Page 37 of A Song for You

“Fuck this,” I mutter as I undo my tie. I pull at it until it releases completely and ball it in my fist. Carter would never go home in a fucking suit. Why the fuck do I?

My father comes into view, dressed just as formally and standing in the kitchen, sipping what looks like whiskey from a lowball glass.

“Little early, don’t you think, Dad?” I mutter, more to myself but not quietly enough.

He raises his gaze to mine, the nearly black stare meant to chastise me. It’s a wonder my eyes are as light as they are. I inherited my mother’s coloring completely.

“I see someone had a bad night,” he snaps, slamming his glass down, the noise clanging loudly in the empty space. It’s all windows and bare furniture. No pillows, no pictures, no comfort whatsoever.

Kind of like his heart.

I see my future, and it scares the shit out of me.

Blowing out a long breath, I fight for composure. I can’t let him rattle me. Can’t let on that I’m already rattled. If he finds out I’m hung up on a girl—a woman—he’ll make sure she disappears. No distractions, no happiness. Nothing but revenge and business. I’ve lived like this for the last ten years, and suddenly, I can’t fathom why.

I’m not sure when I stopped living every moment striving to obtain his goals and instead turned my focus to my own.

Happiness.

I haven’t thought of something so trivial in years.

But something about the way Cat challenged me that first day, denying me her name and number, telling me to earn it, made me look at my life and wonder how—outside of the designer clothes, expensive cars, opulent apartments—I could be worth someone else’s time.

For so long, those material things attracted the kind of attention I wanted. A woman for the night, someone for the now. But who would want to stick around if I have nothing more to offer than work and revenge?

My stomach rolls as I study the liquid in my father’s glass. “Just a little hungover,” I offer as an excuse. “Carter forced me to go out since I haven’t been around much.”

“Good, then it won’t seem strange when you show up at his apartment to place the next SD card. I told you moving out was fucking idiotic. We’re so close, Jonathan. We’ve worked for this for years.”

I avert my attention to the ocean. Anything to avoid his scrutiny. The water is dark and brooding, a formidable opponent that lures us in with its soft waves, lulling us into complacency if we aren’t careful. What I wouldn’t give to dive in and see where it takes me. I’d rather see the hope from the shore than the despair from this angle.

“I want to speed up the timeline,” I say, my attention fixed on the waves. This needs to be over with. Let my father have his revenge. Let James Liquors go bankrupt. Or whatever the mystery plan is. I need to get out of this cycle if I ever want a shot of standing on the shore.

Twenty-Two

Cat

Losing My Religion by R.E.M.

The apartment above James Liquors is where my father and mother lived before they had children. After we were born, my mother would bring us here while my dad worked downstairs. I barely remember that time. Or my mother.

With the ache of that loss tugging at my heart, I sink back into the bed in the guest room. The room, my former nursery, is a light pink with a plush white rug to soften the space. All other reminders of my time in this room have been removed.

After she died, my brothers and I remained in Bristol, Rhode Island—a picturesque small town my mother was determined to reside in while she raised us—with our nannies, while my father stayed here. My father never came home on the weekends. He just disappeared.

My grandparents kicked him out of the penthouse after they fired him. So much of the past and details of those events remain a mystery to me. But even back then, when I came home from school for holidays and the summer, this is where I came. I’d sneak up here, though I’m sure my grandfather knew where I was—nothing happens in this building without his knowledge. But if he did, he never said anything.

It’s been a long time since I’ve stayed here overnight, but I can’t possibly go back to my apartment. I can’t face Mia. She probably knows exactly the kind of person Jay is. Hell, she probably knows he was pursuing me. A sick part of me wonders if she was part of it. She’d get a thrill out of being with both of us.

My stomach sinks at the thought that the words he spoke, that meant so much to me at the time, were nothing more than lines. Probably pulled from a list he kept handy for all his flirtations.

And then it twists at the image of Jay and Mia together. I can’t banish it from my mind.

He said he’s never been with her, but he’s a lying liar, so his words hold no value. He probably saw me on the train and figured he could have us both. I was an opportunity. A game. Nothing more.

I sigh in disgust, hating how I’ve given a boy the power to make me feel this way. No, not a boy; a man. A man who wears suits and smirks at me as if he knows more about me than I know about myself. As if he knows my thoughts and wants when I haven’t even figured them out. A man who promised me a movie-style kiss and then left me out in the cold, wishing for something I’d never even considered until he worked his way under my skin.

A real love story. A chance at happiness. The potential for more.