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I smirk, knowing Callum left that kiss stain. I couldn’t find it in myself to care enough to wipe it off. Ignoring him, I continue to cut the roast that was prepared for tonight’s meal. It’s good, but I had better things in my mouth last night, something I wish I was eating instead of this.
Derek, my stepdad, clears his throat, arrogant eyes looking to me. “Lincoln, when are you going to give up this stupid notion of being a private school teacher and come actually work for the fortune you have?”
When you die, old man.“Not sure.” I stuff a steamed carrot in my mouth, chewing slowly.
“Your father would be so disappointed,” he goes on.
My fork clatters to the table. My mother takes a big sip of her wine, and my stepbrother curses lowly under his breath. “Keep my father out of your mouth. We have no clue what he would have wanted, do we? No.” I shake my head.Because you fucking killed him.
“Come on, boys.” My mother’s sweet voice makes me look to her. “Let’s try to have a nice meal.”
I scoff, while Derek throws his drink back, a sinister twinkle in his eye as if he read my thought. “Sure, Mom. Just tell your husband not to talk to me.”
The rest of dinner is uneventful, everyone but me talking. I end up staying late due to my mother’s guilt trips. When I arrive home, Callum is passed out, an English book laid open over her chest. I sigh, stripping out of my clothes and pulling on my workout gear. Choosing an alternative to work my frustration out on instead of the sleeping vixen in my bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY
Journal entry: I can’t pretend it doesn’t hurt anymore.
It’s weird.To know you belong to someone, but you don’t feel the bond that should connect you. Almost as if you can recognize they’re family, like a far-off relative you know very little about. It stings, the empty spot in my chest that longs for this connection, this bond with my father. His scent isn’t comforting like it should be. It should represent a safe haven, a symbol of protection.
I wonder when it started. This sting in my chest. Was it the day I was born? When he didn’t hold me and whisper what a beautiful baby I was. Was it when I was little, not understanding why I couldn’t hug him? When I sat on the front steps and watched him drive away without a backward glance. Wishing on all the stars and birthday candles for one simple hug, an acknowledgement. When I curled up in his jacket that he left, pretending it was him putting me to sleep, lying when my mom asked me if I’d seen it. It still hangs in the back of my closet, collecting dust with the hope of a relationship. Stale like the tears that long ago dried on my cheeks. Maybe it was the day I saw Jennifer’s dad lift her in the air, spinning her in a circle. Kissing her cheek and gazing upon her as if she was his world.
I don’t remember the exact occasion it started to sting, maybe it built over time. Maybe it’s always been there. I was a casualty in his and Mom’s affair. They left me in broken pieces, expecting me to glue myself back together. Never asking if I needed help.
“Callum.”
My eyes snap up from my plate, looking into a mirror image of my own. “Yes, Richard.” His hair has grayed over the years. Frown lines etching the corners of his mouth.
His looks to his hands that rest on the table, grief flicking briefly in his eyes as he looks back up. “I think I messed up.”
I smile at him sadly. “How so?”
“With you, I wasn’t fair. I should have never demanded you to call me Richard or keep your distance. I’m s—”
I cut him off, “I think it’s a little late to feel guilty for your actions, don’t you?” I set my fork down, staring into his blue pools.
He shakes his head. “It’s never too late to make things right.”
“The damage is already done. There’s no coming back from where I’ve been.”
His eyes shift between mine, brow furrowing. “And where is that, Callum?”
I break eye contact, looking to the bland white ceiling. “It doesn’t matter, I can’t change it.”
He sighs, looking to my mother for help. Her eyes narrow on him. “I… I’m taking the boys on vacation to Seattle.”The boys.“And your mother has agreed to come along, we want you to join us.”
I take a big sip of my water from the shinning crystal wine glass. “No, thank you.”
He scratches his neck. “I—”
“Do you think I would enjoy seeing your family—the children you found worthy—having a real relationship with their father? No.” I shake my head. “I wouldn’t. And, what? You and Mom are a real couple now?”
Mom finally speaks, “Honey, we want to try to be a real family.”
I laugh, running my hands through my hair before pushing away from the table. “You guys have fun with that.”
I walk up the stairs slowly, as if I’m not bothered, but all I want to do is run. Unshed tears collect in the corners of my eyes, that sting in my chest intensifying. All I want is to hug him and say yes, but how can I? Instead, I pull the old wool jacket out of the closet, curling it around my body and falling into my bed, burrowing under the covers.
