“Please,” I hissed against his lips.
“Fuck,” he growled against mine as he thrust inside me—hard—in a swift motion that made me throw my head back.
Fuck was right. He brought his mouth to the side of my neck, raining hot kisses on it as he thrust into me, his fingers grabbing my ass, spreading me open wider.
“You don’t want to tell me how much you hate me now?” he grunted.
“Shut up.” My eyes rolled back. “You’re going to ruin the moment.”
He chuckled darkly and continued to fuck me like that—hard, fast, relentless—as if taking everything out on my body, and I returned the tempo as I pulled his hair and moaned his name. My legs started shaking. I swore I was seeing stars every time my eyelids slammed shut and reopened. He brought a hand between us and started rubbing his thumb against my clit in circular motions.
“So close,” I whimpered. His hand moved faster, his thrusts got harder. “Oh my God. So close.”
“Yes, baby.” He buried his face in my neck and bit me.
I yelped, holding on to this shoulders as the coil that was building and tightening inside me finally snapped and I convulsed around him as he pulsated and shivered emptying himself inside me.
“This doesn’t mean anything.”
“I’m still inside you, princess. Can you give it a rest one more second?” He raised an eyebrow.
I inhaled and exhaled as he set me on shaky feet. “This was a mistake.”
“No.” He stopped messing with his pants and grabbed my chin so I’d look in his eyes. “I’ll let you say whatever the fuck you want. I’ll let you blame me for whatever crazy things you think I’ve done to screw you over, but I will not let you call this a mistake.”
I adjusted my dress and lifted my panties, which were in shambles. What was I supposed to do with these? Nathaniel snatched them from my hand and shoved them in his pocket. The fact that he seemed to have an answer for everything only further pissed me off.
“Why didn’t you tell me we were using your money for this place all along?” I crossed my arms. “Did you enjoy playing me for a fool?”
“It didn’t matter.” He exhaled, throwing his head back as if asking for help from above. Knowing my dad, he’d part the heavens and actually come help him. I rolled my eyes. He looked at me again. “The brewery is yours. I guess I interrupted the conversation a little early, but I signed it over to you. I don’t want it. Just like I never set out to keep White Oak. I wanted to help someone who helped me without a second thought throughout the last fourteen years of my life. I didn’t do it because I expected anything in return.”
I blinked, biting my lip. “What do you mean it’s mine? I don’t want it. I don’t want a freebie.”
“It’s not a freebie. Jesus Christ, Presley.” He shook his head. “You worked for this. You did everything to make sure you opened this space. How is that a freebie?”
“You giving it to me without me paying you is a freebie.”
“I’m not . . .” He glanced away.
“You are. You’re giving it to me and I don’t want it. I’m sick of being in debt to men who—”
“Do not finish that sentence.” His eyes were thunderous. “I do not want you to box me with any of those men. I messed up and I’m sorry, but I don’t think it’s fair that you crucify me for lashing out on you one time.”
“One time?” My brows rose.
“Oh please. Don’t act like you’re a fucking saint in all of this.”
“I never said I was. But I don’t want to be used. I don’t want to feel like you’re tossing this on my lap because my dad died and you feel sorry for me.”
“I signed the papers to hand it over to you before he died.”
“Because you knew he was dying.”
“Because it was what I’d planned on doing all along.” He threw his arms up with his shout, then shook his head. “This is going all wrong. This is not the way I planned to win you back.”
“When you think of a way, let me know, because so far the odds are definitely against you.” I brushed past him. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have people to go thank for being here.”
Thirty-Nine
“I just don’t understand why you wouldn’t be on your own app if you don’t have a boyfriend yourself,” Jamie said, frowning.
“Well, funny you should say that because I got on it last week.” Morgan stuck her tongue out. “Anyway, I matched with this really hot guy, right? He seems well-put together. Works in investment banking, divorced, which means baggage, right?” She shot me a look. “No offense, big, but that means baggage.”
“None taken, but in my defense, I think I had baggage before I got married.”
“I’m not talking Daddy and Mommy issue-type baggage, I mean love baggage, like you’re afraid to let go and be.”
“I am not afraid to let go and be,” I argued. Jamie and Morgan exchanged a look. “Oh, fuck both of you. You’re supposed to be cheering me up after my father’s death, not sitting here further depressing me.”
“You’re right. I’m sorry.” Morgan put her hands up. She looked over at Jamie who was working on her second Bloody Mary. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“Any wise words from you about dating?”
Jamie scoffed. “Please. I’m so hung up on Travis that I’ve officially reached a new low. My stalking went from social media to the Netflix account we share, and since I saw that he’s dating some bitch and also watching the Haunting of Hill House, I waited until he’d watched the semi-final episode and then I changed the password.”
I blinked. Morgan let out a laugh. We both asked, “Wait, you’re serious?”
“Dead-ass serious,” Jamie said, nodding her head proudly. “Fuck him and the new slut he’s with. She looks like Barbie’s dream and she has a fucking pink Corvette to boot. Who owns a pink Corvette?”
I felt my eyebrows raise. “Is she Russian? Maybe her family is the Russian mob and she’s Daddy’s little girl and gets whatever she wants.”
