Page 60 of Love Overdose: St. Louis

Christian released a breath. “Don’t keep pushing him.”

“I’m not pushing. I’m communicating.”

“With Titan, repeated communication can feel like pressure.”

“I’m his father. I should be able to call my son.”

“You can,” Christian said. “But he gets to decide whether he answers.”

The humor left the call.

Titan had spent most of his childhood in abandonment. His mother abandoned him, and foster care taught him not to trust promises about permanence. By the time he built his own empire, independence wasn’t merely part of his personality. It was armor. Our shared blood didn’t grant us the right to remove it.

“I’ll reach out to him,” Christian said.

Dad hesitated. “You think he’ll listen to you?”

“I don’t know. But we’ve talked since Miami.”

“I think Christian should do it,” I said.

“So do I,” Xander added. “Titan knows Christian isn’t calling to corner him.”

“I’m not trying to corner him,” Dad said.

“We know,” I replied. “But Titan may not.”

Dad grew quiet again.

Christian broke the silence. “I’ll call him, but I’m not opening with Family Feud.”

“The taping isn’t going to wait forever.”

“Neither is Titan. If he thinks I’m only calling because you need an answer, the conversation will end before it starts.”

“What are you going to say?”

“I’ll figure it out when he answers.”

“And if he doesn’t?”

“I’ll give him time and try again.”

Dad sighed heavily enough to fill my car.

“All right. Do it your way.”

“It needs to be his way,” Christian corrected. “That’s the point.”

The hospital came into view beyond the windshield.

“I have to go,” I said. “I’m pulling into Barnes.”

“On a Sunday?” Dad asked.

“Yes.”

“How was your date?” Xander asked, changing the subject.