Not about wanting him to control my life. I meant everything I said to him. But there's this small, pathetic part of me that still wants a father. Still hopes he might call and say he's sorry and he understands. That he’d choose me over his own plans.
He won't. I know he won't.
But hope is a stubborn thing.
Thanksgiving is in three days. I was supposed to go home—to New York and the penthouse—for a big, lavish dinner prepared by a hired chef and stilted conversations over turkey with Dad's business associates, who treat holidays like networking opportunities.
Not happening.
I can't sit across from him and pretend everything is fine. I can't smile politely while he makes passive-aggressive comments about my "poor decisions" and "emotional immaturity."
Mom is in France. Or England. I don’t even know where. She rarely stays in one country for more than a month. She has taken world traveling to an expert level.
I need a new plan for the week. I’m not about to sit around the empty house and mope.
I'm in the kitchen making coffee when Ashton and Pierce walk in, already arguing about something.
"I don't care what you say, Miami over New Orleans any day," Pierce is saying.
"You only say that because you hooked up with that girl from Miami."
"Gentlemen," I interrupt. "What's this about Miami?"
They exchange glances.
"Our annual Thanksgiving trip," Ashton explains. "We've gone the past two years. Beach, bars, absolutely zero family drama."
"Sounds perfect. Can I come?"
"You're supposed to go home," Pierce says.
"Plans changed. My dad and I aren't exactly speaking right now."
Another glance between them.
"Yeah, man, of course, you can come," Ashton says. "We got a house through Airbnb. Right on the beach. Five bedrooms, so there's plenty of space."
"Who's going?"
"Us, Crew, Holden, and usually a few guys from the team. Sometimes girlfriends, but mostly it's just the guys." Pierce grins. "Total escape from reality for five days."
"Perfect. I'm in."
"What about Sutton?" Ashton asks carefully.
"What about her?"
"Are you going to bring her?"
I hadn't thought about it. "I don't know. Is it couples or just guys?"
"Historically, just guys. But if you want to bring her, she’s like one of us anyway."
"Nah, she probably wants to see her dad for Thanksgiving anyway." I pour my coffee. "I'll talk to her about it. But I’m sure she’d rather get away from all the testosterone for a bit."
The truth is, part of me wants space. Not from Sutton exactly. But from everything. From the pressure, drama, and constant weight of decisions I'm not ready to make.
Five days in Miami with the guys sounds like exactly what I need.
