"Patience, Princess," I murmured against her lips, the words almost a growl.
She bit her lip, her frustration clear, but she didn't argue. Instead, she focused on the way I was driving her mad, her body trembling as I continued my slow, deliberate...
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JAYDEN
I nervously bounced my leg, restless on the couch after hanging up the phone. My dad had just called—back from his trip to Russia and wanted to see me. It hadn't been too long since I’d heard from him, but I still didn’t know what to expect from this conversation.
Our routine usually involved him saying something triggering to piss me off, and me cutting him off before we even got anywhere. This conversation was going to be so uncomfortable.
The doorbell rang and my heart jumped.
I opened the door to find him standing there, his face tense, his posture just slightly off. For a second, he didn’t speak—just stared at me like he was thinking of what to say. Then he lifted his chin and forced a nod. “Son.”
The word felt out of place like he wasn’t sure how to say it anymore.
“Dad,” I replied, the word stiff and unfamiliar on my tongue. I hadn’t said it in years, at least not without a hint of sarcasm. But this time, I couldn’t summon my usual defenses. Not yet, anyway.
I stepped aside, and he walked in, his eyes flicking over the room, taking in the penthouse. “This place looks better than the last time,” he said with an awkward chuckle. “No cockroaches or rats around this time.”
The corner of my mouth twitched. Classic Dad. A lame attempt at humor to break the ice. I could almost laugh at the predictability of it, but I swallowed the impulse. Instead, I moved stiffly to the couch and sat down, keeping my distance. "Want anything to drink?"
“No, I’m good,” he said quickly, his hands clasped in his lap as he sat across from me, his knee bouncing just as nervously as mine had been. He glanced down as if noticing it for the first time and stilled his leg.
The silence stretched on, awkward and thick. I could feel the weight of everything we weren’t saying pressing down on the room.
Then he cleared his throat. “I, uh…” He trailed off, scratching the back of his neck. “I wanted to talk. I’ve been thinking about us. Where we stand.” His voice was low, careful.
I didn’t respond; I just crossed my arms and leaned back on the couch. Let him do the talking. I wasn’t about to make this easy for him.
“I know I’ve been away a lot, maybe a little too much.” He paused, trying to read my expression, but I kept my face blank. “I didn’t… I didn’t realize how much I hurt you. I thought I was doing what was best.”
A scoff slipped out before I could stop it. “What was best?” I repeated, my voice sharper than I intended. “By disappearing for weeks at a time? By missing everything important in my life? By acting like you were the only one who lost someone and leaving your little son to grieve by himself?”
His face tightened, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. But then he exhaled, his shoulders slumping a bit. “You’re right. I was wrong. I thought if I gave you money… if I made sure you had everything you needed, that it would be enough. But I wasn’t there for you, not the way I should have been. I didn't want you to see me weak, and I was in a destructive state after your mother died, and I didn't want you to feel like you were losing me too.”
I clenched my fists in my lap, the familiar anger bubbling up. "You weren’t just gone, Dad. You left me to figure everything out alone. And when you were here? It’s like you weren’t. You drowned me in things like that would make up for it. But I didn’t need things—I needed you."
He flinched but didn’t look away. “I know. I… I didn’t handle it well. I buried myself in work because I didn’t know how to deal with it. I thought distancing myself would protect you, somehow.” He shook his head, his voice breaking. “But it just made things worse.”
Hearing him say that—finally hearing him admit it—should’ve felt satisfying, but it didn’t. It just felt… hollow. Like it was too late. I sat there, staring at him, my mind flashing back to all those empty birthdays, the lonely holidays, the silence that filled the house when it was just me.
“And now what?” I asked, my voice low, raw. “You come back and think saying sorry will fix it? Like that’s supposed to make up for everything?”
“No,” he said quickly. “I don’t expect that. I know I can’t undo what I’ve done. But… I want to try. I want us to try. I don't deserve it, but please.” His eyes met mine, and for the first time in a long time, I saw something real in them—something desperate. “I miss you, Jayden.”
The words hit me harder than I expected. I stared at him, my mind spinning. Part of me wanted to shut him down, to end this conversation before it got any messier. But another part of me—the part I hated admitting even existed—wanted to believe him. Wanted to give him a chance.
But I didn’t trust it. Not yet.
“You can’t just waltz back in and expect everything to be okay,” I said, my voice shaking. “You weren’t there, Dad. You never were.” I said again almost to remind myself not to give in.
“I know,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I’m sorry. I was wrong, and I’ll never be able to fix that. But I want to be there now. If you’ll let me.”
I sat in silence, the anger still simmering, but something else had wormed its way in, something softer. I didn’t know if I could trust him, but I was tired of holding on to all this bitterness. Tired of carrying it by myself.
“I don’t know if I can just… forgive and forget everything that happened,” I said quietly, my arms still crossed defensively. “But maybe… maybe we can try. See where it goes.”
His shoulders sagged with relief, though there was still uncertainty in his eyes. “I’d like that, Jayden. I really would. Thank you so much” He hesitated. “Do you want to grab lunch sometime? Just… talk? Nothing heavy. You could tell me about school, your friends, whatever you want.”
I nodded slowly. It wasn’t much, but it was a start. And for once, that felt like enough.
