Page 45

Jack

Patricia Jones

I rub my eyes and let the frustration roll off me. This is a call I want to be on. The CIA will want me to be on this call. Exhaustion rolls off me in waves, as does frustration. I’ve been up since five. A nonstop day of back-to-back meetings.

This call won’t actually happen at nine.

Our India counterparts, like those from several other countries, have a different view on meeting start times.

When you’re in person, it’s less noticeable as there can be snacks and small talk.

When you’re waiting online, especially when it’s late at night or early in the morning, it is infuriating.

Reschedule for another day.

I think about Pahjeev. He won’t be pleased. He’s considering spending a considerable amount with us. In industry speak, this deal will move a lot of iron.

Tell him I have a prior family commitment.

Patricia Jones

Will do.

After I shut everything down, I close the door and check my watch. Six p.m. It feels like I’m working a half day. I promised myself I wouldn’t fall into the work trench again. Sophia needs me, and she is my highest priority. She is my reason.

I need to root out the corruption in our family company. And do what I can to keep her world safe. Especially since I failed so massively with her mother. But after Cassandra’s death, I stood at her grave and promised I would be there for Sophia, and that requires being present.

Sophia’s laughter floats down the hall, through the kitchen. I stop near the foyer, blinking to confirm what I see. There’s a young girl in the kitchen with Sophia. They are rolling out dough. Flour is everywhere, on the counter and the floor, and there’s a smudge on the tip of Sophia’s nose.

“Oh, hey, Dad,” Sophia says. Her friend turns, and I recognize her.

“Lauren, it’s good to see you.”

“You too, Mr. Sullivan.”

“Dad, Lauren and I are making homemade pizzas. You want some?”

“Um, sure.”

“It’ll probably be about thirty minutes—”

“Or more,” Lauren butts in. “We keep messing up.”

“I’m pretty sure Chef has balls of dough in the fridge.”

“Those are our back-up. We want to try this recipe we saw on TikTok. Oh, and Lauren’s going to stay over tonight. Is that okay?”

“Absolutely.” My chest lightens. Sophia acting like herself, with a friend, has the same effect of a dose of pure oxygen. I’ve been holding my breath, wanting her to return to normal, and it’s finally happening.

“Dad, we’ll call you when it’s ready.” And that’s my cue that my presence isn’t wanted. Another piece of normalcy. Thank god .

“Okay. You two have fun.”

I pause, just taking it in. Their heads bent, whispering. Their smiles. The familiar outfits of flip-flops, shorts and oversized sweatshirts are the same they’ve worn every summer since she moved in with me.

“Dad.” Sophia’s eyes bulge. She swooshes me with her hand, gesturing for me to go.

I obediently head to the stairs that will take me down and outside, in search of Ava.

When I find her, she is curled up on a lounge chair by the pool with a light throw over her legs and a phone in her hand.

“What’re you doing?” I ask as I approach her.

She’s got sunglasses on, but they are pushed up on her head, and they’ve captured the bulk of her bangs, effectively pulling them off her face. Her fading bruises aren’t quite as jarring in the evening sun, which is another good thing to see. She’s recovering too.

“Reading. You’re done with work early.”

“Yeah.” I gesture to the house. “Got kicked out so I came to find you.”

I sit down on the lounge chair closest to Ava and rest my arms on my legs. She lowers her sunglasses and sets her phone down. I haven’t seen her all day, and without a second thought, I lean forward and press my lips to hers, then return to my seat.

“Up there… that was pretty amazing to see.”

“It’s a good step forward.”

“Uncle Mark was right. You’re a miracle worker.”

“Not really.” She plays with one of the charms dangling on her wrist, rubbing her finger over it, back and forth.

“There’s no room for debate. You’ve been here less than a month, and… she’s back.”

“Jack.” Her tone is serious, and she sits up, letting her feet fall to the ground. “It’s good, yes, that she’s reached out to a friend.” She holds up her index finger. “One friend. But she’s still got a lot to work through.”

“Yes, but you did this.”

“No.” She shakes her head solemnly. “She did this. And she’s still got a lot more to work through. Trauma is tricky like that. When I go, she’s going to need to see a therapist. A real therapist.”

I don’t disagree with what she’s saying about Sophia needing a therapist, but what I get stuck on is our deadline. This coming weekend technically marks the end of our arrangement.

“I’ve been wanting to talk to you about that.”

“Jack, therapy will not hurt her. It will help her heal.”

I hold up my palm, stopping her. “I agree. That’s not…” I brush my fingers through my hair and glance up at the house. “I still want to see you. And not because we have a financial arrangement, but because I want to see you.”

I can’t imagine not seeing her. The need to have her in my life is visceral, and that need arose out of nowhere, but it’s there and it’s undeniable.

Her unpolished toes wriggle back and forth. She’s got silver rings on two small toes, and the silver glistens in the light. She’s not saying anything. If she doesn’t want to see me, if it was always just about the agreement, then now’s as good of a time as any to learn that. I raise my gaze.

She lifts her sunglasses onto her head and reaches for my hand. This could be a therapist’s way of breaking bad news.

“How would that work, exactly? I can’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“Jack. Come on. I have a business. People depend on that business.”

“You’ve been doing fine handling everything remotely.”

“Jack.” She says my name similarly to how Sophia says Dad. “I’d like to keep seeing you.”

Relief overwhelms me, and I reach for her, scooping her up and setting her on my lap. Her arm wraps around my shoulders. She’s sitting taller than me now, and I rest my head below her chin, just needing to be near her.

“So, it’s not just sex?”

I can’t blame her for thinking that. But it’s… “Ava, it’s not just sex. When you first walked into our house, I wanted you.”

