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“Gone?”
“Yep. Totally checked out. My grandmother says it’s because he loved my mother so much he was lost without her. He threw himself into his work. It was like I wasn’t even there.”
His frown deepened into a scowl and if I was misreading the emotion rolling off of him, disgust.
“You lost your mother,” he seethed.
The venom in his tone took me by surprise.
“Yes,” I whispered.
“And he let you swing while he wallowed.”
No one other than my grandparents ever understood my issues with my father. To the medical community he was a saint. His friends and colleagues sang his praises. Not a single one of them saw me—the daughter he’d abandoned to pursue his career. Growing up, my friends thought it was great my dad often left me alone. To them it was a dream come true, no parental supervision. I could essentially do whatever I wanted. None of them understood how lucky they were to have parents who set boundaries and gave a shit about them.
“Fuck, Atlee.” Those strong fingers flexed. “I’m so sorry.”
“It is what it is.”
“No, princess, it’s not. It’s fucked.”
He wasn’t wrong about that.
“You’re right. But it doesn’t change anything. He is who he is. And I only have to deal with him one day a week for about ten minutes then he rings off and I go about my day.”
“But not before he gives you shit,” he surmised.
I shrugged.
“He wanted me to be a doctor like him. Anything less is a disappointment.”
Wilson’s blue eyes blazed.
Thankfully Jack came into the living room. He was dressed like Wilson, only his sleep pants were an army green.
“Afternoon,” Jack rumbled. “Cat texted she’s on her way to the track with Martin, and Rhode called, said he texted you but hasn’t heard back.”
“You think maybe you can put some clothes on,” Wilson grunted.
Jack’s black eyes lifted from the bowl of cereal he’d poured, darted from Wilson to me, and he smiled.
He was completely unfazed by Wilson’s tone or obvious demand.
Brave.
Though Jack looked like he could handle himself in a tussle. Whereas Wilson was bulky muscle with some definition in his abs, Jack was lean and cut. I glanced at Jack’s shoulders and biceps then to Wilson beside me. Wilson was broader, more muscular through his shoulders. They seemed to be matched perfectly in the arms.
“Enjoying yourself, princess?”
“Um…”
Apparently, Wilson didn’t find me amusing.
“We’ll be out in a minute. Use that time to get a shirt.”
I found myself being directed to the bedroom.
Normally, a man directing me anywhere—but especially with his hand cupped around the back of my neck—would earn him at the very least a punch to the gut. But not Wilson. I found his display of over-the-top behavior a turn-on.
