Seeing the range of emotion filter through my eyes, Harper’s hesitation gave way, and she softened, stepping toward me. Her arms slipped around my waist, and she peered up at me with the sweetest smile.
“Fine, we’ll come shopping with you. Just to prevent you from picking out ghastly royal purple gothic furniture.” She teased, her chocolate eyes sparkling. “And don’t worry about Asher, he’s really easy. You’ll see.”
I was instantly comforted by her touch, and her words lifted my heart and further fed that void. I could feel its hunger shrinking, feel myself shifting.
Rightening.
“Well, I should get going.” I finally said, eyes roaming over her gorgeous features, her melted chocolate eyes gazing up at with reflection. “What time does the bus drop Asher off again?”
“Three-thirty.” She replied, and I nodded, dropping another kiss to her lips before forcing my retreat.
Opening the front door, I glanced back at her over my shoulder, eyes meeting hers for a moment before I moved my reluctant feet forward. I pulled the door shut behind me, taking a deep breath of the chilly air.
Another cold front had moved in, but the icy blast of it did nothing to erase the stupid grin on my face. It was cold enough to snow—in April, no doubt—but I still felt warm. Ignited from the inside.
I climbed into my Jeep and started the ignition, peering up at the house once more. I could have sworn I saw the curtain in Harper’s bedroom move, but maybe that was just my hopeful imagination trying to conjure up another glimpse of her.
Putting the Jeep in reverse, I checked my mirrors and waited for a car to pass before backing up slowly. I’d barely made it out of Harper’s driveway before my phone was ringing, connecting to the Jeep over Bluetooth.
It was Evan, so I hit answer. “What’s up, man?”
“Get your ass to the pub! Last-minute celebration of life concert!”
“How fucked up are you right now?” I sighed.
“Pretty fucked up, to be honest,” he paused to belch. “But I’m good to play. Dare’s here too. Come on. It’ll be like old times.”
I smiled, shaking my head a little. “All right, I’ll pop by. But I can’t stay long.”
“Yeah yeah, Daddy boy. You’ve got a bedtime now. We get it. Just hurry your ass up.”
Laughing, I ended the call, fingers tapping against the steering wheel, thankful at the welcomed distraction. The prospect of returning to my parents’rightnow wasn’t high up on my list of things I wanted to do, not with my dad’s pissed off mug scowling at me whenever I walked into the room.
But I didn’t care—not a single fuck was given to his encroachment. I’d meant what I said: he didn’t have to be a part of the future—and that future tastedgood.
I licked my lips, still tasting her on them. Desire stirred in my groin, and I drew in a calming breath. My want for that woman was endless; my love unending and running from it had needlessly tortured my mind until I’d nearly lost myself in the darkness.
It took Gramps leaving this heavenly earth for me to wake the fuck up, and that was a new regret I’d have to carry, along with the many others. Shame and guilt spread in my belly, abundant and teeming, but I put it all aside, determined to prove to myself and to everyone else that Gramps was right; I could have it all.
Calum
It was nearly three o’clock when I finally got back to my parents’ place. The show at The Warf had dragged on a little longer than anticipated, once we got up on that stage. The venue was smaller than the ones we’d grown accustomed to playing at, and somehow—the rush was amplified by the intimacy of it.
Word of the impromptu concert spread like wildfire on social media, and the pub filled to capacity.
It was incredible, and that, coupled with the day I’d spent in Harper and Asher’s company—well, I was riding on a high that felt untouchable.
Until I stepped into the foyer of my parents’ house, that is.
No lights in the living room were on, save for the television, its blue glow dimly illuminating the space around my father’s chair. He sat in it, a can of beer resting on the coaster on the end table beside him.
My father had always enjoyed a brew or two—and never more—after work. He didn’t believe that beer was truly alcohol, but given the empty cans littering the end table beside him—I’d say he was well over his usual two and through.
I cocked a brow, feeling out the atmosphere—my neck prickling at the sudden chill. My father’s clear and bitter gaze moved from the television to me, where I stood.
I knew better than to engage, but still. Drawing a breath, I gestured to the stairs. “It’s late. I’m going to bed. You should, too.”
He scoffed with repulsion, whether at me or my audacity at telling him what to do; I couldn’t tell for certain. The past few days, he’d vary from giving me the silent treatment to tossing dirty scowls my way every now and then.
