“Of course, Mr. Lawrence. I’ll meet you downstairs.”
I don’t bother with formalities and close the door to retrieve my clothes.
“Jude?” Rachel’s gaze is on my every move, but I can’t bring myself to meet her stare. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah, fine.” But it’s not. It never is. Doesn’t matter how much of a fortune I amass, or that I have my own condo to hide away, my past always catches up with me. Fuck. I can’t believe I forgot. “I might be a little while. Don’t wait up.”
“Oh.” She backs up, the openness of her features closing at my gruff words. She swallows hard and almost appears sad. Hurt. “Sure. Yeah.”
Fuck. I hate that I ruined our good night by putting that look on her gorgeous face. I want to explain. I should. But I don’t have the time. Without another word, I shove my arms through my shirt and grab my phone before heading out the door. I don’t look back to see the disappointment on her face, but I know it’s there all the same. That alone guts me more than it should.
33
Jude
“You tell that piece of shit I’m not leaving until I speak with him! You hear me, you overpaid antpiss?” He’s drunk off his ass. Not the first time, and certainly not the last, but it’s been awhile since I’ve seen my dear old dad, and old hurts resurface instantly at the sight.
“I’m here. You can stop abusing the staff.”
My father turns toward my voice, his features twisting with disgust. “Aren’t you the important one now. Finally decide to grace me with your presence?”
“What do you want?”
“I disrupt your night?”
Of course he did. More than he knows, but I won’t give him the satisfaction of knowing so. “What do you want?” We both know it’s not love.
“You know.” He scoffs, and the sound is full of malice.
I start to shake my head, because I don’t want to remember everything from before, not when I can’t get the images of her final days out of my head. Mom. The only reason he’s drunk and in my building on a Friday night. It’s her birthday. A sour taste hits my mouth, along with an urge to strike out at my father. But I can’t. As much as I hate him. As much as I never want to be like him, I can’t bring myself to punish him. I don’t need to; he’s already doing it to himself.
Guilt. Shame. Regret. They age his features more than time ever will.
“Let’s get you home.”
“I loved her. I always did.”
I swallow, not wanting to hear his confession. I already know his sins, but I’m unable to offer him absolution. “Samuel.” I turn to the security guard. “Get us a car? I’ll wait outside.”
“Yes, Mr. Lawrence.”
“You got it all. Yeah. Everything I had and more.” My father’s arms open wide and he attempts to take a few steps without stumbling. “Think I don’t see? You got it all. All on your own. Proved me wrong. Made yourself a man all on your own. That a ‘fuck you’ for me? ’Cause it don’t bring her back.”
“This isn’t about you.” I hate how he sees. How his words hit so close to the truth.
“Isn’t it, though?” He laughs to himself, and the sound grates on my patience. He steps forward and trips, but I catch him before he falls. The stench of alcohol hits my face with his next breath. “No matter. All that money, your fancy cars, everyone’s respect, it won’t bring you peace.”
“And you’d know that how, exactly?” My words are defensive, and instantly I regret that I’ve shown him how much he’s gotten to me. I reach back for the only insult that’ll steer his focus elsewhere. “You drink too much, old man.”
“Fuck off.” He shoves away from me, teetering for balance before he rights himself.
A black town car pulls to the curb. The driver gets out and comes around to open the back door. “Mr. Lawrence, where to this evening?”
“Return him safely to his home, please.”
“I don’t have a home,” my father grumbles, but slides into the back seat without argument.
“Don’t take him anywhere else. Make sure he gets inside. Discreetly.” I pull out my phone to retrieve the address. “I’ll make sure you’re appropriately compensated for your time.”
The driver nods, entering the location onto his navigation.
I glance in the back of the car to find my father already passed out. I should hate him. I shouldn’t care what happens—how much he drinks, or where he goes, but despite everything that’s transpired, I can’t seem to stop. My entire adult life I’ve fought to prove him wrong. To make my mother proud. As much as I don’t want to be like the bastard, in some ways we’re exactly the same. We’re both searching for affirmation and forgiveness we’ll never receive. Impossible, because she’s dead.
I shut the car door and slam my eyes on the memories that threaten to assault me. I can’t believe I forgot her birthday. I’ve never done that before. I was so wrapped up in Rachel. In our flirting, the fun, the pursuit, that I completely forgot about the only woman who ever truly loved me. Guilt, thick and toxic, seeps into my veins and slows my steps as I turn back inside the building. “I’m sorry, Mom,” I whisper to myself, not caring if the building staff sees a few tears fall.
Shame, for not being able to save her, for not being much different than my father, worse, for moving on from her memory. My mouth salivates, and I
