Page 108 of Long Story Short

I’ve fallen in love with Josephine Russell.

And all I can do is hope that along the way…she falls in love with me too.

FORTY-NINE

TYSON

The condo isn’t what I expected. Or maybe it is.

It’s smaller than anything my father’s ever lived in before, tucked further away from the heart of the city than I was expecting for him. It’s the kind of place no one would look twice at.

It feels temporary. Like this isn’t supposed to be his reality.

I stand in front of the front door longer than I should, just staring at it. Wondering how this is what it came to for him. It’s a reminder of everything he built—and everything he lost.

I push the thought away and take a step closer to the door. I don’t need to knock. He’s expecting me. Before I can open the door myself, he beats me to it.

My father stands there in the doorway, looking mostly the same, but not. There’s something rougher around the edges now. He doesn’t seem as polished or put together. It’s the version of him I grew up with, only…stripped down. A small figment of the man I used to know, this one more sad and desperate.

“Took you long enough,” he scolds. The words slur together, making me wonder if he’s drunk. It’d be early for that, but I can’t put anything past him at this point.

I don’t respond to him. Instead, I step inside, trying not to give him any sort of reaction. I want to get in here and get this done and get back to the hospital to be with Josie.

I glance around the condo. It smells faintly stale inside, mixed with some kind of air freshener that is far too strong, trying too hard to hide the stale scent. There’s furniture here, but I can’t imagine him picking out any of the pieces inside. Liquor bottles are piled on top of the cheap plastic table. Nothing about the scene in front of me looks like the man who lives here used to command boardrooms and close million-dollar deals.

“Nice place,” I note, my tone intentionally flat.

“It’s only temporary,” he slurs again. “Will get something nicer when you give me my money.”

We move into the messy living room. He takes a seat, but I opt to stand. I don’t plan on staying long.

I pull the folder from under my arm. I have to move a few bottles out of the way before setting it down on the coffee table between us. “You asked me for money. Here’s your money.”

His eyes drop to it, his upper lip curling, before he looks back at me. “What’s this?”

“Your money. A settlement. The money you wanted, but over time, and not all at once. And with some parameters of protection in place.”

He leans forward and snatches the folder off the table before flipping through it. With every page he turns, his expression changes. It gets tighter—angrier—the more time goes by.

“This isn’t what I asked for,” he says, his voice booming, bouncing around the dirty white walls of the condo.

I swallow as I tuck my hand into my pockets, my gaze staying locked on his. “I know. But it’s what you’re getting.”

He angrily swipes his arm across the table, sending bottles flying in every direction. I don’t flinch.

My father tosses the papers to the ground as he glares across the table at me. “You think you can just buy me off like this?”

“No. But I do think I can close the door between us. Cut you off from all things that have to do with Bishop Hotels—and Winnie and me—for good.” I considered not telling Winnie and Archer about all of this, but eventually, I decided I didn’t want to make any decisions without them. The three of us are a team, and I want to keep it that way. While I came alone today, they’re both in full support of the plan I put in place to get our father out of our lives for good.

Silence fills the room. It’s heavy and tight and is incredibly uncomfortable, but I don’t fill it. I don’t even attempt to. I stand still, my gaze trained on his, as I wait for what his reaction may be.

“You owe me,” he spits.

It’s the same line as when he first came to me for money. But it doesn’t hit the same. I’ve had a lot of time to think about this situation with my father—and my relationship with him as a whole—and he can’t get to me the way that he used to.

“I don’t owe you a thing.” For the first time, the words feel true. I actually believe them. While he might be my father—unfortunately—my success isn’t because of him. I’ve worked hard to get where I’m at now. If anything, it’s despite him.

My father’s eyes widen slightly. His gaze runs over me like he’s trying to figure out what changed. Suddenly, he nods. “It’s that girl,” he finally gets out. “She’s the reason, isn’t she?”