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“Can’t always have what you want.”
“So, you want her, then?”
“Dad, just drop the charade. You never liked her… you were never shy to admit that. It’s over between us. Nothing more left to be said. We tried again, and it didn’t work. It’s just not meant to happen.”
He takes a swig of his scotch, the stench lingering in the air between us.
“Did I ever tell you the story about how your mother and I met?”
“No,” I mumble.
“I was quite a womanizer back in the day. I spent most of my late teens screwing everything in sight. When I went to college, I used the whole doctor thing to my advantage. Worked like a charm with the ladies.” He smiles as if remembering the time so fondly. “So, one day I met this girl, Cassandra. She tamed me. I studied hard, and she was everything the other girls weren’t, so I proposed, and she said yes. On the night of our engagement party, I finally met her family. I was freaking out over meeting her parents, so it never occurred to
me that it was her sister I should be worried about.”
Taking a step back, I tilt my head to the side. “Holy shit, are you talking about Aunt Cassie?”
“Yes. Her sister, your mother, was the most beautiful woman I had ever met in my life. The moment I saw her, I was in awe. Drove me crazy. She was shy but so unbelievably kind-hearted. I fell in love. We started seeing each other behind Cassie’s back, but one day we were caught, and all hell broke loose. Emily was disowned by her family and the whole town. It was hell.”
Unable to string a sentence together, I try to absorb this new information. My parents always seemed drama-free, and to think all along, they started a sordid affair just like me.
“But worth going to hell and back?” I question, raising my brows.
“Worth every second, but son, I didn’t want that for you or Charlie.” Letting out a heavy sigh, his stare falls to his feet. “I thought I was doing you a favor. I thought you’d get over it.”
“But I didn’t.”
“No…” He lowers his voice. “You didn’t.”
The revelation of his intentions left us with an awkward silence. I never truly understood why my parents meddled in my life and made decisions, which in hindsight, were mistakes. I understand now why my dad wants to protect me having been in a similar situation, but no one else can ever understand how much I loved Charlotte back then. And that, alone, should’ve been the very reason I fought everyone to keep her in my life.
But I didn’t. I was a coward, and nothing will ever change that.
Our momentary silence is short-lived as Rocky runs onto the balcony squealing like a woman. “She’s here, she’s here!”
With Rocky, it only means one thing—stripper.
We sit at the bar when suddenly we hear the crack of a whip. Holy fuck, what the hell? Elijah is waiting, holding his breath, worry plastered on his face. The crack of the whip the second time echoes throughout the room.
“My name is Madame Kiska,” she growls in a dominant tone.
Her thick Russian accent is somewhat sexy. Kiska sounds familiar, then I laugh to myself. Kiska means pussy in Russian. She’s Madame Pussy. Rocky sits wide-eyed and ready for whatever she will dish out, Elijah the complete opposite. She runs her finger along Elijah’s jaw, the latex making a slight sound. Cupping his chin, she squeezes it tight and whispers something in his face before slapping him.
I struggle to hold in my laughter, but her icy stare puts me in my place. Rocky sits there like he has ants in his pants. The music plays, and she does her act on each one of us. The alcohol keeps coming, and much to my amusement, even my dad participates. He laughs as she cracks her whip, and I can swear on my life she breaks out of character a few times and smiles at him. Elijah’s friends enjoy themselves—these guys probably never got laid. One of them keeps rubbing his crotch, no shit, his hard-on pointed out like an eyesore. I swear, a fucking bunch of geeks.
Me, well, I just miss her.
Nothing in this world, no other woman can compare to my girl.
Her lips, her scent, just her.
I close my eyes knowing I can’t go there, so I grab the closest bottle to me which happens to be vodka and take a swig. Motherfucking fuck. I let out a loose cough as it makes its way down.
With that feeling of being watched, I scan the room, and standing by the large glass doors is my father watching me intently. He shows no sign of emotion on his face. Taking a drink, he looks at his phone and grins as he types something. I walk over with my bottle of vodka, discarding the glass and calling it mine.
“What’s got you so happy?” I ask miserably.
“Just a text I got.”
