Demanding All Of You

by Ali Parker

  I sighed, briefly closing my eyes before opening them again. I had hoped for clarity. I had hoped I would open my eyes and my world would be okay again. I hated the way I felt. I wasn’t fine. I was physically fine, but my head was a mess.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to snap at you.”

  “It’s Damion,” she stated.

  My eyes darted out the window. “Where?” I blurted out. I wanted to see him, and I didn’t, all at the same time.

  She offered a small smile. “Not here. It’s Damion that has you out of sorts.”

  “No, it isn’t,” I lied.

  It was a terrible lie. We both knew I was lying.

  “Have you called him? Spoken to him at all?”

  I shook my head. “No. Absolutely not. There is nothing to say to him.”

  She cringed. “There is a lot to say. I think you would feel a lot better if you said what was on your mind.”

  “No. I’m not wasting my breath on him. He means nothing to me. He doesn’t deserve my time.”

  She blew out a breath. “You say that, but your expression says otherwise. Think of it as exorcising the demon. You need to get it all out. Tell him how you feel and then move on.”

  “It doesn’t matter. What’s done is done. He’s gone. It’ll get better. I just need to move on.”

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  I shrugged. “There’s nothing to be sorry for. I’m just not in the mood for ignorant people. It’s not a thing. Don’t make it a thing.”

  She nodded. “It is not a thing. Are you really not going to eat any of this?”

  “I’m not hungry,” I told her.

  “Okay, suit yourself. I have to get back. I’ll have this boxed up.”

  “Fine.”

  “Are you going to stay here? You can come back to the salon with me.”

  “No thank you,” I answered, my voice reflecting the exhaustion I felt. I was tired of being pissed. I was tired of dwelling on what had happened between Damion and me. I was just so damn tired. “I’m going to go home and see about another job. One that doesn’t have me babysitting a bunch of pubescent teens.”

  She laughed. “That certainly sounds like a much better plan. I’ll call you tonight and see how things went.”

  “Thanks for coming by and eating my lunch,” I joked.

  She giggled. “Anytime.”

  With her meal boxed up, she left the restaurant. I headed home, knowing it was probably safer for me to sulk in peace and quiet. I wasn’t fit to be in public. It was hard to say who would set me off. I parked my truck in the driveway of the little house. I stared up at it, hating the damn thing. It wasn’t representative of what I wanted.

  It pissed me off to know that a certain someone had a perfect house and a farm, and he was tossing it away because it wasn’t good enough for him. “Ungrateful son of a bitch,” I muttered, throwing open the door to my truck and stomping up the walk.

  He was a spoiled brat who wanted his cake and icing and the damn thing delivered and spoon-fed to him. That was not the kind of person I wanted to be around. He was not the kind of man I wanted in my life. I was glad he was gone. I wouldn’t have to feel guilty for wanting his dick all the time. That was really the only thing he had going for him.

  Chapter 49

  Damion

  I tapped my fingers against the steering wheel. Traffic was at a standstill. It was always at a standstill. It was fucking New York City. I had only been gone less than two months and I had forgotten what a bitch it was to drive in the city. I couldn’t hop in the car and hit the open road. I hopped in the car and waited, barely moving an inch at a time. It was beyond irritating.

  I glanced in the mirror. Oliver’s attention was on his tablet. He was still not talking to me. He wasn’t ignoring me, but he wasn’t exactly in the mood for conversation. It had been that way for weeks. It was getting old. It amazed me that a five-year-old had the fortitude to hold such a serious grudge. He was taking his anger very seriously.

  “Are you excited to see your new friends?” I asked.

  “They’re not my friends,” he answered without looking up from the tablet.

  “They will be your friends. Friendships happen over time. You hang out a little every day, and pretty soon, you’re friends.”

  “I had a friend,” he said softly. “You made me leave him.”

  “Because I know you’ll make new friends. Your teacher told me you will get some computer time today. She is teaching a keyboarding class.”

