13. Jack

13

JACK

I stare down at the messages, gripping my phone so tight my knuckles are white.

I told her to tell me when she was touching herself. But I didn't know how damn inconvenient the timing would be. Now, I'm sitting on a leather couch in the main room of the Lyons Club with half a hard on across from my father.

Gross .

I told him I had to check the text for business. Which could have been true. But wasn't.

"Everything okay?"

My eyes shoot to my father sitting on the opposite couch from me. "Yes. Sorry, nothing too urgent."

He smiles. "It comes with the territory of being a businessman."

Despite the inconvenience in my pants, it's nice to be back at the old stomping ground. I've been coming to the club since I was just a baby. After all, it's a family affair. And as I grew older, I was able to take advantage of what it had to offer from the game room to the spa and even the BDSM dungeon on occasion.

Not my cup of tea, I learned quickly. I had written off all kink after that.

Until now.

Since all my friends started coupling up, I've been here less and less. They're busier with their partners or they're all having double dates. Maybe I'll be a part of that crew sooner than I think.

Imagining bringing Camilla here sends a zip of excitement up my spine.

Clicking the screen off, I slide my phone into my pocket and take a sip of my whisky. "Anyway, what were you saying?"

Dad stretches his arm out over the back of the sofa. "Just that I'm proud of you. All the work you've put in. I know it hasn't been easy."

"It's gotten easier as time has gone on." I cross my ankle over my knee.

We're interrupted by one of the servers, who hands us each a whisky neat. I thank her, then give my father a smile. "You planned ahead."

"Of course, I did. I've been looking forward to this meeting all week."

Like father like son .

He knows what I like to drink because it's what he likes to drink. The first thing my father introduced me to in the world of liquor was whisky. It was my sixteenth birthday when I started.

"I'm not going to let you go out in the world and accept anything bottom shelf," he'd said.

I've avoided many hangovers thanks to my father's education. And I can probably credit him with my palate, my ability to discern different tastes and currents of flavor. Which would mean he's the reason I'm going into the coffee business at all.

"I have to admit, I'm disappointed you've been back almost a week, and you haven't made time to see your old dad," he says with a light smile that's an obvious mask for his actual feelings.

"Well, I'm not the only one who's busy," I say. "I scheduled this meeting with your assistant, after all."

He scoffs. "But you can't spare a dinner to come by the house?"

I bite down on my lip. In truth, I would have been able to spare a dinner if I wasn't so consumed by Camilla. "Work. You know how it is."

"Don't turn into me, Jack. Work is a good excuse until you're nearly fifty and throw your back out simply bending over and don't have someone to call to take you to the hospital. Don't be me."

"I mean, look at you now, though. You're married, about to have not one, but two children–"

"It worked out for me, yes. But I got very lucky," he says, looking away with a bashful smile.

I chew on the inside of my lip. "How's Sonia?"

Dad laughs. "Very much ready to not be pregnant. I'm half expecting to get the call she's in labor every moment. You know, twins have a tendency to come early."

He's stressed, but so happy. It's obvious. I swallow down something that feels like jealousy. For what, I don't know. For his relationship? For the babies yet to be born who will have a mother and father committed to one another? Or for the fact there are babies at all?

"Anyway, I know you didn't take time out of your busy schedule just to sit down with me and catch up, so–"

" Dad ."

"No, come on, lay it on me." He twiddles his fingers toward him.

I sigh. "Fine. I wanted to know if you'd be willing to rent out one of your commercial properties to me."

My father might have been a playboy in his youth, but he wasn't an idiot. He knew where his money was at all times and has done very well in the real estate market, buying, flipping, selling, renting. It's his passive income, as if he needs any more. Although, I shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. His money gave me more than a head start in life.

He snorts. "I'm willing to give one to you, Jack. In fact, I'm eager to."

I can't ignore the warmth sprouting in my chest. "I'd be happy to lease it from you."

"Jack, you're my son, that would be ridiculous. No. I don't need the money anyway. Did you have one in mind?" Dad swirls his whisky.

"Preferably one already suited to a coffee shop. Although, for the right spot, I wouldn't mind putting the work in."

"Got it. And location?"

"Probably Manhattan. Willing to consider Brooklyn, though."

"I'll let the property manager know, and we'll get you set up with some tours. Let's say, beginning of next week. That work with your timeline?"

I smile. "Yeah, that's great."

"Great! Now that that's settled, I want to hear about Hawaii."

My body bristles. "Oh. It was good."

"Yeah?"

"Yep."

My father's eyes narrow. I know that look. He knows something, and he's trying to corner me. "You know, your mother called me?"

I laugh too boisterously for the room. Some businessmen playing a game of poker a table over give me a glare. "You're joking."

"I know, been a long time since we've spoken. At least civilly." Dad looks down at his knees.

