Like that was supposed to make things better?
She’d decided not long after that men needed to either nut the fuck up or leave her be. Her hand clenched tight over the arms of her chair. “Of me,” she spat, with disdain.
“No.”
Liar. Her nostrils flared. “Then what?”
“Of me,” he finally said.
She studied him, struck by the words. They were in line with the determination she had come to yesterday, but still confusing. What kind of hang-ups could this guy possibly have that made him so incapable of indulging his desires?
“Why?” When it looked like he wasn’t going to respond, she pushed him. “I have a right to know.”
“You aren’t the only one,” he whispered, his voice barely a sound, “whose parents saddled them with baggage.”
Her brow furrowed. Her mother had despised her and her father only wanted her when he could pimp her out to television viewers. What problems could Jacob have had with his parents?
Granted, she didn’t know much about his earlier years. His mother had died when he was young, his brothers barely babies. She hadn’t interacted with Harvey Campbell much in the two years she had known him before his death, but he had seemed like a kind, friendly, mild-mannered physician. “I don’t understand.”
His lips tightened. “Everyone marveled when your mother married my dad after a month. No one who knew my dad was surprised.” His laugh was without humor. “That was entirely within character for him, throwing everything aside to run off and do something new and exciting. Get-rich-quick schemes, women, business—there was nothing my father liked more than the thrill of risk.”
Jacob wasn’t a verbose man, but as he spoke now, his words came faster, as if he had to get them out before the spigot shut off. “Once when the boys were about three and four—I must have been twelve, maybe—he straight up did not come home for three days.” Jacob’s lips twisted. “I was scared, but more scared of social services, so I didn’t ask for help or call anyone. I just kept the kids in our nice, tidy, middle-class house, and fed them Cheetos and Doritos when we ran out of cereal.”
“Where was he?”
“Vegas,” he responded succinctly. “He went with a colleague after work and got on a hot streak. He didn’t mean to be gone so long. He hadn’t even thought to tell me he was going. Or wondered if he should leave a bunch of kids on their own at all.
“When my mom was alive, I think she managed to keep him balanced. Or maybe I was just too young to notice it then because she picked up the parenting slack.”
One of the thousands of pieces making up Jacob slid into place, everything around it aligning. “So after she was gone, you picked up the parenting slack.”
He looked down and studied his hands. Turned them over, as if all of the secrets of the universe could be found there. “For a long time…yes. As the boys grew older, became more self-sufficient, I thought maybe I could start to pull away. Do what I want.”
She waited, but he fell silent, lost in past memories. “And then Kati came along,” she said softly.
He started. “I realized I couldn’t be him. I couldn’t just do whatever I wanted. I couldn’t be distracted.” A corner of his lips kicked up. Not quite a smile, but a rueful acknowledgment. “That day, at the wedding, you walked up to me, and do you know what my first reaction was?”
She rarely hung on to men’s words, but she was practically on the edge of her seat with this sincere conversation. Their tones were hushed, though they were guaranteed privacy. “What?”
“I was ready to run out of there with you.” He shook his head, a lock of hair falling over his forehead. Her fingers itched to push it aside. “My father was off in his own little world of new love, and I knew he’d once again forgotten he had kids. But I didn’t have that luxury. They needed one stable parent.”
“But you’re not their parent,” she pointed out.
Something dark moved in his eyes.
“Jacob,” she prompted.
He shook his head. “Yeah,” he said, his voice rough. “I’m not. I’ve been informed my sense of responsibility is maybe overdeveloped. I’m…working on that.”
He placed his hand on hers and regarded her steadily. She cocked her head, realizing this was the first time the two of them had gone more than five minutes in each other’s company without resorting to taunts, insults, sex, or defensiveness. They were merely conversing. Like adults.
It was strange. But…nice.
“I’ve gone my whole life trying not to be like my dad. He was addicted to everything, and I knew within the first few minutes of meeting you that I could be addicted to you.” He paused. “But I made that your problem. It was mine, and should have stayed mine.” He stretched his hand out and grabbed something from her desk. A second later, the rose was in front of her. “I’m sorry. Forgive me.”
Slowly, she extended her hand and grasped the rose. She tightened her hand around the stem, the nubs of the stripped thorns digging into her palm. “I don’t care what anyone thinks about me. You didn’t hurt my feelings.”
“I know,” his reply was infinitely gentle.