  That finally got his attention. “Today?”

  “Yes.”

  “My old school was going to teach that too.”

  I sighed. “Now you’ll learn it at your new school. They have new computers, and when you start school, you’ll be given your very own laptop to work with.”

  “I just want to go back. I liked our old house.”

  “Buddy, we’ve talked about this. A lot. We don’t live in Montana. We live here now.”

  I had lost him. His focus was already on his tablet again. He was going to be a tough nut to crack. I told myself as soon as we got settled in a new house with a backyard, things would slowly relax. He’d fall into a new routine and we could both get on with our lives.

  I pulled the car to a stop, shutting it off and climbing out. Oliver was already out of the backseat by the time I made my way around to him.

  “I can do it by myself,” he said, walking toward the door.

  “I’ll walk you in,” I replied, not about to let him dictate the drop-off routine.

  I followed behind him. He opened the door to his classroom and walked inside. Usually, he would give me a hug. I stood in the doorway watching him hang up his backpack without bothering to look back. “Bye, Oliver,” I said.

  He turned and waved, barely looking at me. It was a mood killer. It hurt my heart to see him so angry and hurt by my decision to move us back. I wanted to tell him it was the right thing to do for us, but he didn’t get it. I was confident he would one day, but in the meantime, there was going to be a lot of hurt feelings and anger.

  I could deal with it. I had to keep my eye on the prize. One day when he was collecting his high school diploma with an acceptance letter to an excellent school in the other, he would thank me. Thirteen years was a long time to wait.

  I got to work in my usual sour mood and was stopped by my assistant. “He’s waiting for you,” she said in a low voice.

  I looked at her. “Who’s waiting for me?”

  She scowled. “Him. Derek.”

  I groaned. “Shit. I forgot about that.”

  “Don’t forget. He knows he’s in trouble, but I don’t think he knows how much trouble.”

  “Can I get some coffee first?”

  She smiled and handed me a cup from the counter in the breakroom. “I already took care of it.”

  “Thanks.” I took the cup and turned to move toward my office.

  “Good luck! I’ll have building security on standby.”

  I rolled my eyes. As if I would need security to take care of one guy. I was sure the guy had to know what was coming. He had written some pretty damning material. It was like he wanted to get fired. The way I saw it, I was about to make his wish come true.

  I pushed open my office door and found Derek sitting in my chair. He was flipping through the last issue of our magazine. “What the hell?” I growled.

  He looked up at me and smiled. “I wasn’t sure how long you would be and thought I would make myself comfortable.”

  “Get up,” I snapped, in no mood for stupid games.

  He grinned, getting up and moving out of my chair. I glared at his man-bun. He was a cocky shit who thought he knew everything about the world. I disliked him when he’d been hired. I didn’t care for his writing that was more sarcasm than actual information. I had been sending back his articles for months, demanding they be fixed. He hated my comments, hated my criticism.

  I sat down in my chair, suddenly quite
thrilled to get to fire his ass. Normally, I didn’t enjoy letting people go, but this punk had had it coming for a very long time.

  “What can I do for you today, Damion?” he asked, his voice heavy with sarcasm.

  “Have a seat,” I ordered.

  He took a seat, casually crossing his legs and giving me a look that made me want to slap it right off his face. “You look serious. Should we add a little shot of something to that coffee? It might loosen you up a bit.”

  “I’m plenty loose. I’ve had a chance to read through the piece you got into the last issue.”

  He grinned. “Pretty good, huh?”

  “No. It was garbage.”

  He scowled at me. “You wouldn’t know a good article if it slapped you upside the head. You’ve been brainwashed for so long you can’t see the light.”

  “I see the light. The CEO saw your light and he’s asked me to let you go.”

  “Let me go?”

  “You’re fired,” I bluntly said.

  “Fuck you. You don’t have the fucking balls to fire me.”

  “I just did.”

