She took it just like I thought she would. She’s a seven-year-old without a mother—of course she’s not going to throw a fit when her father is caught kissing someone.
“No,” I tell Dory. “I don’t care about that.”
“You don’t?”
“Did Kyrie seem to care?”
She bites her lip, her eyes staring past me, thinking about my daughter’s reaction. “No, I guess not. But what does this mean now? Is she going to have…expectations?”
Instead of answering her, I tighten my grip and pull us both to a standing position.
She lets out a little squeal at the sudden movement, then laughs, burying her face in my neck, giving me the same nips and licks I like to give her.
When I don’t toss her onto the bed and instead head for the door, she peers up at me.
“What are you doing, Porter?”
I look down at her with serious eyes. “Stay with me tonight, Dory.”
“We stay together every night.”
I shake my head. “No. Not down here in your nanny quarters. In my room. In my bed. Because you’re my equal.”
A V forms between her brows. “What are you trying to say?”
“I’m saying stay the night with me.”
“Tonight?”
“Tonight. Tomorrow night too. And maybe the next.”
“Porter…” She wiggles in my arms, wanting to pull away.
I knew this would happen at the first sign of me showing I care.
I had a feeling this would be her reaction.
I’d just hoped she’d prove me wrong.
Please don’t let this be what I think it is.
“Listen, Porter,” she starts when I set her on her feet.
Her tone says it all.
This is it. I crossed the line too many times, pushed my luck too far.
She’s not ready for more yet.
But that’s okay. I can wait. I’ve been waiting my whole life for this.
I’ll wait more.
“We can’t.”
“We can,” I argue, thought I know it’s fruitless.
“No.” She shakes her head vehemently. “We can’t. Nothing good in my life ever lasts, and all this is going to do is bring heartbreak for everyone involved when you leave.”
The anger I’m all too familiar with boils beneath the surface, and I don’t even bother trying to hold back my frustrated groan.
“Are you fucking serious with this shit right now, Dory?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, and I ignore the way it makes her nightshirt lift, showing me more and more of her bare legs. “What is that supposed to mean?”
“It means you’re being really, really stupid, okay? You think everything in life goes to shit. Did you ever think it goes to shit because you don’t fight for it?” I shake my head, hands on my hips. “You’re not your mother. You don’t have to push relationships away because they didn’t work out for her. You don’t have to walk around acting like some unfeeling robot giving men your body but not your heart. You’re not her.”
Her mouth drifts open, then closes.
And I know I’ve said the wrong thing when she turns her ahead away from me, squeezing her eyes shut tightly.
I cross the room and cup her jaw, rubbing circles over the spot where she has her teeth clenched.
“Look, Dory, can we just forget I said anything? Can we go back to when I was standing at your door?”
I can feel that she wants to argue with me, know there’s a whole lot she wants to say.
She surprises me by nodding.
“Thank fuck.” I sigh and drop my head to hers, my forehead resting against her temple.
I kiss her, all along her jaw, back to the spot she loves, and then all the way to the corner of her lips, the closest she ever lets me get to them.
I feel her tuck them together, hiding them from me, just in case I get the wise idea to push for more.
I won’t. Not tonight. Not when I’ve already pushed this further than I should have.
She turns into me. I wrap her in my arms, vowing to not let her go. She buries her head into my chest, and I can feel the light kisses she’s pressing against me.
“Want me to knock on the door again?” I grin against her head, trying to lighten the mood. “Go all out?”
“Might as well.” She pulls out of my embrace, shoving me toward the door with a playful grin. “Go on, git.”
“What? No goodbye kiss for the road?”
I’m teasing her. She knows this.
But it doesn’t stop her eyes from darkening, churning like those waters in the deep blue sea.
She steps toward me, hands coming up to grasp my face. She pulls me down to her with such slowness that it physically hurts to experience this moment. The anticipation is just too much.
Then, she places the softest, most gentle kiss on my lips.
“Let’s start over, Porter,” she whispers against me.
I don’t push for more.
Instead, I walk out the door, turning around and rapping my knuckles against the wood with a dopey grin on my face.
She never answers.
* * *
“Dory,” I say her name for probably the millionth time tonight.
And I get the same response I’ve been getting since I said it the first time.
Silence.
I know she’s on the other side, sitting here right along with me. I know she wants to open the door, just like I know she’s too scared to do it.
I should have known she’d shut me out, should have felt it in her kiss.
I pushed her too far tonight, and she pushed back.
I bang my head against the door, pissed at myself. Pissed at her. At this stupid fucking game we got ourselves into.
Just sex? Yeah, right. Who the fuck did we think we were kidding?
“Dad? What are you doing outside Dory’s door?”
Kyrie comes trudging her way out of her bedroom, rubbing sleep from her eyes.
“Hey, kiddo,” I say as she takes a spot next to me, curling into my side.
I sling my arm around her, holding her close.
