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He presses a hand to his forehead. “How much did you hear?”
“Not much. Why are you talking to Micah?”
“He called the school. I guess he didn’t realize I was the principal, but Vice Principal Finch called me. I was furious. I am furious.” He growls as he slams his hand down on the island in the middle of our modern kitchen. “You don’t have to talk to him. You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to. And if youdowant to, you can make him wait. He’s made you wait all this time.” He grumbles that last part and I hear the resentment in his voice.
He wanted to talk to me that desperately? Why now?“I…I don’t know.”
“That’s okay too. I don’t want him bullying you into talking to him. This needs to be on your terms. He’s said what he needed to say; he can wait for you to respond. Him calling the school and sniffing around is just showing how selfish he’s always been.” He lets out a sigh. “It’s why I was such a jerk this morning. I’d heard he called and I was worried he’d call again while you were there or worse show up. I just don’t trust him, Stassi, I’m sorry because I know he’s your father but—”
I’d seen this scenario play out before in books and TV shows and movies when a child finds out they’re adopted and feels this strong need to meet their birth parents. The adopted parents sometimes feel as if they’re not needed or that the child will somehow forget everything they’ve done for them. I can hear it in his voice and a part of me is glad that he wasn’t angry this morning because of anything I’d done.
“I wouldn’t consider him my father, Dominic.” I drop my purse to the table and slide into one of the chairs. “I mean biologically, obviously. But there’s so much more to being a father than conception. I don’t want you to think I don’t appreciate you or the fact that you stepped into that role when no one else wanted to.”
He moves through the kitchen. “Stassi, this isn’t about me.”
“No, but it’s about us. I still need you in my life, Dominic. I get that it’s weird without my mom here holding us together, but…”
“I already told you I would never turn my back on you.”
I nod at his words, happy that he’s spoken the affirmation I need to hear again. “I’m not ready to talk to Micah. I don’t really know what he can say that he hasn’t already and I’m not ready to start the process of getting to know him while I’m dealing with…” I let out a breath as I nervously twist my ponytail around my finger. “Is it that bad that I can’t talk about it? That the only time I’ve cried was because of Micah’s ambush at the funeral? What’s wrong with me?”
Warm hands wrap around mine and slowly pull my hands out of my hair to hold them between his as he drops to his knees in front of me. “There is nothing wrong with you, Stassi. I am sorry that I’ve been pushing you to see someone. Is that where this is coming from?”
“I don’t want to internalize my feelings but I don’t want to see a shrink…” I whisper, repeating his words back to him.
Shock crosses my face when he raises my hands to his lips and brushes them over both of my hands gently. “Look at me.”
I pull my gaze away from where our hands are joined and meet sad blue eyes that are highlighted by the water in them. “I don’t know what the right answer is here. I don’t know what you’re feeling in your heart, so I can’t tell you how to grieve. But I can assure you, that it happens differently for everyone andnothingis wrong with you.”
“A part of me is angry that she didn’t even give me the option to meet Micah. She didn’t tell me he wanted to meet me. I can understand if it wasn’t safe,ifthat story is even legitimate, but when I was fifteen and he reached out? Why not then?”
“I don’t know, Stass. I didn’t know anything about that, I swear to you. I’m sure she believed she was protecting you. You know she only did anything with your best interest in mind.”
“It feels wrong to be mad at her…I feel guilty. But I don’t know how else to process it.”How can I be mad at her? And what good is it to be mad at someone that can’t respond to my anger?
“Anger is easier than grief. A part of you may be angry at her for dying. That’s normal also. I feel that, often.”
“Really?”
He lets out a deep sigh and leans closer. I smell his rich oak and amber cologne that is inherently sexy. “When my first wife died, I spent so long being angry. At her. At myself. At the world. I hated her for leaving me and I hated myself for feeling that way. It was a vicious cycle, Stassi. With your mom, unfortunately, I’ve learned how to cope, having gone through this once before. I let the stages of grief hit me in their own time and move through them as best I can. I don’t try to change what my heart is saying. I don’t try to convince myself that I’m not hurting or angry or upset. I think you’re trying to deal with all of this in a way youthinkis right.”
I lower my head, shameful for feeling the way I do when soft fingers find my cheek. His knuckles trail down my face and the same hand moves my hair behind my ear. Tingles are left in its wake and instinctively I bite my bottom lip. When I look up his eyes are soft and I see the smile in them as they trace my features. “I’m here for you, however you need me, Stassi.” His voice is barely above a whisper and a part of me,a very depraved partwonders if he’s speaking quietly on purpose. As if he’s worried someone will hear him and take his words out of context. How else would I need him except for in a father figure type way?Is he offering something else?
Stop it, Stassi. We’ve talked about this.
I swallow hard, pushing the wicked thoughts back into that box labeledDaddy issues.It isn’t often that the carnal thoughts about my stepfather float through my mind, but every once in a while they spring up, setting my insides on fire and the space between my legs slick with desire. I’ve forced those thoughts out of my head and replaced them with what I believed to be hate. I told myself that I don’t like my stepfather. That he is overbearing and irritating, but really, he’s just overprotective and the only reason he irritates me is because I can’t have him.
“You swear you’ll be safe and call me if you need me to come earlier?” Dominic says as I go to open the car door after he pulls into Carter’s driveway. It’s nearing nine p.m. and I was supposed to be at his house an hour ago to helpset up, also known as makeout in his room before the rest of our friends arrived. I wasn’t into the idea so I made up some shit about a headache which would also serve to get me out early. This is why I told Dominic the truth instead of saying I’d be at Kate’s which would allow me to be out for the whole night. I’m not in the mood to go to some party where I’ll be thwarting the attempts of both Carter and Kate to get him into my pants all night. But I’d agreed to go and I’m nothing if not a woman of my word, so I convinced Dominic that it will be a lowkey party and I let him drive me there and pick me up so that he won’t be worried.
“I swear, I’ll be fine. I go to parties all the time.”
The party looks far from lowkey and there’s skepticism in Dominic’s eyes, letting me know he’s not buying what I sold him. “Stass…” He looks at me and surprisingly down my legs to my feet. I’m not dressed in any way scandalous; just a black tank dress that falls to just above my knees under a burgundy leather jacket with sandals instead of my usual Vans. I straightened my hair, something I haven’t done in a while, and pulled the front of my hair up in a messy bun, while the rest falls around my shoulders. His eyes dart away from me to face front. “Just be careful, okay? You know I worry about you. I’m not completely oblivious as to what happens at these parties. You’ve just always been smart enough not to get wrapped up in that…at least I think.”
“I know, Dominic, and I appreciate that you always look out for me.” And much to my own surprise, I mean that. Usually, I’d be sarcastic or combative, but for the first time, I’m genuinely glad that I have someone like Dominic in my corner. I lean across the console and press my lips to his cheek on impulse. I’m going for just an innocent display of affection but it feels like anything but the second my lips touched his cheek. They tingle as my skin brushes against the stubble sitting along his hard jawline. His skin smells like he’d just washed his face before we left and the clean scent makes my insides practically melt. A part of me wants to taste that same skin, let my tongue dart out and feel the sharp bristles of his beard.
Shit.
I pull back quickly as if I’ve been burned, and the fiery redness in his cheeks makes me wonder if maybe I had. He’s still facing the road, and I’m not sure what it means that he won’t look at me, but I’m sure it’s all in my head. “Thank you,” I manage to get out, despite my racing heart and a slight shortness of breath. Thankfully, he doesn’t seem to notice because he nods once without another word.
