“I already told you, Vi, I’m not coming home.” I hear Ant say just as I pass by the bathroom door seconds after putting Jack to bed.
Slowing to a stop, I lean closer to the door, knowing I shouldn’t eavesdrop on his private conversation but also unable to stop myself either.
“No, fuck that. You of all people should understand why.”
There’s a long pause, presumably where his sister is replying.
“I don’t give a shit. She made her choice. I’m done.” I can tell by the tone of Ant’s voice that he’s starting to lose his temper. “No. Damn it, Vi, do you hear yourself? You know what he put me through.”
Another long pause.
“Then let him die with the regret because I’ll be damned if I’ll do anything to ease his guilt.” I hear the bathroom cabinet slam shut and Ant growl in frustration. “This conversation is over, Vi. I’m not doing this with you right now. I have to go.”
I jump when the door swings open and a shirtless Ant is standing directly in front of me, eyes dark and nostrils flaring. His gaze centers in on me, and there’s no use even denying what I was doing; I’m sure it’s written all over my face.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to…” I don’t get the rest of my sentence out before Ant is pulling me into his arms, squeezing me so tightly it’s like I’m the only thing tethering him to this earth.
“Just be quiet for a second.” He drops his chin to the top of my head, and we stand like that for several long moments—his arms around my shoulders, mine around his waist as I try unsuccessfully to ignore the feeling of his bare muscles beneath my cheek or what that does to me.
When he finally pulls back and looks down at me, eyes conflicted, expression defeated, it takes everything I have not to push up on my tiptoes and kiss him. The thought comes out of nowhere but once it crosses my mind, I can’t seem to shake it away.
“Is everything okay?” I finally force myself to ask, needing to break the moment.
“Define okay?” He lets out a slow breath.
“Your sister?” I ask, even though I already know that’s who he was talking to. Unless he knows another Violet, Vi for short, which I highly doubt.
“I swear sometimes she just doesn’t know when to stop.” He shakes his head.
“Wanna talk about it?” I offer.
He thinks on that for a moment, indecision clear in his eyes, before he steps past me into the living room, claiming the seat on the far end of the couch. He leans forward, elbows on his knees, and drops his head into his hands, letting out a frustrated groan before finally looking up to where I’ve taken a seat on the edge of the coffee table directly in front of him.
“She wants me to come home,” he starts, running a hand through his hair as he straightens his posture.
“She’s your sister; of course she wants you home,” I offer, not really sure what else to say.
“She wants me to come home for him.” The word drips with disdain.
“You mean your father?” I ask, careful not to say anything that would give away the fact that I know about the fight that landed him in California to begin with.
“God, he doesn’t even deserve that fucking title,” he groans.
“Why would she want you to come home for your father?” I ask, still unable to piece together exactly what’s happening.
“Because he’s dying.” He finally meets my gaze, and the mix of emotions I see behind those gray eyes would bring me to my knees if I were standing.
“What?” The word falls from my mouth laced with an apology.
“Apparently the asshole finally did his liver in.”
“What do you mean?”
“He’s in liver failure. Guess he’s pretty bad off.” He shrugs indifferently.
“Oh my God, Ant. I’m so sorry,” I start, but he quickly cuts me off.
“Don’t be. He fucking deserves it,” he grinds out.
“You don’t mean that.”
“The fuck if I don’t. He did it to himself, never too far from the bottom of a bottle. I don’t know what he expected.”
“Did your sister say what the prognosis is?” I push, knowing he’s not as unaffected by this news as he’s trying to appear.
“Apparently it’s pretty bad. He’s let himself go for far too long, ignored the signs that something was wrong. At this point, his only hope is a transplant and even then the odds aren’t good. She said they don’t think he’ll last more than a month without one, and because he’s a known alcoholic it’s not likely he’ll qualify.”
“So what then, they’ll just let him die?”
“I guess so.” He shrugs. “What else can they do?”
“You have to go home,” I say, leaning forward to take his hands in mine.
“No, I don’t.”
The look he gives me is the most emotionless I think I have ever seen Ant. I can see the wall going up, and I know he’s shutting down. I know because I recognize the same behavior in myself when faced with something I’m not yet ready to deal with.
