Sunlight streamed through my opened window, mercilessly blinding me before I’d even opened my heavy lids, the haunting dream of a memory still stubbornly clinging to my conscious.
My cock was hard from how real the dream had felt, and the dark abscess in my heart throbbed in time to the beat of missing someone I had no right to miss.
I could still remember how it felt to slide into her that night, in this very bed. Two days before the night I shot it all to hell. The simple truth of it was that I’d been happier in every moment I’d spent with her, then I’d ever been since I boarded the plane.
Knowing I fucked up things beyond repair by leaving the way I had was my penitence.
Wiping the sleep from my eyes, I stood and stretched, trying to work the kink out of my neck and back. Bending forward, I grabbed my duffle bag and rooted through it for a fresh pair of jeans and a t-shirt.
I hesitated when my eyes landed on the folded note beside my pillow. Pushing my hair back, I huffed out a sigh, tucking it into the small pocket in my duffle bag before I grabbed my clothes and toiletries and headed to the bathroom down the hall. I closed and locked the door, flicking on the light. Setting my things down on the wicker basket before I turned toward the shower.
Twisting the dials, I let the water heat up and turned my attention toward the mirror.
Free from my father’s conservative views and with money to spare, I’d wasted no time decorating my body with piercings and tattoos. I was covered in various inked designs from my neck to torso, and from hip to ankle.
I knew I looked like everything my father resented in today’s youth, and there was a deep sick satisfaction in knowing that. I wondered if it pissed him off that despite my appearance—I was successful at what I did. More successful than either of us could have predicted.
Steam gathered on the mirror, and I tugged my clothes off before stepping beneath the steady stream, hot water sluicing down my body.
Twenty minutes later, I joined my parents in the kitchen. The tension rose the moment I entered the room, climbing higher as I strolled over to the counter and grabbed a mug. I didn’t have to look at my father to feel the power of his glare against my back.
The room was terse with unspoken words. Words held back, but still felt in the air. It was the silent language of the Jacobs men.
“Good morning, Calum,” Mom said, sending me a warm smile, working double time to ease the tension. The new creases around her eyes gave away how tired she was. “Are you hungry? I set aside a plate for you in the microwave.”
“Thanks, Mom,” I said, nodding before my eyes flitted to Dad. He was scowling at me, all right. Ignoring him, I turned and poured coffee into the mug, dumping two scoops of sugar in before grabbing my plate from the microwave and crossing over to the table.
I set my plate down, tugging the chair out before sitting down across from them both.
My gaze caught Dad’s, and he grunted, standing abruptly from the table. He grabbed his plate, depositing it on the other side of the counter before disappearing out the front door, likely headed to his shop in the detached garage.
“Let me guess; you told him not to speak if he couldn’t be civil?” I asked, cocking a brow and taking a sip of coffee like it didn’t burn and sting all at once.
Mom turned to look at me and sighed, her lips pulling into a sad smile. “Admitting he was wrong is hard for your father. The two of you are so alike.”
A heavy sigh escaped, and I nodded. Placing the mug down, I rubbed my left hand over the stubble on my jaw. “If me staying here is a problem for him, I can get a hotel room, Mom.”
“Don’t be foolish,” she said, shaking her head. “This is the perfect opportunity for you two to resolve your issues.”
“I wouldn’t count on that,” I sighed. Catching her crestfallen expression, I leaned forward. “I’m sorry, Ma. It’s just…I don’t think it’s going to happen.”
“You’ve made a lot of choices that your father doesn’t agree with, and the two of you have never seen eye-to-eye, but you both have to find a way to put that behind you. We’re a family, Calum, no matter how many mistakes we make or how many miles you put between us.”
The catch in her voice struck home, and I exhaled slowly. She was right. Gramps had been saying it for years, and it took him dying before I finally listened.
“All he’s ever going to see when he looks at me is disappointment.”
“That’s not true,” she insisted, shaking her head animatedly. Her hand reached out, clasping mine. I looked down at my knuckle, at the letters tattooed on each finger that spellednever. My other hand hadmoretattooed, with the skull of a crow on my pinky. She followed my gaze, her hand lightly squeezing mine.
I’d gotten it a week after my old man busted my lip when I told him I was leaving with the band. I suppose I deserved it.
Money was tight for my parents, and they’d taken a second mortgage out on the house to pay for my tuition. I had pulled the rug completely out from under his feet, and I’d been arrogant in my delivery of my plan, in my assurance that all would be good becauseIwas chasing my dreams.
But Dad was stubborn, and he hadn’t wanted to hear about the opportunity we’d gotten to open for Kill Bark’s state-side tour,that I’d be able to pay him back. It pissed me off that he never believed in me, so I picked a fight, pushed every button I knew would set him off, and he punched me.
We’d come close to tossing fists before, but it had never happened. Not until that night.
I’d been punched several times before that, the impact of his fist on my face was less shocking than his look of horror when he realized what he’d done; what I’d pushed him to do.
