Then she flew at him.
Fucking flew at him.
She hit him bodily, sending him back a foot as their arms went around each other.
And the smile that was on her face threatened to fucking split it.
It was then that I felt the sliver of doubt slip in.
What the fuck did I really have to offer her?
"Why didn't you call?" she insisted, pulling back to look at him.
"I thought it was good for the both of us to get some space. Me, to work on myself. You, to be able to live your life a little."
"How did..." Prue paused, shifting her feet uncomfortably. "How did everything go?"
"How about we talk about that back in your apartment? This old man is road weary. Could use to take a load off and have some amazing Prudence Marlow concoction."
"But, Dad, I kind-of have to stay..."
"Go," I said, before I could talk myself out of it.
"Go?" she asked, head snapping in my direction and I saw the hurt in her eyes. And it was like a knife through the gut.
"Yeah, babe, go," I repeated, ignoring the searing through my middle, convincing myself it was best.
"Byron..." she said, shaking her head at me.
"I'll let you guys have a minute," Mack said, kissing Prue's temple, giving me a hard look, then making his way to the door.
"Prue, you know it's the right decision," I said when all she did was stare at me.
"Actually, I don't know that," she surprised me by saying.
"Prue, your dad needs your support," I threw the knockout blow.
"Byron..." she tried, but I could see she was losing her will to fight. I could tell she always felt unsure about me, about how she fit into my life. It wasn't hard to convince her that she was disposable like all the rest. Despite that being as far from the truth as possible.
"What could you possibly get from being with me?"EIGHTEENPrueMyself.
That was the first thing that popped into my head.
I got to be myself with him.
I mean never, as in ever, had I ever been caught dancing around or singing loudly to music around my exes. I was always hyper-aware when they were around and sort-of tailored my behavior accordingly. Byron had caught me belting it out to Prince, which wasn't that bad. But then he had walked in on me dancing around singing a song for Disney's Hercules for God's sake. And I hadn't felt mortified. I hadn't wanted to run screaming.
With him, I fought for the TV shows I wanted to watch instead of just falling in line to watch whatever the person I was with wanted to watch.
I submitted to him in bed and let him do things I never thought in a million years I would be comfortable with.
I let him in about my father, about some of the things that had happened over the years.
I shared.
I was generous with myself.
And, what was even more unusual, I took.
I took what he gave to me and often demanded more. Without fear. Without embarrassment.
For maybe the first time in my life, I got to be fully myself with another person.
That was what I got from being with him.
Loving Byron was the first thing I had done in my life that was completely, entirely, selfishly for myself. It was the only decision without an asterisk and a footnote detailing every escape clause, every reason it might not work, every excuse I could use to sabotage it before it even got a chance to begin.
And he was brushing me off?
That warm, blooming feeling in my chest withered, replaced by a frost that actually made me shiver at the intensity of it.
I should have known.
I had known.
All those times I was convinced I was just an itch, just a whim, just an easy distraction for a busy man. All those times , I knew. Why I had tried to convince myself otherwise was completely beyond me. I was smarter than that. So what if he said some of the right things? Any man who was trying to get something from a woman could throw the right words together to convince her she was something special. So what if he took me with him on a trip? Again, convenient, uncomplicated, easy sex.
God, I was so stupid.
"Right," I said with a nod, choking back the sob that felt like it was inching its way up my throat. "I'll go pack."
With that, I turned and made my way to the door, doing my best to make it look like I wasn't running. But I needed to get out of there before the tears slipped over, which they did as I walked into the hall. Matt and my father were standing there, talking easily, like old friends. It was a quality I always admired about my father; he could always talk to anyone.