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She thrust her door open and stumbled to get out. I got unbuckled and hurried around to help her.
“Don’t touch me!” she shouted, flailing her arms, which was causing her drunk ass to lose balance. I wrapped an arm around her shoulder, even though she fought me on it.
We’d always been like this, even when we were together.
We were both strong.
Both stubborn.
But always ended up wrapped around one another at the end of the day.
“Stop being a stubborn ass. I’m just trying to keep you from falling. You’re drunk, and getting hurt right now is not going to help things.”
She stopped fighting me, but I could see her chest rising and falling rapidly when I glanced over at her. Tears were coming down her pretty face, which caused a sharp pain to hit me in the chest. I could count on one hand the times that I’d seen her cry in all the years I’d known her.
Once we were standing in front of her door, she jerked away from me and held her chin high. “I’m fine. I haven’t needed your help for a very long time.”
She pushed the door open, and I fought the urge to scold her for leaving it unlocked. It was a small town, but that didn’t mean she shouldn’t be careful.
“I’m more than aware that you don’t need me. But I’m not the enemy here.” My gaze locked with hers. I wasn’t ready to walk away from her yet.
“Sure. You’re not the enemy. Congratulations. You’re just the guy that ruined me.” She slammed the door in my face, and I stood there for a moment before shouting back at her.
“Lock the goddamn door!” I hissed.
She cursed from the other side, and I waited until I heard the lock turn before I walked back toward my truck.
I wondered if this would be the last time that I’d see her again for another couple years.
My chest tightened again.
Just like it did all those years ago.
three
Presley
My head poundedas the nurse went over all the medications with me that my father would be taking. He listened as well, but he appeared irritated that we were even here. Of course, there were going to be two nurses staying at the house around the clock. My dad didn’t want me to be his caretaker, but he was happy that I was home. He preferred to growl at the people that he hired, not his only child.
He and I had always been close. My mother was a cold woman, while my father had always offered a lot more warmth. He’d been the one cheering me on at my horse competitions until she’d finally gotten on board when I started having success as a horse jumper. They’d been equally proud of my scholastic accolades, but I knew that my mother had never gotten over the fact that I hadn’t enjoyed pageants the way that she had. She’d won the Miss Massachusetts pageant and went on to graduate at the top of her class from Harvard Business School, where she’d met my father while he was in law school. So even with all that I’d accomplished, I’d been a huge disappointment to her. Attending Harvard Law School and marrying a wealthy socialite had earned me a few points on the Barbie Duncan approval scale, but it hadn’t lasted long. She’d always hated that I loved horses, that I loved to paint and be creative, but most of all, that I wasn’t polished and put together like she was.
I rubbed my temples, trying to will away the dull pain that had been there for the last few hours. I’d woken up on the couch still wearing last night’s clothes, and it was a quick reminder why me and alcohol didn’t mix well. I hated feeling this way. I’d taken a long shower and tried to block out the conversation I’d had with Cage.
I hadn’t seen him in years, and then the first time I saw him, I acted like a sloppy, bitter drunk. I remembered blaming him for my shitty life and possibly slamming the door in his face. It was mortifying. I’d yet again reached another low.
But I was here to help my father, so I’d forced myself to get up and go to the hospital early this morning to be there for his discharge.
My mother had been busy packing for her trip to Barbados, not a care in the world. She came around the corner wearing a baby blue suit and coat that looked like something the first lady would wear and probably cost more than most people’s monthly salary. Her hair was slicked back in a neat chignon, and she wore her black Chanel sunglasses.
In the house.
Barbie Duncan was a bougie bitch, and she made no attempt to hide it. She was intelligent and could outwit just about anyone. She was the master at winning arguments, even with my father, who was a brilliant lawyer in his own right.
My mother never backed down and never admitted to being wrong.
I’d never seen her cry or show emotion either way—happy or sad. She was as even as you got. In control at all times.
It was her superpower.
