“It’s a whole generational thing,” he says.
“You’ll convince him. Parents always want to make their kids happy.” Not that I know firsthand, but I’ve seen plenty of parents in action. Like, McKinnon and his dad. They’re besties. It’s disgusting.
“And if I can’t?”
I don’t know the word can’t. I either find another way or kill what’s in my way. I guess if he can’t, that’s what I’ll have to do, but it will torpedothisplan. I’d need to reengineer.
“Then everything takes longer.”
“I don’t have longer,” he says.
“Then we need to move, dollface. Let’s start with you talking to your dad. Okay?” I wipe the tears from under his eyes—what the hell am I doing?—and study his face.
He nods slowly. “Yeah, okay.”
10
RYAN
Mid-October
Iam an idiot.
A grade-A clown.
After the best sex of my life, with the man who laid out exactly how he would like to own me in exchange for his help, I cried in his fucking arms. That is so not what we are to each other. I could tell he was uncomfortable.
I don’t know why Tate wants to marry me, but I know what it’s not—it’s not love. It’s not even like. It’s pure ownership like the way someone owns a car. I’m not sure if Tate can feel for someone. Obsession might be all he has to give. He tracks my heartbeats like a goddamn predator for fuck’s sake.
Because he is a predator, Ryan.
The cold and calculated voice he used when he said he’d kill anyone I slept with—he meant it. You can’t cage energy like that.
Those are just a few of the many reasons I was planning on walking away from him, while I still could. I wasn’t just leaving when I got off the bed; I was leaving him. But it’s like he could sense it. His energy drew me back to his metaphorical lair.Demanded I tell him about me so he could help. And there was something in his voice when he said please …
Of course, in hindsight, I know I had to have imagined it, but it sounded like he gave a fuck. Apparently, that’s all I need, one fuck given, and I spill. I’d never survive torture.
I didn’t tell him everything. I did something worse. I agreed to talk to my father about something I know he’ll laugh in my face for. But I don’t know how to make Tate understand without telling him everything. And giving the psychopath even more that he can use to manipulate me with isn’t the move. Right now, he’s under the impression that I’ve got a strict father who’s committed to legacy. Not unusual for any of the families in our circle.
Anyway, the crying went over so badly that Tate did his robot version of athere, there,gave me a restrained kiss, said he’d better get going, and hopped out the window with the cold precision of a wildcat. A dull ending to our lava-hot fuck session.
Then, because the universe likes to rub salt into my wounds, McKinnon was in the right place to witness my walk of shame from his room. And, by the way, he did open the door. No way Tate didn’t hear that shit with the way he can track my heartbeat-to-breath ratio.
So, he’s a liar, too. Untrustworthy. Fuck him.
It’s Monday, a week and a bit after that lovely little interaction. Hockey practice was a fucking torture session, as usual. Then formation. Then breakfast, where I could see Griff, but not talk to or look at him. Now classes. Classes are a relief from my fucking life. One bright side, Rowan’s still out with his knee injury. He showed up to practice to observe, of course, but I don’t have to put up with him on the ice.
Small blessings.
I check my phone for the fortieth time since I woke up this morning, and nope, nothing new from Tate. He’s been texting me all week, but it’s shit I don’t want to deal with.
Tate
Have you asked him yet?
What’s the hold up?
We’re running out of time.