I have a feeling she’s going to need my hugs here soon because I’m not stupid enough to think Dory is going to stick around. She’ll leave, just like everyone else does.
Turns out I am stupid enough to think this could have been different.
“Is everything okay?” Kyrie asks, her voice sounding tired. I wouldn’t be surprised if she passed out in the next few minutes.
“Yeah, sweetie. Everything’s just fine.”
She scrunches her face up. “You’re lying.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because you called me ‘sweetie.’ You never call me that.”
I chuckle. Of course she’d catch on to that. “It’s just that Dory isn’t feeling so good.”
It’s not a lie, not technically. I know she’s hurting right now just like I am.
“That makes me sad.”
“Me too, Kyrie. Me too.”
“Should we make her some soup? Soup always makes me feel better when I’m not feeling good. Well, soup and ice cream.”
“It’s too late for soup, and someone ate all the ice cream.”
She blushes. “Pancakes, then. We’ll make her some pancakes.”
I smile down at her innocence. “How about in the morning we make her some pancakes? Besides, tomorrow is Wednesday, and Wednesdays mean…”
“Pancakes!”
“Exactly. Deal?”
She sticks her little hand up, and I clasp it in mine. “Deal.”
She snuggles into me closer, and I brush my hand through her hair, pressing a kiss to her head.
“You better not fall asleep out here,” I warn her.
“It’s okay. You can carry me to bed.”
“Is that right?” I grin down at her.
“Yep. You’ve been going to the gym. This is the moment you’ve been waiting for.�
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I laugh. “You’re exhausting.”
“I know, but I’m still your favorite.”
She’s quiet for a long time, and I know she’s almost asleep.
“Hey, Dad?”
“Yeah?”
“Is Missy Fishy going to be okay?”
I’m not sure.
“I hope so, kiddo.” I clear my throat. “I hope so.”
Slice Eighteen
Doris
I’ve been putting on a brave face for Kyrie, but inside I’m bursting with so many emotions.
I haven’t talked to Porter in days.
Which is absurd, because I live in his house.
Every night, he knocks on my door.
And every night, I ignore him.
He always sighs that same sigh and takes a seat on the floor. He stays there until the early hours of the morning before retreating to his own bed for a few hours of shut-eye.
Or maybe he’s not sleeping at all. Based on the bags lining his eyes and the way we seem to be burning through the fresh bag of coffee in the pantry more quickly than usual, I wouldn’t be surprised if that was the case.
When he’s not hanging out in front of my door, he’s holed up in his office with Fran.
So, really, if we’re being technical here, I’m not avoiding him. He’s avoiding me.
Not that I blame him.
I kissed him, then shut him out. Literally.
But I had to kiss him. I couldn’t not, especially when I knew it would be the last time.
Just like I had to shut him out too.
His words slashed deep, carved their way into my skin and burrowed inside of me.
The worst part of it all?
They cut because they were true.
Porter is right—I push relationships away because I’ve seen them fail so many times. I push them away because I’ve witnessed the hurt and pain too many times to count.
When I left home, I vowed to never be like my mother, always relying on a man or materialistic things to make me happy.
I promised myself I would pave my own way without handouts and without someone holding my hand. I’d do it alone. I could be happy for myself because of myself. I didn’t need nice flashy things or someone to love me.
I was enough.
Then Porter had to go and wreck everything.
He waltzed into my life with his custom suits and his charm, swooping in to save me and allowing me to have a taste of a life where I’m not constantly looking over my shoulder waiting for the other shoe to drop.
He had to make me feel.
Safe. Secure. Alive.
Loved.
I was on top of the world, too, so comfortable I let my guard down while he dangled a carefree life in front of my face like it was nothing.
Then, he decided he was moving back to California, not even bothering to tell me about it. He still hasn’t told me about it, and every day it eats at me more and more.
He wants to talk about people always leaving him, but what does he call what he’s doing to me? A graceful exit?
Because it sure as hell doesn’t feel like one.
“Hello?”
I jump at the sudden intrusion, so lost in thought I didn’t even hear anyone approach. Looking up from the cookies I’m baking for Kyrie—the ones she’s supposed to be helping me with—I find a woman standing in the doorway. She has a rolling suitcase behind her that tells me she’s traveling, but she’s dressed like she just stepped off a runway, not an airplane.
“Oh shit.” She tucks her long blonde hair behind her ear. “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. I thought you might have heard the front door open.”
Her cussing surprises me, but I don’t let it show. “I didn’t. Can I help you?”
She rolls her eyes. “I blame the jet lag for me being such an idiot. It’s not like he’d have pictures of me hanging around.” She crosses the kitchen, sticking her hand out my way. “I’m Mel, Porter’s assistant in California.”
Mel. She’s here. Not in California.
Fuck. This is it.