My mother and father have never gotten along after he left, if that weren't already obvious from the malice my mother has for him. It's a miracle they talk at all. "What did she say?"

He doesn't look up. "Just mentioned she was furious with me for not telling her about your girlfriend."

I don't move a muscle. Not even to breathe.

He lifts his eyes to me and smiles. Fuck, he's expecting me to say something.

I take a quick drink and nearly cough on the burn of whisky, something I haven't done in years. "What did you tell her?"

"I played along if that's what you're asking."

Thank god.

"But I can't help being surprised, considering…I haven't met or even heard of any girlfriend you might have."

I clear my throat, looking everywhere in the room but him.

"Jack…"

"Okay, you'll find this funny," I say. "I had to make a girlfriend up so she'd see me."

My father does not find this funny. In fact, he frowns, and his jaw tenses. "What?"

"It was last minute that I was going to be joining my business partner on the trip and–"

"I didn't know you had a business partner."

Jesus, does he want the story or not? "Well, she's an assistant turned business partner. It's–she's great, knows her stuff."

"Uh-huh…"

"Not my girlfriend!" Not yet. Or at least not out in the open. I still want Camilla all to myself. I don't want to become my father's son in every way. No turning employees into girlfriends and then into wives.

But maybe turning business partners into girlfriends and then into wives.

I erase the thought from my brain. Getting ahead. Way too ahead.

"Camilla, I mean, Ms. Graff. My business partner. She was kind enough to go along with a fake relationship so that my mother would feel more compelled to see me." Saying it out loud opens up the shameful wound I had sewn up when we left Hawaii.

I don't need to relive the wrongdoings of my mother.

"You felt you had to go to all the length just to get her to–"

"It worked, didn't it?" I shrug and take a sip of whisky.

Dad stares at me, the amber currents in his almost black eyes flashing. "I didn't know that you two weren't getting along still."

"Since when have you asked?"

His brows rise. "Jack–"

"How would you know? We don't talk about my mother. For both of our sakes. It's awkward enough to be the middle ground between you two when I know you'd much rather not have me tying you together at all."

My father opens his mouth and lets out an indefinable sound. Something both affronted and disbelieving. He falls back in his seat. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Look, I'm a grown man. I'm nearly thirty. I understand how it all went down, okay? We don't need to pretend I wasn't an accident."

"But that doesn't mean we don't–"

"Let's not do this. I already had to do the runaround with Mama. I'm tired, and I don't really feel like explaining–"

"You were all accidents," my father says, almost smiling. "I mean, what's different about Nate or Abigail or–"

"The twins are not an accident, Dad."

He concedes with a flustered huff.

I know the score. He's over fifty now with a wife in her early thirties. No time to waste. "So, you're jealous of babies that haven't even been born?"

I wince. "No. That's not what I'm getting at."

"Then tell me why you're upset with me when your mother is the one who wasn't interested in seeing you unless you were–"

"I'm not upset with anyone. These are just facts I don't feel like pretending aren't true anymore."

"And what are those facts, Jack? Enlighten me."

I don't want to do this. Not here, not ever. But he's given me no choice. "I was a mistake. And neither of you ever got over that."

Anger washes over my father like an eclipse. In the past few years, he's softened. Become more compassionate and patient. But a leopard doesn't change its spots. The brash and temperamental man still exists in him, even if he's dormant most of the time. "You come here to ask me for a favor and then you insult me like that?"

"I offered to lease the property," I say without inflection.

"Dammit, Jack, that's not–" He slams his empty glass down on the table between us.

I jump and so do nearby club members minding their own business.

The room is silent for a mere moment, only the tinkling of classical music flitting through.

It takes a moment for time to return to normal again, but once it does, my father steadies his breath and along with it, is roiling temper. "That's not the point I'm trying to make."

"Then what's the point?"

"I've apologized for the way I was back then. And if you need me to apologize again, I–"

"I don't want you to apologize again."

He swallows and pinches his lips together. "I'm your father, Jack. I love you."

"I know," I say. "That's your duty as a parent."

"God fucking dammit," Dad mutters, running a hand over the lower part of his face and looking askance. His eyes are glossy.

I swear to god if I have another parent cry on me while I'm trying to tell them they've hurt me, I'm going to lose it.

He drops his hand and along with it, his head. "Look," he croaks. "Let's not do this here. Let's leave it and we'll talk another time when I'm not so taken off-guard. All right?"

I give him a curt nod. "Fine with me."

My father makes no move to go, so I swig the last of my whisky, place it on the table next to his glass as delicately as I can. A contrast. Because I am not my father's son. And I'm not my mother's son. I belong to nobody.

As I walk off, not sparing my father even a glance, I realize that it is not wholly true that I belong to nobody.

There is someone who needs me. A beautiful woman who has given me so much just by existing.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and return to my string of messages with Camilla and type out my response.

Good girl.