“Oh my God. Are you back to conspiracies?” Jamie asked. “Because for the longest time in high school you thought you were going to get kidnapped and it never happened, and I swear I thought you wished it had.”
“Well, duh.” I scoffed. “Did you not know my parents? I would’ve done anything to get out of that house.”
“That’s so insensitive, Big.” Morgan slapped my hand playfully.
“I’m just playing. I love my parents.” I smiled, until I didn’t because the realization that my father was no longer here hit me again. “I miss him so much.”
Jamie held my other hand and squeezed it. Neither one of them said a word. They simply held my hands as I breathed. When I was sure I wasn’t going to start crying, I slid my hands back to the mimosa I was drinking.
“You know who’s an asshole? Nathaniel, or Nate as everyone and their mother is apparently calling him these days.”
They laughed.
“Let’s hear it,” Morgan said. “What’d he do this time?”
“He owned the brewery this entire time.”
“What do you mean?”
“He owned it on paper and was the one funding the whole thing. Meanwhile, I was over here acting like an idiot and saying all these mean things to him about it and he never once said a word about owning it. He just kept it from me and made me think I was the owner all along.”
“And now he’s just keeping it and kicking you out?” Jamie asked, wide-eyed. “You’re the rightful owner.”
“Oh my God. What a jerk,” Morgan said.
“Well, no.” I took a big gulp of the mimosa. “He signed it over to me.” They both blinked, like fucking puppets. “The point is he lied to me and then he kicked me out of his house that day for lying to him about my dad being really ill. It’s fucked up.”
The silence stretched. I lifted the jug and poured myself another mimosa, looking at the two of them impatiently.
“I mean, I would’ve been mad too,” Jamie said. “But he still did right by you in the end.”
“I’m with her on this.” Morgan shrugged. “But I still wanna build you a dating profile. Come on, it’ll be fun. You don’t even have to go on any dates. I’m dying for you to see what’s out there, and also I really need someone to go on this group date with me for New Year’s.”
“New Year’s Eve?” Jamie and I both said rather loudly.
“I can’t go on a date on New Year’s Eve,” I said.
“Why the hell not?” Morgan asked. “Besides, this would be on the thirty-first during the day so it’s technically not the eve. Unless you think you’ll be exclusive with Nate Dogg by then.”
“Oh my God, would you stop?” I covered my laughter with my hands. “I most likely won’t be exclusive with anyone by then, so okay. Whatever. I’ll check out the app but only because it’s yours and you want feedback.”
“Thank you.” Morgan smiled wide. She slid her attention to Jamie, who shook her head.
“Uh-uh. I can’t join that. I’m still emotionally involved with my ex.”
“I can’t believe you changed his Netflix password.”
She smiled wide. “Sometimes you have to fight dirty.”
* * *
Her words stayed with me. Nathaniel had once said he’d fight for whatever he wanted to keep in his life, but he hadn’t even but he hadn’t even called. . . . when you want something, you work for it, no matter the cost or sacrifice. It seemed that even though he’d implied he’d wanted me, I hadn’t been worth the effort after all, either. I hadn’t given him my new number but it didn’t mean he couldn’t get it from someone and call anyway. I headed to my building and took the elevator to Dad’s penthouse. Tonight would be the first night I wouldn’t be staying at my mom’s apartment. I felt like it was time. As I walked down the short hall and unlocked the door, I held my breath. How many times had I done this and called out for my dad? I went to the kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out the eggs and setting toast to make. I’d bought the food and dropped it off yesterday out of habit. My mom had been with me and hadn’t said a word when I said it was for Dad’s fridge. Everyone mourned differently. Some people played out their grief emotionally while others acted it out on their daily routine.
I heard footsteps approach as I stirred the eggs with the spatula. My heart stopped beating for a moment before speeding way up. I turned around and saw Nathaniel standing there, wearing jeans and a black hoodie.
“Jesus, Nathaniel.” I dropped the spatula and placed my hand on my heart. “What the fuck are you trying to do? Kill me?”
“I’m sorry. I . . .” He looked around slowly, as if in a daze. When he glanced back at me, he raised a key. “I’ve always had a key. I didn’t break in or anything.”
“Okay.” I frowned, looking back at my eggs. “Do you want breakfast?”
“It’s eight o’clock at night.”
I shrugged. “You want eggs or not?”
“Sure.” I heard him sit down on one of the stools. The squeaky one. Of course. I swear he did it to annoy me.
I ignored him as I plated our food and set out utensils for us. We ate in silence, but it wasn’t awkward. It was comfortable, and lately the only thing I craved was utter silence, so I was glad for it now.
“What are you doing here anyway?” I asked after a while.
“I went by your apartment and you weren’t home. I figured you were out, so I came up here to just . . . hang out.” He was looking at his glass of orange juice as he spoke, twirling it in circles. “I miss him.”
“So do I.” I swallowed. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you he was sick.”
He met my gaze. “No, Presley. You were right. It wasn’t your job to tell me. It wasn’t my right to know. I was so wrong to say that to you.”