“But he’s your father.”
“He’s never been my father,” he snips, pulling his hands from mine as he quickly pushes to a stand.
I turn in my spot to watch him pace the living room for several seconds before he finally speaks again, not once looking in my direction as he does.
“I won’t let him win. I won’t go home and pretend that I care if he’s dying. He’s been dead to me for years. He’s not my father; he’s just my piece of shit sperm donor who thought it was fun to knock me around for sport.” He stops pacing, finally meeting my gaze across the room.
“Do you know how many times that man came home drunk when I was a kid?” He continues before I can respond. “Do you know how many times he’d stumble in at all hours of the night, and I would wake up to the sound of him and my mom fighting? I tried to ignore it when I was young. I’d hide my head under a pillow and pretend not to hear them. But then it became impossible to ignore because eventually, his attention shifted from my mom to me. I remember one night he came into my room, I couldn’t have been more than ten or eleven, and he was yelling at me about the trash cans sitting out on the curb. I tried to tell him that it was trash night and that we had to set them out, but he kept ranting and raving about how ungrateful and lazy I was. I remember watching his fist pull back. He’d hit me before but never in the face, so when his fist connected with my jaw I was completely caught off guard. That night was one of the worst. I didn’t go to school for two days after that and when I finally did, I had to explain the bruising on the left side of my face as a result of a bike accident. No one even batted an eye at my excuse. Either I was a really good liar or it was easier for people to ignore the signs than to actually do something about it.”
At this point it’s taking everything for me to hold back the tears welling behind my eyes. I’ve never seen Ant like this, never seen him so broken and defeated; never seen him so raw and vulnerable. It tears at my heart in a way I never knew possible. Because I don’t just feel sorry for him, I physically ache for him.
“He beat you?” I finally manage to push the words past my lips.
“Beat me?” He lets out a laugh that sounds so far from a laugh I don’t even think it would qualify as one. “Yeah, you could say that.”
“Why didn’t you tell anyone?” I push to a stand but maintain the distance between us.
“Why, so people could feel sorry for me?” he bites.
“So that someone could have helped you.”
“No one could have helped me,” he grinds out bitterly. “There was no way anyone would believe me over my parents anyway.”
“Your mom?”
“She let it happen and turned a blind eye. In my opinion, she’s just as guilty as he is.”
“I had no idea.” I take a small step toward him. “You always seemed so happy and carefree. You were popular, played football, were always surrounded by the prettiest girls in school. Looking in, it seemed as though you had everything—the perfect life.”
“Funny how easy it is to keep the mask in place so that people see what you want them to see.”
I ignore his statement, feeling like he’s somehow referring to me.
“Your sisters?” I ask, not sure if I even want to know.
“Never touched them.” He shakes his head. “I would have fucking killed him if he’d tried.”
“So instead you took all of it,” I state, taking another step, stopping just a couple feet from where he’s standing.
“What choice did I have?”
“And you did it alone for all those years? No one knew?”
“No one but Sebastian, and even then I never told him how bad it was. He had enough shit going on with his own parents; he didn’t need my bullshit on top of that.”
“I just… I can’t believe you kept this in. I mean, even I had no idea.”
“Guess you’re not the only one good at keeping secrets.” He gives me a knowing stare, and I swear it cuts right through me.
“So you’re sister wants you to come home, make amends, I presume, and say goodbye.” I refuse to let him turn this situation on me so I do what I do best, divert.
“Something like that.”
“And you’re not going to?” I question.
“Did you not hear what I just got done telling you? Would you want to go make peace with a man like that? A man who stole your childhood and put you through hell?”
A vision I haven’t had in a very long time flashes before my eyes. One of a man’s silhouette standing over me in the darkened room. I feel the dread creep in just like I did all those years ago, the knowledge of what’s to come and not being able to do anything to stop it.
“No,” I mutter, trying to shake off the uneasy feeling that has suddenly settled over me. “I guess I wouldn’t.”
“Vi thinks I need to make amends before he goes, for my sake.”
“And what do you think?”
