It’s a little known fact that there is a rip in the space-time continuum in the lobby bar of a swanky hotel in midtown Manhattan. That’s all I could assume since my father and I were drinking together while we stalked our, well, women. We were like contrite, confused puppies hovering downstairs hoping they’d talk to us.

It was truly a low point in my life.

Zoe had asked for space, which my brain interpreted as “please come over and act like a possessive asshole”—at least that’s what she hissed to me in the hallway outside Zuzu’s suite.

“You have space at home. Sleep in the den. I’ll leave you alone.” I wasn’t going to beg, but I would ask nicely. “Please.”

Her blue eyes were pink and a little swollen, like she’d been crying. I hoped to God she’d been commiserating with her mother or something, because I didn’t want to make her cry. I wanted to make her cry with delight and crazy finger-tingling orgasms, not sadness.

“Nathan, there have been a lot of changes in my life in the last few months—a lot of discoveries. I’ve got to stop for a minute. You should, too. You don’t know what you want.”

I leaned against the flocked wallpaper in the hallway. “Now you’re being patronizing. Don’t give me that bullshit. I’m a grown man, and so far in life I’ve been pretty damn good at getting what I want. Right now I want you. And I thought you wanted me, too.”

“I do.” She looked down at the patterned carpet. Her nail polish was peeling on her bare feet, and her tank top and short pants almost looked like pajamas. I wanted to bury my face into the bright cloud of her hair like I would smell a wild rose. “I… love you,” she said. “But I feel like I’m pushing you into something you’re not really ready for.”

I tugged at my hair, huffing with exasperation. “Give me a little credit. Jesus! You’re acting like I’m the new college grad in this scenario.” Immediately I regretted my words.

Her lips parted in surprise. “Well, age doesn’t always mean maturity. Evidently.”

“Maybe you’re the one who isn’t ready for a real relationship.” I hated the petulant tone in my voice, and the words. Judging from the hurt in her eyes, Zoe wanted to ask me if the fancy handmade shoes in my mouth tasted good.

Might as well go for broke. “I could make you come home with me.” I bent down and hauled her over my shoulder. My hands clamped onto the back of her thighs as her head hung upside down.

“What the hell? Nathan!” This time she spanked me, her little hands flapping at my backside in protest. “Put me down!”

I couldn’t help myself. I landed a swift, sharp smack to her ass. She yelped, but stilled, dangling over my shoulder. I won’t lie—she wasn’t light, and I was absolutely about to put her down, but I wanted her to know I really wanted her. It was mutual. As she shifted, I could smell her arousal through her thin pants. My dick jumped in response, but he was going to be disappointed tonight.

As was my heart.

Bending my knees, I slid her down the front of me to the floor, but still held her in my arms. Her face was red, partly from the blood rushing to it, and partly from the unreadable expression on her face. Humiliation? Excitement? Anger? Either way, she was beautiful. My pants tightened, and I tried to calm myself.

“I’ll give you tonight.” She opened her mouth to protest, but I held up my hand. “We can discuss it more tomorrow. But the second you want to leave here and come home, I’ll be waiting for you.”

She nodded. I knew Zoe loved me, in spite of—or maybe because of—my fucked-upness. What I wanted her to know was that I loved her. So far she wasn’t convinced. Part of me wanted to punish her for wanting my brand of crazy, but that wasn’t fair to either of us.

She pressed her palm to my cheek. “Thanks.” I felt her fingertips on my cheekbone like a branding iron.

She knocked on the door of her mother’s suite, and it opened enough for her to slip in. I guessed Zuzu didn’t want to see me, either.

Presumably she didn’t want to see my father, as well, since I found him haunting the ornate bar just off the lobby. It was full of dark wood, clinking glassware, and the hum of business travelers and tourists. Benjamin Brownlow sat on a barstool, staring at his phone. A glass of what looked like scotch sat in front of him. I squeezed my eyes shut, hoping he might not be there when I opened them. No such luck. In fairness to Zoe and Zuzu, though, I would extend an olive branch.

“A watched phone never rings,” I said as I settled onto a stool beside him. The long, mahogany bar gleamed, smooth under my palms.

He grunted, but didn’t look at me. I caught the eye of the bartender and put up two fingers, waving them between me and Ben. He looked a little more normal, wearing a plain white shirt and dark pants, his beard trimmed. The lines around his eyes had deepened.

“What?” he snapped into the dark mirror of his silent phone. “What are you looking at?”

“You.” I sipped my scotch, welcoming the burn.

It occurred to me that it had been years since I really looked at my father. I’d never looked too closely, in fact—only seeing whatever my anger or loneliness or frustration projected onto him. Right now, I saw a sad man in his sixties, surrounded by people and completely alone. Awareness and fear sliced through me; could that be me someday? Fuck, I hoped not.

“She’s going to leave me.”

“Zuzu? I don’t think so.”

“She should. They all do.” Zuzu was my father’s fourth wife, the previous two being short-lived trophy wives. “Except I don’t have that much money left, so maybe there isn’t the incentive there used to be,” he pointed out drily. He reached for his scotch, glancing up at me. “What are you doing here?”

“Zoe’s with Zuzu.”

His eyebrows went up, his brow wrinkling. “Really? Huh.”

“You’re not going to say ‘good for her if she leaves your ass’ or something like that?”

With one tilt of his head, he swallowed the rest of his scotch. He put the glass down with a clunk and reached for the round I’d ordered. I had the feeling he’d had more before I sat down.

“You know, it’s my fault your mother left.”

Yep, he’d definitely had more to drink.

“Dad, I don’t need to—”

“It was my idea.”

Fuck. My scotch caught in my throat as I almost aspirated it. I coughed into a cocktail napkin, my eyes watering. That wasn’t the kind of burn I was looking for. “What?” I managed.

He focused on his phone again. “Not the leaving. God, I didn’t want her to leave. But I… I was the one who… uh… introduced her to…” He couldn’t finish, hiding his guilt and shame in his lowball glass.

I nearly fell off the stool. “You—” I couldn’t say it. Yeah, I could dish it but I couldn’t wish it.

He sighed. “Once upon a time, I was curious. I took her to this stupid swingers’ club. The end.” Ben emptied his glass, again.

There was surely more to the story, but at that moment I didn’t want to know it. Rage and sadness swept through me, rendering me speechless. Unfortunately, scotch and shame served only to loosen my father’s tongue, and he continued.

“That’s why I reacted so badly to you getting into it. It ruined our family; I didn’t want it to ruin yours too.”

“Mom leaving didn’t ruin our family, Dad. You did that afterwards by checking out. Now you’re telling me it was because of your own guilt? Wow, way to be a martyr. It’s still about you.”

Ben slammed his fist down on the bar. “Nathan, you’re not listening. Don’t take Zoe down that path if you want to have a happy life.”

“Zoe and I are grown ups, and we make our own decisions.” Awareness began filtering through my brain. “Just like you and Mom made your decisions. You decided to take her there. She decided to leave. You decided to treat me like shit. It’s not my fault. None of it was my fault.”

Mind officially blown. Now the only person being punished was myself, by hanging on to this resentment. I stared at him, this stranger with the beard and watering eyes. He’d fucked up his own life, and mine in the process.

Shit, Marcus was right about therapy.