by Geneva Lee
“No, really,” I say defensively. Meeting Evelyn West shines a light on the shadowy reputation of her family. After all the years hearing about the evil Nathaniel West I’m beginning to question which party was actually wrong.
“What was your dad like?” I ask Jameson. He flinches at the mention of his father, and I immediately regret bringing it up.
“This is taking a turn for the worse if you’re asking about my dad. Is it too late to take you to a movie?”
“I’m used to much more exciting dates,” I tease him.
“Then you admit this is a date.” There’s a note of triumph in his voice and the feeling is contagious. Even though I’m the loser it makes me feel like the winner.
“I’m told I’m your girlfriend. What’s with the label, West?”
“If it was up to me I’d actually plaster it on your forehead, but I’ll settle for getting to tell people you’re mine.” He lifts my hand to his mouth and brushes a kiss.
How am I supposed to fight that? Sighing, I tug my hand free from him and put on my serious face. No matter what’s happening between us, there are things I need to understand. “The only things I know about your dad is what my dad has told me.”
“I imagine that’s not good,” Jameson says. “Dad was complicated.”
Do they make father’s day cards for complicated dads? I could imagine them sitting in the slots next to the empty spot for absentee fathers.
Here’s to another year of never knowing how or if I’ll meet your approval. Happy Father’s Day.
“He had this tremendous vision,” Jameson’s voice takes on a wistful tone that I understand. My voice sounds the same when I talk about Becca—half wishful, half regret. “He could see things other people couldn’t but he was blind to what was right in front of him.”
“Which was?” I prompt in a soft voice.
“A wife who was way too forgiving and two kids who just wanted his attention.” Anger streaks through his words.
Empathy forms a lump in my throat. It aches there while I blink back tears. I’m used to my own disappointment when it comes to my genetic donors but they’re both still alive. There’s a chance I’ll be able to fix my relationship with my parents. Jameson is going to have to live the rest of his life wondering what his dad really thought of him.
“Emma,” he turns his silver eyes on me “Do you think I did it?”
“No.” I reject the idea firmly. My lips form the shape of the word but no sound comes out. It’s a truth that I feel deep within me. I don’t need to speak it or claim it. I know he’s innocent, because I’ve come to know his heart.
He clenches his eyes shut momentarily and when they open again they’re flaming with a need that takes my breath away. Jameson reaches up and plucks the tie from my hair allowing my blonde locks to ripple down to my shoulders. His fingers rake through it gripping tightly as he smashes his lips against mine. There’s a hunger in the kiss that I haven’t completely felt since the night we met. It’s been hiding in the background the whole time, but now we’ve unleashed it.
We fight closer. The kiss deepening as our tongues tangle greedily together searching for more. I want all of him no matter the consequences. My hand flattens on his hard chest. My heart jumps when I feel the speed with which his is racing.
He is my shouldn’t.
My impossibility.
My can’t.
And I’m not about to give him up.
When we break apart we pant for air pressing sweaty foreheads against one another. “I need to go,” I say finally. “Dad will be home any minute.”
“Maybe I should stay,” he suggests.
“I think that kiss went to your head,” I tell him.
“Emma, we can’t avoid him forever.”
“We can try.” I trace an index finger along the curved lines of his abdomen. “We need a plan. Throwing this at him is the worst possible scenario.”
He kisses my forehead and the sensation of his lips lingers there, making my head swim. “We’ll discuss it tomorrow.”
“You have a lot more things to worry about,” I remind him. “Your mom is back now and—”
“I don’t want to sneak around with you anymore,” he stops me. His eyes sear into mine and the weight of what he’s implying settles heavy on my chest.
How can I want to be with him and still be so afraid of the consequences? I lick my lips before I nod in agreement. “We can figure it out tomorrow.”
I can still put the brakes on this before we make any stupid decisions like announcing our relationship to my dad. What's the rush to tell the world about?
“Do you have breakfast plans?” he asks pushing a strand of hair behind my ear. His fingertip grazes down my neck and it’s all I can do to concentrate on what he’s asking.
“Sleeping in. I’ll probably get up for lunch.”
“I like the idea of sleeping in.”
I shake my head. “Sorry, my bed’s invitation only tonight. The store is closed tomorrow. My Dad will be home all day.”
Jameson leans forward slanting his head so that his lips hover over mine. “I really need to get a lock on your door, Duchess.”
My core tightens at the thought of being alone with him in bed again. I haven’t had time to go through my mental checklist but I’m pretty sure there are very few boxes left to mark. The pulse beating a war drum between my legs seems to agree with that assessment.
“Now get out of this car before I devour you,” he threatens. His breath whispers over my lips before he pulls back and turns the engine on.
I practically stumble up the front walk and into the house. It’s worse than drugs the effect he has on me but before I can turn my key in the lock, the door flies open. My dad glowers at me from the doorframe. His eyes flashing to the black BMW still idling in his driveway.
“Where the hell have you been?” he demands. The vodka on his breath nearly knocks me over and I move to shut the door but despite his condition he’s too fast for me. He’s on the front stoop before I can stop him.
“You get the hell out of here and stay away from my daughter,” he screams. “I know who you are!”
