I glance at Damon. Tall. Ripped. Tattooed. A trained killer who is old enough to be my father. Tender. Compassionate. Arms that make me feel safe the second they wrap around me. An adoring man showing me a world I didn’t know existed. One where I am beautiful and worthy of being worshipped.
“Yeah…” I smile at Damon, despite the disaster unfolding around us. “Him.”
“Why?” Gabe’s anger has subsided a little, replaced with what almost sounds like heartache at my answer. For as much as a jerk Gabe was sometimes about sex—or the lack thereof—I know him well enough to know this isn’t about me giving myself to his dad instead of him. This isn’t about his ego. I can hear it in his voice.
While Gabe might be a six-foot, athletic frat boy with a six-pack and a jaw line that demands attention, he harbors the same insecurity I do. That he’s not good enough.
“Gabriel,” Damon’s voice is calm but strained as he exhales heavily, “listen to me. I care about her.”
My pulse stutters, hearing him say it. He didn’t have to share that. Not right now. Especially not while everything is burning down around us. And judging by the silence on the phone, Gabe didn’t need to hear it, either.
“No, you listen,” Gabe snaps back immediately. “Do you have any idea how insane this sounds?”
“Yes.”
“At least you admit it,” Gabe grumbles. “Because this is so fucked up.”
I sink into one of the chairs near the table because my legs suddenly feel weak again. The past twenty-four hours have officially exceeded my emotional capacity.
My father’s corruption.
My mother’s murder.
Assassins—or is it hitmen—coming to kill me.
And now I accidentally made out with Damon’s son before sleeping with Damon.
On paper, this reads like the beginning of a really nice vacation home and private yacht for my future therapist.
Truly incredible work, Mackenzi.
I drop my face into my hands briefly. “This cannot be my life.”
“I didn’t know who you were to each other,” Damon says firmly. “If I had?—”
“You always put yourself first,” Gabe snips. “You still would’ve fucked her.”
The accusation hangs in the air, Damon hesitating to respond. He doesn’t need to say anything for me to know Gabe is right. The truth is written all over Damon’s face. He’s gone for me. Completely.
“Jesus Christ! You would’ve!” Gabe exclaims before sighing heavily. “You know what’s the most fucked up part?”
“What?” Damon asks cautiously.
“You’ve put more effort into defending your relationship with her than you have into building one with me.”
Pain flashes across Damon’s face—real pain—and suddenly I understand something important about him. For all his confidenceand control, there is a part of him terrified that he failed as a father.
“I’m trying,” Damon replies quietly, the honesty in his voice painful to hear.
“Not hard enough.”
Damon leans against the desk beside me, exhaustion written through every line of his body.
“You know what? Forget about coming.”
“Gabriel—”
“Actually… don’t bother coming to anything ever again.”
