Passion's Crossfire

Chapter 53

Adam

I lean back on the plush couch, pinching my eyes closed with my fingers as if trying to erase the stress that has built up. Opening my eyes, I fix my gaze on my father, who sits across from me in the living room. "Why are you still with her again?" I exhale, frustration evident in my voice.

My father's eyes flicker away, his gaze fixated on nothing in particular, his shoulders slumping. "I, uh... She... she wasn't always like that, son," he admits, a pained expression etched on his face.

I know my father loves her deeply, but at times, I can't fathom why he chooses to endure her toxic behavior. "Dad, if you hope that one day she will be back to her old self, I think that you'll be very disappointed."

"She is unpredictable; I know that. It's a hard decision, you know," he admits, and I understand the gravity of his unspoken words – divorce, a word he can't bring himself to say aloud.

I shake my head, frustration growing. "She just makes you miserable. She makes both of us miserable," I state bluntly, hoping he'll see the toll my mother's actions have taken on our lives.

My father sighs again, remaining silent. A few minutes pass in the heavy silence before James, one of the house staff, emerges from a nearby door. "Sir, if you don't need anything else, I will retire," he informs my father.

"Confirm that my wife is asleep, and you are free to rest, James. Thank you," my father instructs, and James nods before disappearing again.

A few more minutes of silence hang in the air before James reappears, confirming that my mother is indeed asleep. "Thank you, James. Goodnight," my father bids him farewell. Once alone, my father retrieves a cigar from a box on the table, the fragrant smoke beginning to fill the room as he lights it.

"Tell me about Mallory," he says, changing the subject, and a smile involuntarily plays on my lips. The contrast between discussing my mother and Mallory is like shifting from darkness to light.

"Mallory is incredible, Dad. She's smart, beautiful, and incredibly caring. I've never met anyone like her," I express, my words fueled by the sincerity of my emotions.

I keep talking to my dad about Mallory, the words flowing effortlessly as I paint a vivid picture of the incredible woman who has become such a significant part of my life. He listens attentively, a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "You seem very happy," he observes simply, and I can't help but grin.

"She makes me happy, Dad. In a way I never thought possible," I admit, Mallory's face vivid in my mind as I speak.

My father's eyes hold a glint of curiosity as he leans back, taking in my words. "And you are sure that she is interested in you and not your name?" he inquires, a trace of concern in his voice.

I nod emphatically, reassuring him, "Yeah, Dad. I'm sure."

My father nods approvingly, "Good, good. Sounds like you are in serious trouble, son," he teases, a playful grin spreading across his face. I look at him, momentarily confused, and he clarifies, "Oh, come on. You love her, don't you?"

I can't help but chuckle at his playful insight. "I do, Dad. I love her so much, it aches. I want you to meet her, Dad," I express earnestly.

"I would like that, Adam. I'd like to meet the woman who has brought so much joy into your life," my father says warmly, a genuine smile softening the lines on his face.

My mother comes to my mind again. "First, we should deal with Mom. I don't want her messing with Mallory," I assert, determined to shield Mallory from the storm that is my mother. My dad's eyes darken, his expression turning serious. "I'm sure you don't," he replies.

I lean back on the plush couch, my head falling back as I stare at the ceiling. "It's different this time, Dad. I don't mean that she had the right to intervene in my other relationships," I explain, a hint of frustration in my voice. I meet my father's gaze, "I don't think I can handle her sending Mallory away," I admit, the fear of history repeating itself haunting me.

My father nods, "We'll do whatever it takes, son," he promises, the determination in his voice offering a glimmer of hope.

A few moments of silence pass, the ticking of the clock the only audible sound in the room. I glance at the time – 11:45 p.m. – and the prospect of sleep seems elusive. Frustration creeps in as I run a hand through my hair. "Ugh, how on earth am I supposed to sleep tonight?" I grunt.

"It's just one more night, son," my father reassures me, extinguishing his cigar with a deliberate motion. "Goodnight, Adam. It's really good to have you back," he says warmly before leaving.

I remain in the living room, my mind churning with thoughts of the day. Damn it. I shouldn't have come today. I'm far from Mallory, and I still haven't found out what my mother wants. With a heavy sigh, I stand up and make my way to my room, the door creaking softly as I push it open.

I enter my room and look around for a moment; the room is spacious, adorned with neutral colors and subtle decor that reflects a sense of calm. The large bed dominates the center, covered in soft linens and plush pillows. A couple of framed photos on the nightstand capture moments of joy from the past, a reminder of the life I left behind.

Sighing once more, I retrieve my phone from my pocket, and Mallory's text immediately catches my attention: "Miss you already." A smile tugs at my lips as I read her words. I quickly reply, "Are you up?" and toss my phone onto the bed.

A buzz interrupts the room's silence, and I grab my phone to find Mallory's response: "I'm up, baby. How did it go? Are you okay?" I type back, "Could be worse. I'll know tomorrow what all this is about. I'll step into the shower, I'll call you when I get out, okay?"

Mallory's reply comes swiftly: "Okay." I head into the en-suite bathroom, the warm water of the shower providing a temporary escape. The soothing cascade of water helps me relax, if only momentarily. After the shower, I dry myself off and change into comfortable pyjamas. Eager to hear Mallory's voice, I grab my phone and notice another message from her.

"I'm sorry, baby. I have to go get Kylie. Something happened with Sean. I miss you so much," her message reads. I feel a twinge of concern and quickly type, "I miss you. Be safe," my anxiety resurfacing amplifying the restlessness within me.

I lie on the bed and a sense of unease lingers. It's a bad feeling I can't shake. Restless, I toss and turn, the weight of uncertainty pressing on me. The room feels too quiet, and my thoughts race. Eventually, exhaustion takes over, and I succumb to sleep's embrace, hoping for clarity in the morning.