Debt

"It means nothing," I insisted, hoping my voice didn't sound as hysterical to him as it did to me.

"Of course not. Of course not, baby," he agreed, tone back to the normal one I was used to, carefree, light, friendly. "Do I have time to run out and grab some red before dinner?" he asked.

"You have a good hour," I told him, not wanting to admit how badly I could use a glass of wine.

"Alright," he said, seeming a bit distracted, "I'll be back in a while, Dear Prudence," he told me, kissing my cheek, and heading for the door.

An hour passed.

Then two.

Then three.

The lasagna got cold.

And I felt a familiar bubbling, churning feeling in my stomach.

One night.

I got one night.

But I guess I would take one night over none.

My phone rang some time around eleven, making my heart fly into my chest as I scrambled across my apartment to grab it where my father had left it that afternoon. "Hello?"

"Prue?" a voice that was definitely not my father's, but also somewhat familiar, called.

"Yes..."

"Prue, it's Aaron."

I paused, swallowing. "Aaron from Mandy's?"

"The one and only. Glad to know you haven't forgotten me already, though I admit, it hurts to only be remembered as an employee of Mandy's. But, I guess, in this case... it is fitting."

Yep.

I knew what was coming.

"My dad is there, isn't he?" I asked, and the disappointment was so deep that I could drown in it.

"Sweetheart, I'm sorry. But, yes, he is. And, well, you know how Byr..."

"I'll be there in ten, fifteen tops," I rushed over him, not quite wanting to hear his name when I was already a swirling mass of unhappiness.

"I wish I could be calling you under different circumstances..."

"It's okay, Aaron. It's not your fault. And I really appreciate this."

With that, I hung up and went to my closet, pulling out a tight black dress and sensible heels and slipping into them on autopilot. I grabbed my wallet and keys and drove to the boardwalk, sure I was seconds away from physically choking on my sadness. It was right there in my throat, so wide and dense that it was hard to swallow past.

The last time I had stepped foot in Mandy's, it had been with Byron. And he had carefully, purposefully stripped away all the negativity I had surrounding the establishment in my head. But as I walked up to it, my heels click-clicking annoyingly on the pavement, it was as if that had never happened. Dread welled up strong and familiar as I gave one of the doormen a half-smile as he waved me inside.

The floor was packed and I had walked around, scanning, for the better part of twenty minutes, anxiety steadily building as I caught no sight of my father.

My elbow was snagged from behind and I whirled fast enough for the room to spin for a second before my eyes settled on Aaron's kind face. "He's back here," he informed me as he gripped my elbow and led me toward the offices. "Thought it was best to get him off the floor before he could cause any kind of scene," he supplied, leading me to Byron's office. He must have felt me stiffen because his hand released my elbow and stroked down my arm. "He's in there, I promise," he told me, reaching for the doorknob.

I pushed inside, lifting my chin, trying not to let too much of the devastation show.

"Oh, there she is," my father's voice called, sounding way too cheerful for someone who got dragged into the offices at a casino.

I got maybe a foot and a half inside before I realized that my father was lounging in the chair in front of the desk.

And Byron was sitting in his chair behind it.

I moved to go back a step in surprise and bumped into Aaron.

His hands went down on my shoulders, squeezing a little reassuringly, as I tilted my head back on his chest to look at him. But his face gave me nothing. So I looked back to the only other safe face in the room.

"Dad, is everything okay?"

"Fantastic, actually, baby. Why don't you come sit down?" he asked as I felt the hairs on my arms stand on end and I knew, I just knew without looking that Byron's gaze was glued on me.

"I think I'm good. I'd really rather get home. I have a lasagna waiting, you remember."

He grimaced a little, steeping his hands in front of his mouth for a second. "I'm sorry that had to wait."

"Why did it have to wait?" I asked, hearing a bit of the defeat, the tiredness in my tone. "You seemed like you were in a good place. You seemed like you were doing better."

"Oh, I am, baby. I am. See... I wasn't here tonight to hit the tables."