Page 80 of Long Story Short

It was one night.

One morning together.

Except it doesn’t feel like just that. It’s not even close.

My phone buzzes in my pocket, and I pull it out and swipe to answer without even thinking about checking to see who it’s from.

“Hello,” I answer, pulling the phone from my ear to notice it’s from a blocked caller anyway.

There’s silence.

Then a throat clears. A sound I’d recognize anywhere. “You really going to make me chase you down?” My father’s voice is rough. It’s worn—tired—in a way it never used to be.

I lean back against the counter, my jaw tightening as I curse myself for answering without checking.

“I’ve been busy,” I clip.

“You’re my son. You should never be too busy to talk to me.”

I don’t take his bait, even though it’s hard not to.

“What do you want?” I ask, not bothering to hide the venom in my voice. I used to respect him. Hell, I looked up to him. But now, I wonder what I ever saw in the man who only wants to act like a father when it’s convenient for him.

“I need money. My money.”

At least he’s straight to the point with what he wants. He’s never asked me for money before, but then again, after I took over for him at the company, the only conversations we had were him saying horrible, vile things to me. He blamed me for everything, but never once did he ask for any money.

This is new.

My grip tightens slightly around my phone. “For what?” I ask.

“That’s not your concern,” he barks.

“It is if you’re asking me for it.”

He doesn’t bother to hide his scoff, the sound laced with irritation. “Don’t start acting like you’re above me,” he spits. “You built everything you have off what I started. Everything you have is because of me.”

I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “I didn’t build anything off what you started,” I respond, keeping my voice even. “I—and Winnie and Archer—just fixed what you were about to lose.”

There’s silence.

Then he lets out a low, humorless laugh that sends shivers down my spine. “Still telling yourself that?”

I swallow, trying not to let his words get to me. I’ve worked hard at realizing that I busted my ass for everything I have now. It isn’t because of him. It was despite him. “It’s the truth,” I respond, doing everything to keep my voice strong despite the doubt creeping into my mind.

“No,” he responds with another laugh. “It’s just what you need it to be to live with yourself after what you did.”

I begin to pace around the counter, hating the thoughts that now flood my mind. They’re ones I’ve done everything I can to get rid of in the time since everything went down with him. One simple call from him, and they all come flooding back.

“How much?” I finally ask, hating that I’m even humoring him.

There’s a pause, like he wasn’t expecting me to ask.

“Enough,” he responds immediately.

I continue to pace and shake my head. “That’s not a number.”

“Five hundred.”