“Oh,” I say, shaking her hand. “It’s nice to meet you. I’m—”
“Doris Palmer. Yes, I know.” She smiles warmly, dropping my hand. “Not only because I read your resume and was very impressed with the passionate letter you wrote, but because I’m also the one who filed all your new hire paperwork. Plus”—she leans in close—“Kyrie never shuts up about you. I’m almost jealous.” She winks.
My chest constricts.
God, it’s going to be so hard when they leave.
I’ve grown more attached to the seven-year-old than I anticipated I would. I love her fiercely, and I know she’s going to be upset when we have to part.
“Is Porter around?”
“He’s up in his office. I’ll, uh, I’ll show you.”
“Oh, not necessary.” She waves her hand. “I’ll find my way up. Besides, I bet there’s a certain little gremlin running around here looking forward to these cookies. They smell heavenly.” She looks down at the batch I just pulled from the oven. “Do you mind if I have one?”
“No, no, of course not. In fact…” I pull a plate from the cabinet and load it up with cookies. “Take a whole plate. Maybe share with a gremlin if you happen to come upon one.”
“Thanks.” She smiles, taking the plate. “I’m sure we’ll be back down in a bit so we can get acquainted more.”
“How long are you here for?” I’m scared to know the answer but so curious.
“Just until tomorrow.”
“Oh.” It’s all I say, because I don’t know what else to say.
Tomorrow? That’s a lot of planning to do in one day.
“Yeah. Porter is being really impatient with this whole move, so I figured I’d fly out here and get the ball rolling sooner rather than later.”
And there it is.
The confirmation he won’t give me.
“Thanks again for these,” Mel says, lifting the plate. “I’ll make sure it gets brought back down.”
“Of course. Enjoy them.”
I give her a tight smile, the only thing I can muster as my heart starts to break.
Porter’s leaving.
That’s okay.
Because I am too.
* * *
After I finished making Kyrie’s cookies—which she most definitely did not help me bake—I settled her down with a movie and retreated to my room to pack my bags and make my phone calls.
When Porter first begged me to work here and I insisted on keeping my apartment, I honestly never thought I’d need to return to it.
I was convinced I could make this work, sure there was nothing that was going to get in the way of this dream job. So what if it was going to be awkward between Porter and me after we slept together? We’d make it work. I had faith that we could work through it.
Now here I am, packing my bags and leaving because I let feelings get the best of me.
Stupid, stupid feelings.
Why did I have to kiss him?
I shove the last of my things into my fraying suitcase and zip it up, setting the bag by the door.
Tonight, instead of waiting for Porter to come to my door, I’ll be going to his and resigning from my position.
I can’t take the humiliation of him letting me go. It’s going to suck, because I know Porter is going to think I’m leaving him, but I’m not. I have to do this to protect myself. I can’t just sit around for the next couple weeks while he packs his life up and cuts me out of it.
There’s no way my heart would be able to survive that. Hell, it’s barely going to survive this.
I called my old boss at the gas station and begged him for my job back. Thankfully people aren’t rushing out to put their applications in, and my spot was still available. The grocery store I also worked at was fully staffed though. Hopefully I’ll be able to find something else soon or I’ll be dipping into my savings account sooner than I planned.
“Missy Fishy! Missy Fishy!”
I make my way out into the living room. “You rang, Little Fish?”
“Can I watch another movie now?”
I glance at the clock hanging above the fireplace. “Well, it’s getting close to dinnertime. How about you go wash up and get changed? Miss Mel told me your dad is taking you gals to dinner tonight.”
I was invited too but declined, choosing to use up some of the personal hours I’ve been hoarding. I can’t bear to sit in a restaurant with Porter and pretend everything is okay when we both know it isn’t.
Instead, I’m going to take one last long soak in the insane garden tub in my bathroom and then work on figuring out what I want to say to Porter tonight.
“Oooh.” She rubs her hands together excitedly. “Where are we going? Please, please, puh-lease say pizza!”
“You eat so much pizza you’re about to turn into a pizza,” Porter says, coming down the stairs, Mel right behind.
I don’t look at him.
I can’t.
“Would being a pizza really be that bad?”
“Fair point,” Porter tells her. “But the real question is, what kind of pizza would you be?”
“Definitely not pineapple. That does not belong on pizza.”
“Kyrie, I have never been prouder to be your father than I am in this moment.”
Mel sighs at them. “Doris, are you sure you don’t want to come with us to dinner?”
I can feel his eyes on me as she asks.
I keep my gaze firmly planted on her and nod with the most convincing smile I can muster. “I’m sure, Mel. Kyrie hasn’t seen you for weeks, and I’m sure she’d love some time with you.”
“Hmm.” The corners of her mouth tip down in a frown. “Okay, if you say so.”
“Kyrie…I believe Doris told you to go get changed. Scoot, scoot!”
Doris.
An icky feeling slides over me when he uses my full name.
It makes this whole thing between us feel so…final.
I hate how vacant it makes me feel.
He’s leaving, Dory. Cut your losses now and get out while you’re still ahead.
Doughn’t Let Me Go Page 20