“I had wanted to tell you, and I still feel I should have.”
“I was so angry at him. I took it out on your because I thought I was angry at you, but when I heard he’d died . . . I was so angry at him for not telling me. For not giving me a chance to grieve properly.” He swallowed and licked his lips. “He knew how losing my dad unexpectedly tore me up. He knew, so why wouldn’t he tell me?”
I stood slowly and wrapped my arms around him. I didn’t have an answer for him. I had no idea why my father did what he did. I had no idea why he was so adamant in keeping his health struggles to himself and not letting us carry some of his burden. But he was gone now and there was nothing either of us could do about that. I held Nathaniel tighter. After a moment, he wrapped his arms around me and we held each other, two souls in mourning, but not alone.
Forty
I didn’t argue about keeping the brewery. The way Victor had put it, which was the way Nathaniel had said it during the meeting was, “It was always supposed to end up in your hands.” So I took it. Did it go against my whole not letting a man help me anymore? Possibly. The difference was that this man wasn’t helping me conditionally. Things between Nathaniel and I had been . . . weird. He’d been coming to my dad’s apartment every morning, and I’d gone there and made breakfast for us as if nothing had changed and Dad was going to waltz out of his bedroom any minute. Maybe it was dumb. Maybe it was useless. It seemed as though in our case, pretending was a coping mechanism we needed to make us feel like everything would be okay.
Today, I waltzed into the office, smiled at Rosa, and set the envelope of tickets on top of Dad’s desk, top left corner just like he always asked. When I walked out, closing the door behind me, I felt a sense of panic creep up inside me knowing full well he wouldn’t come to the game. I’d go, though. I’d go and sit in our seats and not type away on my phone the whole time. I’d go and actually watch the game, even though I had little interest in it. I’d go because even that made me feel a little closer to him. I’d go because it lessened the blow, and even if it was just for a couple of hours, dulled the numbness. I went into my office and closed the door. I’d been coming in here on Mondays and working out of the brewery the rest of the days. Mostly, I was working on getting the word out there and setting up specials for each day. So far, I had Ezra going to a morning news station with two of the bartenders, and other people handing out flyers with two-for-one specials.
That night, as I sat in the stadium, watching the baseball game, I couldn’t stop thinking about life. Dad’s favorite player hit a homerun at the end of the game with bases loaded, and as I stood up and cheered along with the rest of the crowd, the seat beside me didn’t feel as empty as it looked. My smiling and cheering quickly turned into crying and then sobbing because it was empty. It really was empty, but I felt his presence. That made me laugh as I cried. I definitely looked like a lunatic, but I didn’t care. Tomorrow was the last home game and the last of our baseball tickets and I’d come back and sit here again. Alone, emotional, but present.
* * *
At the brewery, I went over the schedule for the week as Ezra leaned against the doorframe sipping on his coffee.
“You need to hire a manager.”
I blinked. “I’m here all the time. Why would I need a manager?”
“For things like this.” He shot a pointed look to the clipboard in my hand.
“I’m just trying to run it by someone because they’re starting to sound stupid. Thirsty Thursday, Wacky Wednesday . . .”
“They sound stupid but it works.” He shrugged. “Ask Nate.”
“I don’t want to ask Nate.”
“You’re still not talking to him?”
I shrugged. “Nothing to talk about.”
“He keeps asking for your phone number,” he said. I shrugged. His brows rose. “He keeps showing up at your house and not finding you there.”
“We hang out sometimes.” I didn’t mention that it had been at Dad’s apartment and while we’d shared a meal, we hadn’t exactly spoken much.
Ezra shook his head. “Well then, why is he asking me for your number?”
“Be
cause I won’t give it to him.”
He gave me a bemused look. “But you’re hanging out with him.”
“Sometimes.” I set my clipboard and pen down with a sigh. “We’re both mourning.”
“Want to know what I think?” Ezra walked into the office and took a seat across from me, not waiting for my response. God, so much like what Dad would do. He set his mug down on the desk. “I think you’re mad that he got to spend so much time with your father.”
“You’re not wrong.” I felt tears build despite my effort to hold them back. “I should’ve been there more.”
“You were there when it mattered.”
“It always mattered,” I whispered. “I was just too busy being mad for wanting him to treat me like his equal and not just his dumb daughter that didn’t know anything about business or beer or baseball or whatever. I was too blinded by my anger to realize that he wasn’t treating me like that because he didn’t like me, but because that’s exactly what I am.”
“You’re not dumb, Presley. You never were. He never thought that.” Ezra shook his head, letting out a sigh. “As someone with a daughter about your age, I’ll tell you this. We’re old-school. We look at these women right’s movements and are proud that someone is speaking out for our daughters, but we’re too stupid to see that we’re part of the problem.” He shrugged. “Cassidy is heavily involved in marches and protests, but when she comes home for the holidays she lets me speak to her like she’s four and that’s on me, not her. I’m proud as hell of that girl. I don’t know how to tell her and it scares me. The world scares me. I’m afraid my little girl is going to get eaten out there, and so, I’d rather her conform.”
The Consequence of Falling: New York Times Bestselling Author Page 21