Page 59 of His Trick

I wanted to tell her, if for nothing else but to get this shit off my chest. I tried to tell her about the flashbacks of that night.

The recurring hell I endured, reliving the worst birthday of my lifetime nine years ago. My piece of shit father had nearly been locked up for ten years now, but I still had to remind myself every day, for better or for worse, he wasn’t coming back.

Instead of saying any of that, I propped my head on my arm and let my jaw work around nothing. “School’s got me fucked in the head, Baby Girl. Finals. Professor’s a dick. Sorry, I’ve been quiet…I just. I have a lot on my mind.”

She narrowed her eyes. “You always say that when something else is actually being a pain in the ass.”

Oh, darling, if you only knew…

“Look, you can lie, Shy, but don’t make me pretend I don’t notice, because I’m not stupid, and I love you. I know you. I also know what’s wrong, even if you choose not to talk about it. Whatever you need, I am here, okay?”

She reached out, thumb rubbing the inside of my wrist like she was checking for a pulse. Her hand was warm, and I noticed the emptiness of her ring finger.

I needed to get my fucking life in order.

Starting by reminding myself I was a straight man, and to nut up and marry this woman. If I had any chance to be better and hold onto the light I had inside me, I needed Xanthy.

But could I really have Carrington as my brother-in-law?

I let out a breath that tasted like iron and so many fucking mistakes. “I’m tired,” I said. “That’s it. I don’t know what you’re on about, Xanthy. I’m sorry.”

She laughed without humor.

“Always tired. Do you know how tired I am? Tired of ghost conversations, robotic sex, and fucking tired of being second to whatever is up your ass. I need something real, Shy. Will you?—”

She stopped, then started again, softer. “Will you be my plus-one for my friend’s wedding coming up? She’s pissed I don’t have a date, and she’d make it the exact kind of perfect day you’d hate. We can get a nice hotel and fuck in the jacuzzi after. I will even bring my toy.”

“A wedding? You want me there, why?”

Why was the thought of going through the motions of sex with Xanthy not more enticing than water running over my dick alone in the shower?

A fucking wedding.

The words landed like a pebble in my chest and rolled, making a small, albeit clean, little ripple. Weddings were tidy bullshit mediocrity. Shelves stacked in neat rows, everything labeled, guests smiling like paid ornaments, and two people at the front who probably didn’t give a flying fuck about the other.

Weddings reminded me of prison. I had never been to visit my father, but I had enough pals from the orphanage who were dumb and got themselves caught with drugs or girls. I visited my buddy Dale a few times, and yeah.

The inmates weren’t in expensive dresses. They starved themselves to fit in, but it was all the same. People sitting aroundwaiting for the big finale so they could fucking leave. For some inmates, that was death. For others, it was appeals and release.

Release…

My stomach churned at the thought of my father ever being released.

He couldn’t be, could he?

“Look, can we just talk about it?” Xanthy said suddenly. “Your dad. It’s your birthday, Baby, and the day he tried to…”

Erase me.

She stalled, looking for the right answer, and I sighed. “Carve me into ribbons? Dump enough battery acid on my body that my skin started to erode? Or how about how he waited for a disease to take over like the bitch he wanted me to?—”

I stopped myself, feeling my breath saw in and out of my mouth.

Xanthy had tears in her blue eyes, and she tried to smile, and for a second, the wall between us softened.

“He can’t hurt you now. I am here. I will claw his eyes out. Don’t test my manicure, okay. I love you, Shiloh. You aren’t your stupid father. You are good, and the brightest light I have ever seen. And yes, my stupid, gorgeous man. You. If you want to. I want you there. Pretty please with butt plugs on top?”

It should have been simple. I could have said yes and meant it, and filed the memory in an easy, safe place. But nothing felt fucking safe, not right now. I needed to see him. I needed to go to that fucking prison and see for myself that he was rotting away and could never leave. I needed to know that my life was capable of being the robotic bullshit cushion I wanted to believe in.