“I think I’d hate myself for giving him that satisfaction, even if it was for me and not him.”
“So then what’s the plan? You’re just gonna pretend like he’s not dying?” I hate how the question sounds, but I also can’t help but ask it.
“I walked away from that life months ago. I made peace with it even. And then you... you gave me the courage to move on from it.”
“I did?”
“You did.” He nods, closing the remaining distance between us until we’re practically standing toe to toe. “You and Jack. You forced me to look at things differently, to see what I really want. I was wasting away at Sebastian’s, wallowing in self-pity. You and Jack brought life back into my life. You refocused me and made me see beyond my past. I’m done looking backward, Bree. I just want to look forward.” He reaches out and gently tucks a strand of hair behind my ear, his fingers lingering on my cheek just long enough for the heat to spread from the point of contact all the way down my neck.
“So you came here because of your dad?” I ask, just needing something to distract me from the sudden rush his touch causes. Of course, Tess already told me the jist of why he came here, but he doesn’t know that.
“I moved back home after school.” He clears his throat and turns, taking a seat in the chair just to our right. “I wanted to be close to my sisters and, honestly, I wanted to keep an eye on my mom. Even though I place a lot of the blame with her, I think at the end of the day she was just scared.”
“That’s no excuse not to protect your child,” I blurt, taking a seat on the couch directly across from Ant.
“You’re right. It’s not. But my mother is not the kind of mom you are. She never fought for me, ever. But at the end of the day she’s still my mom, and while I will never truly forgive what she allowed to happen, I also wasn’t willing to stand by and let it happen to her since all the kids had moved out.”
He lets out a deep exhale before continuing.
“Things were good for a while. I kept my distance from the house when I knew my father was home and bowed out anytime my mom invited me and my sisters over for dinner. I was trying to move past it all, and for the most part, I was doing okay. But then late one afternoon, when I was clearing out the last of my things from my old bedroom, he stumbled in drunk and well, you can probably guess what happened next.” He leans back into the chair and pinches the bridge of his nose.
“He hit you?” I ask when he makes no effort to elaborate.
“He tried,” he laughs bitterly. “Got a fucking broken nose for his efforts.”
“And you?”
“He didn’t hurt me, at least not physically. I’m not a little kid anymore. Being arrested, on the other hand, that wasn’t the most pleasant experience in the world.”
“Arrested? Why would you be arrested?”
“Because he said I attacked him, and because he didn’t get a hand on me I looked like the aggressor.”
“Was anyone else home to witness it?”
“My mom, but she would never go against my father. She supported his claim that I instigated the whole thing. That was the real eye-opener for me. I realized right then and there that the person I was trying the most to protect had no interest in being protected or protecting me for that matter. Vi posted bail for me the next day, and the charges were later dropped. I think my dad realized that he risked opening a door he may not be able to close if he pursued action against me. As soon as I was cleared I packed up all the things I couldn’t live without and came here.”
“I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be. Don’t feel sorry for me.”
“I do feel sorry for you,” I admit.
“Don’t,” he bites, once again pushing to his feet. “I can take everything else but not that.”
“Why? I care about you, and it hurts me that you were going through this for years and you never said anything. I could’ve helped you. I could’ve been there for you,” I insist, quickly standing and closing the short distance between us.
“I didn’t want you to know because I didn’t want you to look at me the way you’re looking at me right now.”
“What are you talking about? How am I looking at you?”
“Like I’m a victim. Like I’m weak.”
“You are a victim, Anthony. Saying you’re not doesn’t change that. But I don’t see you as weak. In fact, I think you’re incredibly strong for carrying that weight all by yourself.”
“You know, the first time I met you I was instantly drawn to you.” His statement catches me off guard, and it takes a moment for my gears to shift from what we were talking about to what he just said. “You were so beautifully broken that it took my fucking breath away.”
Words completely fail me, and I can’t seem to do anything but just stand here looking up at a man who sees me more clearly than any other person probably ever has.
“I remember looking into your eyes and thinking, fuck, this girl gets it.”
It should bother me that he doesn’t even need to know about my past to know there is one, but oddly enough it’s kind of liberating in a way.
