She just gave a voice to my biggest fear.
Today is my birthday.
I’m having dinner with my family in six hours at Nova, and I haven’t seen or heard from the man I love.
“You’re supposed to be at home getting ready for tonight.” She taps me on my hip. “Go and do that. I’ll cover things here.”
I’m here because I can’t spend another second at home alone.
I’ve been to Liam’s apartment building twice, but I couldn’t get inside. I’ve done everything in my power to reach out to him.
“He knows about my mom,” I confess quietly. “I told him about my mom and my dad.”
“Your dad?” Leanna sets a hand on my shoulder. “You’ve never mentioned your dad before.”
I haven’t mentioned my mom to her either, but most of Manhattan knows the name Simone Millett.
“He wasn’t a great man.” I look up at the ceiling. “I told Liam about that. Do you think…”
“No,” she answers before I can finish my question. “He doesn’t strike me as the type of man to dump a woman because her parents are screwed up.”
She doesn’t know him.
I do, and I have no idea if he’s that type of man.
I wanted to believe he wasn’t, but reality is forcing me to accept that he might be.
“What am I supposed to do about tonight?” I ask, scrubbing a hand over the back of my neck. “My family thinks they are meeting him.”
Her hands find mine. “Athena, they love you. They love you so much. They’ll understand. Be honest with them, and they’ll understand.”
It’s advice I need to follow, but first I have to do the impossible.
I need to be honest with myself that Liam Wolf may not be the man I thought he was.
Hope is a fool’s currency.
I’m holding onto it as though my life depends on it.
I’m in the bathroom at Nova. My family is seated at the table waiting for Liam to arrive.
I held my breath as I made my way to the restaurant. Holding out hope isn’t easy when your phone doesn’t ring.
Glancing around the vacant washroom, I scroll through my contact list until I find Liam’s number.
I hit dial.
If my past brought me to this point, so be it, but this man needs to know that he’s a coward. He has to know that judging me based on who my parents are is wrong.
I smooth my hand over the skirt of my black dress as his phone rings and rings.
Finally, on the sixth ring, the familiar sound of his voicemail message kicks in.
I listen to the same words I’ve heard countless times the past few days.
Once I hear, “I’ll get back to you,” and the tone sounds, I start talking.
“This is the last time you’ll ever hear from me.” I take a breath. “The very last time.”