  “You’re a puppet. You don’t have an original thought in your head. You do whatever the boss man says. He’s got his hand up your ass, making all the decisions. Pussy.”

  I stared at him. In the back of my mind, I could hear my grandfather in my ear. I thought back to the last time I had seen him. I had been in a very similar situation. I had been in the process of being insulted by another disgruntled employee. I remembered the look of disgust and disappointment on his face. I had embarrassed him by not standing up for myself then.

  I wasn’t going to make that mistake again. “Get out,” I said, my voice low.

  “No.”

  “Get out, or I will throw you out.”

  “You can’t throw me out.”

  I jumped up from my seat and towered over the punk, still sitting. That wiped the smirk off his face. I had no problem using my considerable size to intimidate him. “Get up or I will do it for you.”

  He got to his feet, his chin raised as he glared at me. “You can’t touch me. I’ll have your ass thrown in jail faster than you can blink.”

  I smirked. “I’ll just show our fine LEOs that piece you wrote. I’m sure they’ll appreciate what you had to say.”

  “They can’t—”

  I pointed to the door. “Shut the hell up and get out. I don’t care what you think or don’t think. Just leave. Leave before I throw you out.”

  He stomped toward the door, throwing it open before stopping and turning back to me. “This isn’t over! I’m going to sue you for wrongful termination.”

  “Good luck with that.”

  The guy looked like he was going to say something more. I stepped closer to him, invading his personal space. I dared him to do something.

  “You’re a coward. A man with no balls. Your kid is going to grow up to be just like you—a pussy!”

  I saw red. The very tenuous hold I had on my patience evaporated. I shoved him hard, sending him backward several feet. My assistant gasped, jumping to her feet.

  “Get. The. Fuck. Out.”

  He glared back at me. “Oh, big man, picking on the smaller guy. Does that make you feel like a man?”

  I shoved him again, pushing him toward the elevator. I was not in the mood. I didn’t have the self-control I needed to deal with him. I was on the edge, dangerously teetering on the verge of losing my shit.

  “Go,” I growled.

  I reached around him and pushed the button for the elevator. I could see the fear in his eyes. He was trying to pretend he wasn’t afraid, but he was. It fueled my need for more.

  “I’m calling the police,” he snapped.

  “Good. Do that.”

  “Pussy. Man child. You’re nothing more than an overgrown bully.”

  The elevator dinged, the doors sliding open. I shoved him harder than the first two times. He hit the back of the elevator and fell to the floor. I stared at him, daring him to get to his feet. He stayed down. The doors slid shut and I slowly turned around. The entire office was staring at me. Each of them had looks of shock on their faces. Some of them looked scared.

  I walked back to my office and grabbed my things. I looked around once and made sure I grabbed it all. Then I snatched the picture of Oliver off my desk and walked out.

  “Where are you going?” my assistant asked.

  “I quit. Tell them I quit. I do not need this shit.”

  “What?” she shrieked. “You can’t just quit!”

  “I can. I have. Goodbye. Good luck with this.”

  I took the stairs, pulling at my tie as I moved. I needed to get some fresh air. I made it outside, the sounds of the city slamming into me. It was suddenly too loud. It was too much. I couldn’t breathe. I stripped off my suit jacket, leaving my tie hanging loose around my neck.

  I knew what I had to do. I walked to my car and drove to Oliver’s school. I took advantage of the time I was stuck in traffic to make travel arrangements. When I walked into the school, I felt the stuffiness that Oliver had been complaining about. It was sterile and cold.

  When I walked into his classroom, all the students were sitting at desks with laptops open and fingers on their computers. The sight pained me. They were kids, babies, sitting in a classroom like Wall Street brokers instead of playing outside.

  “Oliver,” I said his name, gaining the attention of the teacher and my son.

  “Mr. Whittle,” she said, her lips pursed as she looked up at the clock. “You’re early.”

  “I am. Oliver, let’s go.”

