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Fredrick
I stand by the window, my gaze scanning the night sky. The stars twinkle like tiny diamonds, but I can't appreciate their beauty tonight. Instead, my mind is consumed with my father's letter.
“Are you okay?”
Lila's soft voice interrupts my painful thoughts. I turn to face her, taking in her delicate expression and worried eyes. She's so beautiful, but I’m starting to think the universe won’t ever let us be together for all of the reasons.
“Did you read it?” I ask, holding up the letter.
Her gaze ticks to the letter, then back to my face as she gives a tiny nod. “I'm sorry, I didn't mean to cause trouble.”
“It's not your fault,” I say, stepping closer to her, needing to inhale her scent and feel her warmth. “My father was always playing games, even in death.”
“Games?” Her brow furrows.
I wave the letter, wondering why she’s confused.
“Why would he do something like that to you?” she asks in a small voice.
“One last fuck you before he died, I guess?” I say, reaching out to take her hand and pull her close. “I don't know, but I do know one thing. I can't let you go.”
“Even if it means complications?” Lila asks, peeking up at me.
“Even if,” I say with a nod, before leaning down and kissing her.
Her lips move against mine, and her body responds. I deepen the kiss, needing more, but she pulls back.
“I want you, Lila,” I say into the curve of her neck and shoulder, struggling to catch my breath. “But I want more than just chemistry and attraction. I want it all. I want you.”
“Me, too,” she whispers, her arms wrapping around my neck.
Our lips meet again, and my hands explore her curves, her perfection. The quiet room seems overly loud as our breathing and sound of pleasure rise.
In this moment, nothing else matters. Not my father's games, not the complications. All that matters is Lila.
I know that I'm falling for her, and I don't want to let go.
My phone vibrates, yanking me out of the dream before things get too heated. Blinking my blurry eyes and rubbing the grit out of them, I wonder when I fell asleep. My back aches from sleeping in a curved position on the couch, and I pick my phone up from the floor.
Lila is calling again.
I decline the call, then roll onto my back, staring up at the ceiling and thinking about her as I rest my elbow across my forehead.
My phone rings again, and I let out a sigh before answering. It’s time to face the reality and stop running from the truth.
It's my mother, and I debate whether or not to answer.
“Hello?” I say, trying to keep an even tone.
“Fredrick?” It’s my mother’s voice on the other end of the line, and I pull the phone away to glance at the screen only to find that she had called on the heels of Lila’s last call.
“I'm sorry.” Her words fill the space between the phone and my ear, and I bring the device back to my face. “I didn't know until after his death.”
“Know what?” I ask, even though I already have a feeling she knows the whole truth.
“About your father's... letter.” She can’t even seem to bring herself to confront the truth. “I had no idea he was going to do something like this.”
I believe her for the first time in our lives. “Neither did I,” I say, my jaw clenching. “What do we do now?”
