nausea hits hard when I hold my breath and open the door.
It’s him.
His eyes meet mine, and I can’t speak. I can literally reach out and touch him, but I don’t. I’m too scared he might disappear if I make any sudden movements. He looks at me in confusion. His eyes give a little flick, and I wonder if there’s maybe a hint of recognition.
“Dad.”
My voice falters and his eyes widen in curiosity, but it’s when that very look morphs into astonishment that I know he knows. In one fluid movement, he takes a step towards me and pulls me into his arms.
“Oh, my God,” he breathes in disbelief, and I wrap my free arm around him as the tears start falling. “Elizabeth?”
“It’s me, Dad,” I tell him as my emotions swell to ungodly proportions.
His hold on me is the strongest I’ve felt in my whole life. And all of a sudden, my fears, my reservations, my hatred, it vanishes. Declan lets go of my other hand, and I cling it around my dad. His back quakes in my hold, and I hear the click of Declan closing the door as the two of us cry.
He cradles my head in his deft hand, the same way he did when I was a little girl, and chokes out, “My baby princess.”
He draws back, bracing my head in his hands, and scans my face.
“My God, you’re so beautiful,” he says thickly.
His words mend wounds, and when my face crumples in sobs, I drop my head and he pulls me back against his chest. My body heaves as I release years and years of agony. I want to speak a thousand words, but I can’t stop crying. I can’t stop clinging. I simply can’t let go.
“Let me look at you again,” he says when he pulls back and dips his head down to my level.
He’s blurry colors and lines, and when I blink, he comes into clarity only to be dissolved all over again. Tears continue to flood and fall as he wipes my cheeks with his thumbs. My hands clutch to his sides, and I painfully weep. “I’ve missed you so much, Dad.”
“Oh, sweetheart, I’ve missed you even more. The pain of losing you . . . I feel it every second of every day.”
“Then why? Why didn’t you ever come for me?”
“Oh, princess,” he sighs, hanging his head. “I wanted to. So many times I wanted to.”
“Then why didn’t you?”
Something inside me shifts, and all the pain and anger begins to rise through the enormous joy I feel from being in his arms. It collides and battles, and when he looks up at me, I take a step back and snap, “You just left me!”
Declan takes my hand as my father stares at me, drowning in visible shame.
“Darling . . .”
“I needed you,” I sling at him. “I’ve needed you since the day I lost you!”
“I’m so sorry, sweetheart. Why don’t we sit down and talk?”
I turn to Declan, shaking my head, and he encourages, “Nothing you say will be wrong. I won’t let you fall apart, okay?”
Leaning my head against his chest, he strokes my hair back and kisses my head before placing his hand on my back. “Let’s go sit.”
We walk over to the living room, and I take a seat next to my dad on the couch as Declan sits on the other side of me, extending his hand out to my dad, saying, “I’m Declan, by the way.”
My father shakes his hand, responding, “Asher.”
“That’s not your name,” I accuse, my voice still shuddering through consuming emotions as I look into his eyes. I try with everything I have to pull myself together,
but I can’t stop the deluge of new tears that fall.
Declan places his hand on my leg, and my dad holds my two hands in his. I watch as he takes in a deep breath before saying, “I’m not sure what to say or where to begin. I never thought I’d ever be sitting next to you, looking into your eyes, holding your hands, hearing your voice.”
“You could’ve been. All these years, you could’ve had me. But instead, you left me to battle this world on my own.”
“You have to believe me when I tell you that’s the last thing I ever wanted to do.”
“But you did it anyway.”
He drops his head again, and I can see his eyes well up.
“I need you to tell me why,” I insist. “I need to know why you abandoned me.”
“I didn’t abandon you, sweetheart.”
He blinks and a couple tears skitter down his aged cheeks.
“You did!” I lash out, yanking my hands from his. “You’re here! Alive! And living a fucking lie!” I suck in a ragged breath, stand up, and pace across the room before crying out, “You have a whole family! I saw them! A son and a fucking daughter!” Gripping my head with my hands, I stand and face him. “You just . . . you just replaced me as if I never existed. As if I never even mattered.”
“No one could ever replace you,” he asserts, standing up and walking over to me.
“I’m just a forgotten nobody.”
“I’ve never forgotten you,” he says as he starts to unbutton the top of his dress shirt. “You’ve always been with me.”
As his collar and shirt begin to fall open, I see the ink of a tattoo, and when he exposes his chest, I stop breathing.
There, across the span of his chest, from shoulder to shoulder, is my name branded on his skin in large script.
“Even if I wanted to, I could never forget about you.”
I reach out and run my fingers over the letters of my name. “When did you . . . ?”
“Shortly after I was sent to prison. I had my cellmate do it.”
I press my hand to his chest and feel his heart beat into my palm.
“I don’t understand. They told me you died in there.”
He buttons his shirt back up, asking, “Will you let me explain?”