“I can go with you, you know. To Connecticut,” I blurt, needing to turn the subject back to the matter at hand and pull the focus from myself.
“I already told you, I’m not going. He can die and get it over with already. He’s been dead to me for years.”
“Well, if you change your mind, my offer stands.”
“Come here,” he says, the first semblance of a smile on his lips as he once again pulls me into his arms. Dropping a kiss on the top of my head, he mutters into my hair, “There’s only one place in the world I want to be right now, and this is it.”
“Is it because of my incredible cooking skills or my superior housekeeping abilities?” I joke, knowing neither are much of a strong suit of mine.
“Let’s go with C—none of the above.” He chuckles against me, and I’m relieved to feel him physically relax a little.
“Hey now.” I pull back and lay a playful smack to his bare chest.
“If I wanted to be beat on, I wouldn’t have moved all the way across the country,” He laughs, grabbing my hand and placing it back over the spot I just hit.
“I’m sorry I…” I trail off, not really sure how to address what he just said. It’s clear he’s joking, but it feels forced.
“Relax, Kingsley, it’s called a joke.” He smiles down at me.
“It’s not something one typically jokes about.”
“You know what, I really don’t care. In the matter of an hour, I not only learned my dad is dying, but for the first time ever I told someone the truth of the relationship I have with him. I think I’ve earned the right to laugh at my situation.”
“You’ve never told anyone what you just told me?”
“Like I said, Sebastian knows bits and pieces, but you’re the only person who now knows the full story.”
“Thank you.” I’m not sure where the statement comes from, but it’s off my lips before I can stop it.
“Um, why are you thanking me?” He looks down at me with a funny expression on his face.
“For trusting me enough to open up to me.” I stare at where my hand is still pressed against his chest, his hand on top of mine, and for a brief moment, I have the overwhelming urge to do the same.
I want to open up to him so badly I can taste it. I want to scream it from the top of my lungs, let it seep from every pore, cleanse myself of the poison that still flows through my veins every single day. Only I can’t make myself utter one single word.
“One of these days maybe you’ll trust me enough too,” he says, tipping my chin upward so that I’m forced to meet his gaze.
I open my mouth to respond, but before I can get a single word out, his lips are pressed gently against mine. It’s not the tear our clothes off kind of kiss we experienced that first time. It’s gentle, slow, and seemingly without real purpose. He’s kissing me simply to kiss me.
His lips move against mine so softly that when he pulls back seconds later it’s like the kiss never happened to begin with. Well, other than the sudden rush of emotion that threatens to knock me clean off my feet.
“There I go again.” He sighs, dropping his forehead to mine. “I keep kissing you when I know I shouldn’t.”
“Then maybe you should think before you act,” I attempt to tease, but it comes out too weakly to do anything other than give away just how affected I am by the feel of his mouth against mine.
“Where’s the fun in that.” I can feel his smile, even though I can’t see it, and it warms my entire body.
“I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, Anthony Treadway.” I finally pull back, happy to see his earlier turmoil has passed.
“I can think of a few things.” He winks.
“Such as…” I cock my head to the side, expecting some smart ass sexy comment to leave his mouth.
“We can catch up on the new season of Game of Thrones.” He gives me the biggest pretty please smile.
“That’s what you want to do right now? Watch Game of Thrones?” I look at him like he has five heads.
Even though the heaviness of the kiss still lingers in the air, I let it go. I don’t think either of us is really up for discussing what I think we both know is happening between us. We can tell each other we don’t want to risk our friendship until we’re blue in the face, but deep down I think we’re both a little scared of how we’re feeling. Or at least I know I am.
“I still don’t understand why you love that show so much,” I add.
“Are you kidding me, it’s only the best show ever,” he says dramatically.
“I think you just want to snuggle,” I tease, knowing that when we sit down to watch something we usually end up cuddling. Purely platonic, of course, or at least that’s what I tell myself.
“What?” He smiles innocently. “I can’t help it if you’re the best snuggle buddy around. I could use a good cuddle right now.”
“Now how can I say no to that face?” I laugh, squeezing his cheeks in a way that makes his lips pucker together.