I touch his face, and he sighs roughly, softening. “I don’t think I can see him,” I reassure him.
“Good.” He nods slowly. “Good. So, what are you going to tell your dad?”
“The truth.”
“Which is?”
I swallow over a lump of lies, of resistance, of emotional dissonance. “That. I. Didn’t. Want to…” The sharp words come out one by one like bullets from a wound. “To do it. But I need to go to the hospital and tell my dad to his face.”
“No. I’m not letting you go. A few seconds ago, when I touched you, you jumped. You were scared. Not a flinch—a jump.” He shakes his head. “That isn’t a normal reaction when your boyfriend touches you, Duch.” Still shaking his head, he says, “You shouldn’t be near him. You shouldn’t be in the same building as him.”
“Come with me?” I beg.
He withdraws, looking like I just slapped him. “Are you fucking crazy? If I were in that hospital, I’d find that fucker andstranglehim with his own IV line. Just call your dad back. Tell him over the phone. Be honest. You don’t need to go there. You don’t need to say yes to them.”
I stare at the ground, shuffling my shoes on the pretty deck, wondering whether Ben can hear us, or if Elise has sat down at the little ceramic table and is enjoying my fruit salad while looking out over the gardens. Oblivious.
“Look at me.”
I lift my eyes to Konnor.
“You don’t have to go there, Blesk. You don’t have to be the perfect daughter who doesn’t flinch.”
My eyes widen.
“You don’t have to make yourself uncomfortable to protect the comfort of others. Your dad’s feelings are not more important than yours. He should be here for you. You’re the damn kid.”
“I’m not his kid. Erik is.”
Konnor shakes his head slowly, a sadness stirring in his green gaze. “If that’s true, then you let them both go.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
konnor
I am more of a rush-in-and-find-out kind of man. Blesk is a put-it-in-the-centre-of-a-room, circle-it, consider-whether-it’s-better-off-buried-or-known kind of woman.
So, faced with two challenges at once, she buckles on one. Puts the call to her dad on hold and opens the envelope to tick at least one more thing off the fucked-up bucket list.
She sits on the floor of my bedroom below me, sorting through documents, and I watch over her shoulder from the bed. I let her steer. I know I come on strong.
Bank statements. Photos. News articles from when I was taken. A deed to Knight Estate. A collection of paper-based trophies that arsehole kept.
My eyes drift to her mouth, the way she licks her finger before each page. My cock twitches. Got a good fucking memory that appendage. I need to keep my brain-blood right now. I focus on the pile of paper—there is nothing in that pile that could improve my life now. I have everything I need right here, licking her finger.
Last night…
Fuck me.
Nope. Eyes back to the paper. Blood back to the brain cells. She turns another page, and I watch her face.
I say, “You know, my biological mother died a few years after I was taken. My biological father thought it’d be best if I got a fresh start. He didn’t want me going through life with people treating me like I was broken or some shit. He put me up for adoption instead.” I exhale with a derisive laugh and admit, “At least, that’s what they told me.”
“You’ve never met him... Never wanted to?”
“Nope.” I pop the p.
“Why? Did the adoption upset you?”
