“I’m sorry.” I reached for him but he didn’t reach back. My eyes burned with tears. “I don’t know why I said that.”
“You said you trusted me to know what’s best.”
“I do trust you, completely. But it’s not fair. You won’t fuck me, and you won’t tell me why you won’t fuck me.”
“I’m trying to protect you.”
“I didn’t ask for your protection,” I said a little too forcefully. “What could you possibly protect me from by coming in my mouth instead of my pussy?”
His phone buzzed again. This time, he snapped it up to answer it.
“What?” He paused, listening.
Anxiety coiled in my belly as I watched the emotion drain from his face.
“Send her up,” he said.
He tucked his phone back in his pocket and disappeared into the apartment. I followed. He didn’t bother to take his shoes off as he strode to the kitchen to pour himself a shot of brandy.
“Who’s coming?” I asked when it became clear he wasn’t going to volunteer the info. I swore, if Krista stepped out of the elevator, I was going to lose it.
He downed the drink he’d just poured, refreshed the glass, then slid the shot over to me.
“Looks like we’re about to have a family reunion.”
Chapter Thirteen
I wished I could step back into the memory of the last time I saw my father before he left me. I would’ve used the opportunity to look for signs, clues, smoke signals. Anything that might’ve hinted at his impending disappearance.
Whenever I tried to comb through the memories, the details blended together until I wasn’t sure if I was remembering the right film we saw, or the flavor of ice cream in my cone.
To my twelve-year-old self, everything about that day had seemed normal.
What I did remember was the look of relief on my mother’s face when I walked through the door, as if she’d half expec
ted to never see me again.
I wondered if Mason ever considered running off with me. I used to imagine how differently my life would’ve unfolded if he had. Would we have circled the globe ten times over, only to find ourselves at a similar crossroads between my estranged parents?
Maybe this was all inevitable. Absconded from my mother, or abandoned by my father, the outcome would’ve been the same: a life shrouded in secrets. The fruitless search for the disparate parts of myself. All roads converging on this exact moment in my father’s foyer.
My mother stepping out of the elevator, looking tired and harried, yet beautiful as ever.
“Hello, Jett.” She clutched a brown-paper shopping bag in front of her like a talisman against some perceived evil.
“Mom,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“You won’t return my calls, so I thought I’d come to you.” She scanned the foyer, her gaze lingering on the open door to the studio. “I’d like to speak with my daughter alone.”
“You can talk in the apartment,” Mason said. “I’ll be in my studio—”
“Is there some reason we can’t talk in there?”
She didn’t wait for him to respond before she stepped inside. Mason shot me a look of apprehension before he followed. I trailed behind them both, noting his gaze flickering toward his work in progress. Thankfully, only the back of the canvas was visible from this side of the room.
“The apartment would be more comfortable,” he said.
“This will do fine. I’m not staying long.”