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“Oh, I’m over her”
“Bullshit.”
I scoff. “When’s the last time you heard me say her name?” Not counting six months ago when I called a girl Beth while she was sucking me off.
“Oh my God. You need help.” Jack leans back in his chair and scrubs his hands over his face.
“What do you mean?”
“Carter. When is the last time you’ve fucked anyone? It sure as hell wasn’t tonight.”
“Listen, I don’t lead anybody on. And a summer of shimmying down your fire escape when one of your premium’s husbands came to kick your door down kind of turned me off the Don Juan lifestyle.”
“No one’s saying be Don Juan. But you live like a fucking monk, man.” He glances at his watch. “You hungry? I need to eat. Let’s go next door.”
I’m not hungry, but I’m desperate to change the subject. I’m already at rock bottom, the last thing I need is to take a deep dive into all the ways Beth Mortimer still has me fucked up. “Sure."
We head back to the elevator and Jack pulls out his phone and starts typing. I’m grateful for the chance to think as we make our way to the diner.
Jack’s right. I’ve lived like a fucking monk for the last fi
ve years. And it takes a lot of weed before I can even go as far as I did with Chloe.
The ease, the freedom, the fun, the chemistry, the camaraderie, and everything else I had with her are things I’ve never felt again.
I can’t help but compare everyone I meet to her and feel like I’m settling.
I’m still a man. I get horny, I can get it up, and I don’t turn down blow jobs, but sex feels like wasting a lot of energy for settling. So, I just go without.
He picks up the menu and eyes it like it lists torture methods since a catastrophic knee and ankle injury ended his Premier League career. But he still treats his body like it’s a multimillion-dollar asset. “You must be desperate for this conversation if you’re willing to eat at a place like this.”
He flips me the finger and drops the menu. His expression turns somber, and he leans forward, holding my gaze with his serious, dark eyes. “Dean is the holy grail of agents. A conversation. You at least owe ”
“I don’t owe anyone anything.” I pick up his discarded menu.
“Bullshit. You owe Dad. Even more than me and Nadia, do.”
I jerk my head back in surprise, but before I can ask what he means, our server arrives. We withdraw to our corners, brooding and eyeing each other while we order pancakes and coffee with the polite smiles and thank you’s that Penn’s home training taught us isn’t optional. We’re only allowed to be assholes to each other.
“How come I owe more than the rest of you?” I demand as soon she walks away.
He narrows his eyes and shakes his head. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised you’re asking that question since I’m having to say any of this—”
My loud bark of laughter surprises us both. “I forgot you’ve spent the last decade surrounded by people who think the sun rises because you exist. Well here, on planet earth where us mortals live, being asked to explain yourself isn’t considered a hardship.”
He gives me his famous, one-sided, ‘I’m not impressed’ frown.
“What I mean is,” he draws out the words in a show of exaggerated impatience. “After everything Dad did to make it possible, he fucking worked himself to death for you, turning this down would be spitting on his grave.”
Until this moment I’d been trying to keep the conversation only mildly combative, but his words touch a very raw nerve. “That was really low.”
He shrugs, completely unbothered. “It’s true, Carter.”
I laugh again, but it’s bitter and devoid of humor. “You wouldn’t know the truth if it walked over and introduced itself, Jack.”
His eyes narrow, and he presses his lips into a thin line at my jab. He leans toward me, putting his face close to mine. “I lie to the public. I don’t lie to my family. You can try to deflect all you want. But it doesn’t change the truth of what I just said.” His words are dripping with disappointment that is exponentially more compelling and humbling than his anger.
A lump of sadness seasoned with shame and regret forms in my throat, replacing the barbed words I’d been ready to hurl at him a second ago. The only thing harder than accepting my father’s passing is knowing I’ll never have the chance to set right all the things wrong between us.