“That’s just sex.”

“I’m drawn to you. But yes, seeing you with my daughter, opening up to you, having you in my life…

it’s not just sex.” I can count on one hand the people who are close to me, and in less than a month, she finagled her way onto the top of my list. Last night, I told her things I never shared with my wife.

“Sophia can see us.” She squirms to get up off my lap, and I clasp my arms around her.

“So?”

Her heartbeat thuds beneath my ear, and my grip around her tightens, breathing in her scent.

We’ll figure it out. I want her in my life, and with my schedule and Sophia at home, that would be a hell of a lot easier if she lives with me.

But I get I need to earn that. And maybe we both need to back it up and take things slowly to be sure of our relationship.

The last person I wanted around me all the time, in my bed at night and in the morning, was Cassandra.

In hindsight, I bulldozed her into doing what I wanted.

There were too many unsaid things between Cassandra and me, but intuitively I know many of our issues stemmed from me preventing Cassandra from growing on her own.

And perhaps I wasn’t mature enough to address our issues.

Ava’s fingers trace my jaw, and I lean into her touch, lifting her palm to my lips and pressing against her skin. Her touch does wonders for me. She soothes the jagged edges in my chest. As if I needed another sign that I’ve got it bad for her.

“What exactly did you tell Sophia about us?” There’s an edge to her question.

I release her hand and try to remember. I was more or less in a crazed state after the accident. Another car accident just hit… too close.

“I didn’t, really. She just knows. She’s a smart kid.”

“You didn’t talk to her?”

“No. It’s not her business.” I pause and take in those addictive eyes. “But if you want me to talk to her, I will.”

“She asked me if we were together, and I denied it. I didn’t know what to say. That’s not good. We need to be on the same page about what we are and what we tell her.”

I shrug. What does it matter? She’s not upset about it. She’s happy with her friend right now.

“We’re dating. Right?” I look to Ava for clarification. It’s not what I wanted when this started. But it’s what I want now, and it feels like what we’re doing. What we’re talking about doing.

“I’d like to date you. But Sophia deserves for us to discuss this with her.

To explain. Maybe not everything, but she deserves to be treated like the young adult she is.

I know you want to see her as a kid, but she’s transitioning.

And you help her do that by treating her with the respect she deserves. ”

“Okay. That makes sense. Maybe tomorrow, after Lauren leaves, we can talk to her? Together?” I stretch and place my lips on her lower jaw.

This feels like our first relationship discussion. And I like it. We’re not yelling. It feels mature. Maybe that’s something I didn’t have in my first marriage either.

Ava squirms, situating herself so she can look at me directly. I brace. Maybe my perception is off.

“I spoke to Patrick earlier today.”

“How’s he doing?”

“He’s…” She tilts her head, and her eyebrows angle over her nose, like she’s thinking. “Your uncle has cancer. Patrick’s worried.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. He’s doing chemo at home.” She exhales, and she does it in a way that exudes frustration. “In Houston.”

“Where else would he be?”

“Los Angeles. With Patrick.” She says it like it’s obvious.

My uncle has never opened up to me about his sexuality.

When Arrow confirmed what I suppose I’d always suspected, I chose to go along pretending.

If he wants to keep that part of his life private, that’s his business.

He’s so fixated on what others think that I doubt I could change his mind. But he shouldn’t be alone.

My brother lives near Houston, but he doesn’t see Mark often. He’s also in the throes of a nasty divorce, and between his notorious son and the explosion of his marriage, he’s overwhelmed.

“I’ll go visit him.”

“You will?” There’s hope in her tone, a sincere caring that has me pulling her back against me.

“Yeah. I will. The company jet can take me out tomorrow.” I’ll surprise him. Take him off guard and see how much he’s willing to share. “He should know he’s not alone.”

Her phone rings, and Patrick’s face shines in the circle on the screen. She gets off my lap, and I move to head inside.

“I’ll go check on the girls. See if they need any help. Make sure nothing’s burning.”

She smiles, letting me know she heard me while she talks with Patrick, and I head inside, giving a quick nod to one of the security men traversing the perimeter of the yard.

I enter the house through the basement level and approach the bar, ready to pour myself a glass of bourbon.

But I pause, second-guessing myself. Should I be drinking in front of Ava?

It hasn’t seemed to cause her any problems, but is it inconsiderate?

I should probably have another conversation with her about it.

“Dad.” Sophia’s voice surprises me, and my gaze meets her in the mirror over the bar.

“Sophia, what’s wrong?” Her cheeks are flushed, and her eyes are glossy. “Is Lauren–”

“You are with Ava.” Her expression is difficult to read.

“Well, yes, you know that.”

“No, Dad, I didn’t know that. I suspected it, and I asked you.”

“Sophia…” I hold my hands out, trying to think through my conversations with her. “You acted like you knew.”

“Lauren asked me if something was going on with you two, and I told her no. I believed you. I believed Ava.”

She lets out a loud sigh mixed with anger and disappointment. Just like her mother. An overwhelming wave of exhaustion pours over me.

She charges up the stairs, and the way she does it, hands balled in fists, energy pumping through each thigh, is so much like Cassandra that it takes me seconds to gather myself.

“Wait, Sophia.”

“No, Dad. Just…” She pauses halfway up the flight of stairs. “I’d like to eat alone with Lauren tonight. Just…I can’t believe you.”

I launch onto the stairs, rushing to catch up to her.

“Dad.” She pounds up the stairs. “Stay.”

Her flip-flops clap against the marble, the sound growing fainter as she moves farther away. Jesus, how did I screw this one up?