  Oliver looked at me with confusion. “Dad?”

  “Come on. Get your stuff.”

  He got up from his desk and grabbed his backpack. I ignored the teacher lecturing me about the importance of keeping to a schedule. I got Oliver in the backseat before getting into the driver’s seat. I turned around to look at him.

  “Ready?”

  He shrugged. “I guess.”

  “Are you ready to take a trip?” I asked with a smile.

  “Where?”

  “Montana.”

  His eyes lit up. “Yes! I want to go home!”

  I smiled. “Good, because I’ve got us plane tickets for tonight. We need to run some errands and then we are out of here.”

  “We’re going to fly?”

  “Yep. I’m not making that drive again.”

  He clapped his hands. It was the first time I had seen him truly smile since we’d left Montana. It made my daddy heart happy. I felt good. I finally knew what I needed. It was like a heavy weight being lifted from my shoulders. I just hoped the farm was still mine. As far as I knew, Alex hadn’t talked to Harvey to make the deal official.

  Chapter 50

  Alex

  I shouldn’t have been so hasty. I had quit the job before really thinking it through. I had been hotheaded and walked off without thinking about the consequences. I had sullied my reputation. I was hoping I could overcome a little black spot on what was a solid reputation. I wasn’t going to make excuses if a potential client asked me about the situation.

  I felt a little bad for my behavior, but I wasn’t about to grovel and ask for my job back. I didn’t want it. I didn’t want to work with kids. I worked best alone. Or with adults that had a clue. There were other jobs. I just had to muster up the energy to actually want one. I didn’t. I wasn’t ready to deal with people.

  But being in the house was driving me crazy. I was bored out of my skull. I had nothing to do. The house was clean. All the laundry that had been piled up for years was put away or thrown out. There was nothing that needed my attention. Nothing. I had spent the bulk of my life feeling like I didn’t have enough time to do this or that. Now, all I had was time.

  I needed the sun. I needed exercise. I needed to sweat. I wasn’t used to being so damn idle. I had bought seeds with the intention of growing a small garden. I hoed and tilled and realized I didn’t necessarily know how to gar
den. I could grow acres of wheat and potatoes, but tomatoes and the standard backyard garden fare—not so much.

  I hated that Damion got me all twisted up. I hated feeling twisted up inside. I hated feeling like I was adrift at sea with no direction of which way to go and no paddle to get me anywhere. The man was back home in New York, carrying on with his life like Montana and me were nothing but a blip on his radar. That was what hurt the most. He had walked away without fighting for me.

  Yes, yes, I had told him I didn’t want a relationship, but I had changed my mind. He just didn’t give me the chance to tell him. After he said everything, it seemed silly to pour my heart out to him. What I thought was real had all been a game to him. He’d played farmer and grown bored. That was that. I had replayed our last conversation about a million times. It had been like a movie. A bad movie. A bad movie I had found myself the unwitting star of.

  My phone rang and I nearly jumped out of my skin, saving me from another pity party. The shrill sound of the phone ringing cut through the silence once again. The house had been completely quiet. The ringing phone likely meant a job. I needed to work. I reached for it and saw Wayne’s number. I smiled, happy to talk to the guy. He was the perfect distraction.

  “Hello, Wayne,” I answered.

  He chuckled. “I always forget phones have that caller ID thing. It always freaks me out a little.”

  I laughed. “Sorry to freak you out. How are you?”

  “Good, real good. How are you?”

  I would have loved to tell him I was bad. Terrible. That I was a hot mess and falling apart. I was not going to dump my problems in his lap. The man had a lot more to be miserable about and he wasn’t. He made me want to be better. “I’m doing all right,” I answered.

  “I’m surprised you picked up at all,” he said. “I figured you would be knee-deep in some broken-down farm. Don’t tell me you’ve broken your rule about using the phone when you’re working.”

  “Nope. I’m not working. I’m sitting on my couch.”