“Dad!” I clutch his arm and try to drag him inside but he shakes me off so forcefully that I fall backwards. Jameson is out of the car in an instant. I shake it off and scramble into my feet to put a stop to this before it starts, but Dad reaches back and grabs a hold of my shoulder.
“What are you thinking?” he demands. “You can pack your bags. I’ve already spoken to your mother.”
“I’m not going to Palm Springs,” I shriek. I struggle to pull away from him but his grasp only tightens sinking into the soft flesh of my upper arm until tears smart my eyes. Jameson arrives and steps between us forcing him to release me. “You won’t lay a finger on her.”
“I am her father. I say who touches her and who gets the hell out of my house.” He lists a bit as he directs his attention back to me. “Emma pack your bags. Your mother is sending the jet.”
I step out from behind Jameson and regard him directly.
“No,” I tell him hoping he can’t see how hard my lower lip is trembling.
“I will not have another slut in this house. If you want to be your mom, you can live with her.” He hurls the insult at me and it hits me square in the chest. After everything I’ve done for him, it takes so little to shatter my relationship with him forever.
“You won’t speak about your daughter that way,” Jameson sounds too calm as he continues to instruct my father regarding his unacceptable behavior.
“She’s nothing to you.” My dad turns his fury on Jameson pressing so close to him that their chests bump. “Don’t let him fool you, Emma. The Wests should be studied by scientists. It’s amazing how they can walk around without hearts.”
“She is everything to me,” Jameson interrupts him in a low voice. A thrill of fear ricochets through me as he reveals this.
I spot my dad’s fist before Jameson does, and I jum
p in front of him in time to catch it in the stomach. The impact flattens me and I curl into a ball at their feet. Jameson drops to my side instantaneously.
“I need you to breathe baby. I know it’s hard,” he says when I shake my head gasping for air that won’t come. “Look at me. In and out.” He demonstrates a slow breathing pattern and I suck at the air around me until I’m able to imitate it.
“Emma I’m so sorry.” My dad tries to kneel down next to me. I see the tears on his cheeks but they mean nothing to me. Jameson shoves him away from me, knocking him onto his ass against the door.
“You don’t deserve to look at her,” he spits before he scoops me into his arms and carries me out the front door.
I tuck my body against his, willing myself to believe the reassuring words he whispers as he places me back in the passenger seat and buckles me up. I can’t tear my eyes away from my childhood home. Dad stands in the doorway gripping it to stay upright. He looks defeated and small— and for the first time in my life I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to forgive him.
Chapter Eighteen
Jameson doesn’t pressure me to talk as we head toward the lights of the city. I stare out the window, not processing the blur of life that we pass. Keeping my knees tucked against my chest, I try to ignore the tender ache in my belly. It’s not really what’s hurting me anyway. Dad didn’t mean to hit me, but I can’t erase the look of hatred on his face as his fist made impact. It was aimed at Jameson, but I felt his vehemence as acutely as I felt the punch. Without realizing what was happening, I’d started to see Jameson’s problems as my own. If Dad hates him he might as well hate me as well.
I don’t ask where we’re going. I keep my mouth shut to hold back the sobs threatening to spill over. When we finally pull into the far valet circle in front of West Resort, I still can’t bring myself to move.
Jameson unbuckles my seat belt and patiently coaxes me into his lap. I curl into a ball that he doesn’t try to loosen. Instead he strokes my hair and kisses my forehead. He doesn’t offer me meaningless words of reassurance or excuses for what happened. He’s simply there, and that’s all I need.
When my eyes are finally dry he tips my chin up with one finger, gazes down at me. I understand the look I see shining behind his blue eyes even though I’ve never experienced the feeling before this moment. The sensation wraps around me and I sense it doing the same to him, binding us together. Our lives become inextricable in that moment. We’re inseparable and unbreakable. I’ll carry his pain as he carries mine, and in these strong arms bracketing my body, I’ll find protection.
“Do you want to talk about it?” he prompts.
“No,” I croak, my voice still raw with the tears. He doesn’t push it. We both know it was an accident, but accidents aren’t always easily forgiven.
Out the window it begins to rain, which is as rare a thing in Las Vegas as finding true love. Both have been known to happen, just not often. The raindrops beat an irregular pattern on the roof of the car and slide down the windows like tears.
“I think we’re stuck here,” I say, finding my voice once more.
“If I’m with you I could be stuck anywhere.” He guides my mouth to his and kisses me softly, then he sighs. “I know you don’t want to talk about it, but I do need to know if you’re okay physically. Do I need to take you to a doctor?”
“I’m not made of glass,” I huff, but he won’t let me pull away. “Believe me, I know that Duchess. You’re far more precious than that. Gold, maybe? But even gold can be broken.”
“He didn’t mean to do it.” I have to face this sooner or later. I had known there would be consequences when my dad found out about Jameson. I hadn’t anticipated they’d be physical. Or that he’d throw me out. “He’s sending me to Palm Springs.”
“Yeah, I caught that.” Jameson buries his mouth in my hair and silence descends over us once more.
“Do you have a house in Palm Springs?”
