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“I went to see her today, for the first time since she left,” he said. “Vic doesn’t know yet, and I don’t intend to tell her until she returns from her honeymoon. She deserves a break from all of this.” He flexed his hand on the wheel. “It’s past time I do my share.”
Jill let out the breath she’d been holding. Maybe that explained part of why he hadn’t wanted to be alone tonight. That he’d chosen her to spend his hours with her, and confide in her, meant so much.
“How was she?”
How are you, she wanted to ask. But she didn’t, because this moment between them was so tenuous that she was afraid she’d drive him away if she asked him to offer anything more.
“Different.”
“How?” She quickly added, “You don’t have to tell me. I don’t know how to do this, so if I say the wrong thing, it’s not because I don’t care, it’s because I—”
Because I care too much.
He said, “Because you didn’t have a mother who bagged on you because she wanted to find herself? Then expected you to be by her side when she realized she’d left pieces behind?” Idling at a stop sign, he held up a hand. “No, that’s not true. She doesn’t expect me to be there. She didn’t even recognize me at first. After we talked for a few minutes, she came around. She’s on a new med for her bipolar, and the staff at the group home said it hasn’t agreed with her. But Christ, can you imagine what it’s like to try to figure out what to say to get your own mother to recognize you?”
“No.” She cupped her other hand on top of his. “I can’t.”
He sent her a sideways grin that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “You hit the fucking jackpot of mothers.”
“Yeah, I did. God, I miss her.” She fought not to let the emotion overwhelm her. Two years had passed, and she still ached for her mama every single day. “She was the most special person I’ve ever known. She tried her hardest to make sure I never wanted for anything. But my dad…” She blew out a breath and stared through the windshield. “We weren’t enough for him. He needed the adulation of the crowds. And he wasn’t even famous, not like you.” Once the words were out, she bit her lip. “I didn’t mean that like it sounded.”
“When you’re not comfortable letting in the people who matter, it’s easy to fill the hole with strangers.” He turned his hand over to grip hers. “Your dad’s choices didn’t have anything to do with you or your mom. You can do everything right and it may not be enough. That’s on him, baby. Don’t ever blame yourself.”
“Maybe people like that can’t change,” she whispered. “They’ll always prefer strangers to real family.”
His pause told her plenty, like all the pauses that had come before. “Hard to say,” he said finally, “if they don’t take the risk.”
“They have to want to. It’s hard to give up adulation. It’s like a drug.”
“It is. Even harder to deal with the isolation that comes with it. The more hits you take, the harder being alone becomes.”
She stroked his knuckles. “Your mom’s sick, Bry. She left you because of that. Not because you and Vic and Melly aren’t amazing. She couldn’t see what she was leaving behind.”
“I know. I think I’m starting to know. But what does it say about me that I’m finding it so hard to forgive her?”
“That you were too young to fight back when she hurt you. That’s all it says.”
He smoothed his thumb over the back of her hand and drove on, not speaking again until they turned onto the block with his old house. Her family home stood next door to his with that big ol’ For Sale sign out front. Depressed market and all that. Someday perhaps it would sell, and she could mentally pack the rest of those memories away.
“Fuck,” Bryan said, swerving to the curb in front of his old place. “What’s he doing here now?”
Lost in her reverie, she blinked at the lights burning in the windows of Bryan’s family home. Then she took in the shiny vehicle in the driveway with rental car plates. “Is that—”
“Yes.” He clenched his jaw. “It’s my father.”
Chapter Eight
He turned off the truck, wishing he could drop Jill at her place before he had to do this. Talking to her about his dad was one thing, but Jesus, he didn’t want her to witness exactly how fucked up their relationship was.
“How long’s it been?” Jill asked, church-soft.
He knew exactly what she meant. “Since we’ve seen each other? Years. We exchange Christmas cards, and he’ll call on my birthday sometimes, or vice versa.” Even that contact was becoming rarer.
“Why don’t I go in and get the outfit?” She reached for the door handle. “He knows me. We’ll make nicey-nice, then you and I can go back to my apartment and make…well, not nicey-nice.”
Somehow she managed to make him smile in spite of it all. Such was the wonder of Jillian St. John. “Uniform, baby. Stroke my ego while you aren’t stroking anything else.”
She reached across the console and gave his cock a swift rub through his jeans, immediately waking it up to half-mast. Just what he needed to have while he talked to his dad. “I can get you started out here. I won’t be long.”
