My heart hurt a little. Yet the kind gesture and hug from my father still made my pathetic chest tighten, and the desire for him to notice me—love me—persist.
Yeah…pathetic.
“Lana and I met a few weeks ago. I’ve had a hard time letting her out of my sight since.” Jack glanced at Brock, then back at my father.
His words warmed, me and eased the ache rising from this encounter and just how deep in the Case-VanBuren game I was. False niceties, passive aggressiveness, and hidden agendas were swirling so thick it was suffocating.
“Oh!” my father said, pleased. “That’s wonderful. You two should come to the house for dinner then.”
“No,” I said quickly. Jack’s eyes landed on me, but I just smiled at my father. I could play this game too. With my best smile and “there’s nothing wrong” attitude, I sweetly said, “We can’t make dinner tonight.”
“Why?” Brock asked in a challenging tone that was laced with just enough sugar to make it not sound threatening. But it was meant to threaten. The mere sound of his voice made my skin crawl.
“Because we’re calling it an early night. Work tomorrow and all,” I said, not looking at Brock, rather at Jack, who I was trying to syphon some kind of invisible energy from to get through this chat. It was all I could do to keep from shaking because the dread from this “casual run-in” was building.
“Oh, responsible, Lana.” Brock put his hands in his pockets and rocked on his heels, then looked at Jack. “She’s always been this way, responsible and sensible.”
“She’s a good girl,” my father said, and suddenly I had no idea what the hell was happening. Brock was trying to see how long I could stand in his presence before the anxiety got the better of me, and my father was being condescending on purpose.
Jack just stood, his gaze on me.
“Another time then?” my father offered, looking at Jack. “When is good for you?”
“You’ll have to talk to Lana,” he said, rubbing his hand along the small of my back. “She’s the boss. I’m on her schedule.”
Stupid tears threatened to make an appearance, but I urged them down before anyone noticed.
Jack was not the kind of man to be on anyone’s schedule but his own. But he just gave me the power, in front of Brock and my dad, and the surge of strength made me stand taller.
Both Brock and my father were clearly surprised by Jack’s admission, but Jack simply sat down, as if he were done with them, and said, “Good to meet you both.”
“Yes,” my father said, confusion riddling his voice. “I’ll call you later, Pumpkin.”
They left, Brock sparing me a gross smile and equally chilling glare.
Once they were gone, Jack looked at me from across the table.
“Tell me about that.”
“About what? My father?”
He nodded. “And your step-brother. Clearly there’s animosity there, and everything else was a big show.”
“It was that obvious, huh?”
I looked at my plate, which was half eaten, and shook my head. “I can’t remember the last time my father hugge
d me.” Then I scoffed because it sounded so silly. “I’m not a part of their world.”
“They don’t deserve you in their world then.”
I looked up at him. “Do you think it’s stupid that part of me misses the way my father used to be before—?”
I bit my lip, but Jack urged me on.
“Before what?”
Before he married Anita. Before Brock snuck into my room and not only wrecked certain parts of my psyche, but drove a wedge between my father and me. Before I suddenly didn’t matter to my mother, or father, or anyone else. Before I merely existed.