“I could,” he says, but the playful tone in his voice remains flat. We both know he can’t leave. Not while there’s an active investigation into his father’s murder, and he’s the primary suspect.
“Who else would want to kill your father?”
“What?” He blinks in surprise at our rapidly changing conversation. I don’t have time to explain that we need to figure this out. “The people here are toxic. Our lives are toxic. We need to get out.”
“But we can’t,” he reminds me. “Not while they’re investigating me.”
“Did they tell you to stay in the city?”
He nods. “You?”
I shake my head. “They only asked if I was planning to leave this summer.”
“I knew they didn’t suspect you.” There’s a finality to his tone that leaves me confused. His eyes drop down, and when he looks up they’re full of regret. “Have you ever needed to tell someone something even though it might ruin everything?”
I suck in a breath. “That doesn’t sound like a hypothetical question.”
“It’s not.”
“Should I get back in my own seat for this?” I ask him.
“I’d rather keep my hands on you for as long as possible.” Uh-oh. Whatever is about to come out of his mouth has the potential to change everything. “I was in the other room when they questioned you the day we found his body.”
I nod. I’d seen him coming out as I got into the elevator. It didn’t take a membership in MENSA to know why he’d been next door. “When they wanted me to corroborate your alibi?”
“Yes.” He pauses before adding on, “and no. You have to understand, you were this mysterious girl who showed up and was lurking around the house. I liked you. I really did, but it would have been stupid of me not to mention you to the police.”
“Wait. What are you saying?” I pry myself from his grasp, and even though there’s very little wiggle room I pull away until the steering wheel digs into my shoulder blades.
“I told him just that. That I’d found a girl in my dad’s study who wouldn’t tell me her name, and that she’d stayed the whole night.”
“How did you know I stayed?” I asked angrily. “Because you weren’t with me.”
“After I left you on the patio, I went to speak to my dad. We had words. He handled me leaving Stanford as well as you might expect. After that I found a bottle of whiskey and made a new friend for a couple of hours. Sometimes darkness overcomes me, Emma. It’s not something I like about myself, but I can’t deny it. I left you out there because I couldn’t bear for you to see me like this. Then I saw you leaving with Jonas and Hugo, and I knew Monroe would be able to tell me who you were.”
“You wanted to know who I was?” I ask, softening too much.
“I wanted to run after you but I stopped myself.”
“Why?” I demand. The question covers so many unanswered things from that night.
“I’d been drinking for hours. I passed out with my head on the bar. It wasn’t a proud moment for me.”
“And then you found your dad.” My stomach beings to churn as I relive the night with him. I don’t like experiencing it through his eyes.
“Yes, and I didn’t think. I tried to stop the bleeding and checked his pulse. Then I realized it was too late. Monroe found me like that: covered in his blood and drunk off my ass. She called the cops. All I can remember is her screaming ‘what did you do?’ over and over again. She couldn’t hear a word I was saying. She still can’t.
“So, when the police brought you in, I told them about the girl,” he repeats himself. “I let them draw their own conclusions. You were my alibi.”
“But I was also your primary suspect,” I guess. Betrayal rips my heart in half, and my hand flies to my mouth to hold back a sob, but Jameson won’t let me scramble away from him. He grabs me by the hips and holds me on his lap. “The day in the cemetery when I found you, you didn’t trust me. You suspected I might have killed him. Am I right?”
I force myself to nod.
&
nbsp; “But you didn’t want that to be the case,” he continues.
I nod again.
“That’s exactly how I felt the whole time,” he says. “I needed to find out if I could trust you. I needed to find out who you were. As soon as Monroe told me you were a Southerly, it was a strike against you.”
“The feeling’s mutual,” I spit at him.
“Calm down, Duchess,” he urges me, but I dodge his hand when he tries to stroke my cheek. “I stood there and listened to you talking to your sister in the graveyard, and I knew then that you could never hurt anyone.
“But you had to be sure, I guess.”
“It sounds like you’re familiar with the stakes.”
“I am,” I admit slowly. I want to be angry at him for suspecting me. This whole time he had been putting me to the test, but hadn’t I been doing the same to him? It was a classic case of two wrongs don’t make a right. Now we’d found ourselves at a crossroads.
“I had to know for sure, so I sought you out.”
“You stalked me,” I correct him.
“Fine, I stalked you, Duchess. You’re incredibly stalk-able.”
I choose to take that as a compliment.
“Then at some point it stopped being about looking for answers and it just became about spending time with you,” he confesses.
As hard as I try to hold on to my anger I feel it slipping slowly away from me. It leaks from my blood until I feel nothing but exhaustion. Jameson waits, his eyebrows furrowed, as I stay stay silent.
“I get it,” I say finally.
“Because you were doing the same to me?” he asks.
“Maybe,” I hedge. What’s the fun in showing all my cards at once? Except I know he’s already seen them. He’s seen right through me. I won’t be getting any tricks past him. The good news is, he won’t be getting any past me either.
“So where do we go from here?”
“I don’t care,” he murmurs. This time I let him take my hand. “As long as we go there together.”
“I don’t think they make co-ed prison cells,” I say flatly.
“Touché, Duchess.”