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“Her sleep schedule’s all fucked up, might not be anytime soon. Will you still be home when she wakes up?”
I nod, moving the egg skillet to the sink and rinsing it. “I took a sick day. Jet’s at school and you have classes today. I can’t leave her here all by herself.”
He goes to the fridge and grabs the orange juice. “I take it last night wasn’t a good night.”
I sigh, not wanting to relive any part of last night. “No, it sure wasn’t.”
He grabs a glass out of the cupboard and glances over at me. “You didn’t fuck her, did you?”
I wouldn’t appreciate him asking about my sex life if hehadn’tfucked the woman in question, but I damn sure don’t appreciate it now.
Taking my silence as an answer, he shakes his head, pouring juice into his glass. “You havegotto get out of your own way, old man.”
“I am not a fucking old man.”
“You’re acting like one. Clinging to outdated fucking bullshit ideas that don’t work anymore—if they ever did in the first place.” He puts the juice carton back in the fridge and walks to the counter. “Why are you not fucking this gorgeous, sexy girl who was literallybeggingfor your cock the other night? I don’t understand.”
This is the last thing I want to talk about with him, but on the heels of what he just said, I stop holding back. “I wouldn’t expect you to, Jonathan. You fucked her when she didn’t evenwantyou to.”
He shrugs, taking a bite of the sandwich I just made him. “That’s what she needed. Not my place to judge.”
“I’m not talking about that fucking night. In the shower the next morning. She didn’t want it, and she was too afraid to tell you.”
His brow furrows briefly, but he’s not too bothered by the information. “That may be true. It’s an imperfect science when you’re playing with consent without a safe word, but see? I did something she didn’t even want me to do, and she’s fine. She knew she asked for it. Maybe it didn’t go exactly the way she wanted, but she didn’t fall apart. I didn’t devastate her. I didn’t even do as much damage asyou’vedone, and I did what you’re so afraid of doing.”
“So, you’re fine with forcing yourself on her when she’s fucking recovering from actually being raped?”
“If that’s what she needs, abso-fucking-lutely. This is why she came to me instead of you. I’m not in love with her. I don’t need to be her hero. If she wants me to grab her by the throat and slam her up against the wall—”
“Do not say another fucking word,” I say carefully.
Jonathan shrugs, taking another bite of his sandwich. “Keep treating her like you’ll break her, and you’re gonna fucking lose her. I’m calling it now.”
Visualizing them together that night is something I’ve tried hard not to do. I left my own house and went to spend the night in a hotel because I couldn’t lie there listening for noises down the hall.
On the couch, it was different. Not something I would have ever initiated myself, but once I saw how Kennedy responded, I stopped thinking about all the reasons I didn’t want any part of it and just enjoyed playing with her.
But I do not want to think about anyone else’s hands on her that night, least of all my son’s when he was doing things to her I couldn’t bring myself to do. The mere fucking thought makes me want to hit him.
I turn the faucet off and roll out my shoulders subtly, trying to fend off the aggression and remember he’s my son, not a fucking rival.
“Look,” he says, his tone a little calmer than a moment ago when he was being a fucking asshole. “I get that this is hard for you. You’re a protector at your core. A provider. A fucking family man. And I’m sure she loves that because her attraction to you in the first place—and what I’ve seen of her mother—probably indicates she has a fuckload of daddy issues. But right now, she doesn’t need you to protect her from damage. The damage has been done. There’s no going back from that. All you can do is go forward, and that means giving her what she needs right now so she can move on. Stop looking at it as some fucked up, mean thing you’re doing to her. It’s not wrong if it’s what she wants. I know you would never truly force yourself on her, and I get that you might be afraid of making a wrong step and inadvertently doing more harm than good because of her mental state right now, but youwon’t. You can’t. That girl fucking adores you. She’d let you do anything you want to her.”
“That’s exactly it. You’re right, she would, but I don’twantto hurt her. She wants sex, but our dynamic in the bedroom—” I stop short and shake my head. “I am terrified of hurting her, and I have no idea how to make sure I don’t.”
“I get that, and youcoulddo something she doesn’t want, just like I did. But if you do, you can fix it. She doesn’t love me, and I didn’t even provide her with aftercare—which I would have, if I’d known she didn’t want it—and she’s still fine because she chose me, shechoseto be in that situation with me. You’re not him, that’s the point. She picked you. You would never hurt her deliberately, and she knows that. If you hurt her by accident, you can take care of her—kiss it and make it better, and she will recover like it’s a skinned knee.Nothingyou could do to her will hurt her like he has, I promise you that. But you’ve gotta let her get her feet back under her. You have to trust her to know her own limits and stop trying to impose them for her. Maybe that’s how you guys play in the bedroom when she’s in a healthy headspace, but she’s not right now, and she needs to find her own way back. You are not helping her right now, you’re infantilizing her. Whether you mean to or not, you are telling her you do not trust her to make her own decisions. Kennedy doesn’t need you to tell her what she needs right now. She’ll tell you what she needs, you go out and fucking get it for her.”
I shake my head. “Why do you know all of this?”
He cracks a smile. “Honestly? I’ve dated more girls than you. You met Mom and skipped out on most of the high school and all of the college dating scenes. I… did not miss out.”
I roll my eyes, but I can’t bite back a small smile.
“Honestly, the simple reason I’m navigating this bumpy fucking road better than you is I’m more open-minded in my approach,” he tells me. “You’re set in your ways; I’ll try different things and see what works best. I’ll tear her down and rebuild her if that’s what she wants. It’s not my place to question whether it’s the right thing for her; it’s her project, I’m just the company she’s hiring to do the work. And I would be happy to do it for her. I wish I could because it’s obviously easier for me, but she doesn’t want to give me her business, she wants to give it to you. I can give her what she needs, but I can’t be what she wants. We might bear a strong fucking resemblance, but I can’tbeyou.”
Hearing that straight from his mouth does a lot to ease the sting of seeing those fucking dishes in the sink.
We all know she only went to him that night because I shut her down, but it’s uncomfortable that he’s so much better at navigating what she needs right now. Typically, that’sourdynamic.I’mthe one who gives her what she needs, and she’s never had a problem with me deciding these things for her.
