He's not my dad

part 25

I stare at him, frozen, my heart hammering so hard I’m sure he can hear it. The mask in his hand only makes everything worse—it’s a stark reminder of the man I kissed just weeks ago, a man I now know is my boyfriend’s father.

“God, you’re killing me,” he groans, his voice low and frustrated as he leans slightly against the doorframe. His eyes roam over me, assessing, wanting, impossible to ignore.

I take a cautious step back. “Why are you here?” I ask, my voice trembling.

“I… needed to see you,” he admits, his usual composed tone fraying at the edges. “I needed to make sure you were okay after… well, after the club.”

“Okay? I—” I stop, realizing I don’t even know how to explain what happened " we kissed —” My words falter. “You’re my boyfriend’s dad, Greg. How… how could this happen?”

He flinches, like my words hit him harder than I intended. “I—Taylor, I didn’t know at the time. The mask… I didn’t recognize you. And by the time I did…” He swallows, visibly struggling. “By the time I realized, it was too late to stop it without making it worse plus you weren't dating my son when we kissed .”

I shake my head, stepping fully into the apartment and closing the door behind me. “Too late? You kissed me. I didn’t know! This is insane.”

He sets the bottle of whiskey on the counter and runs a hand through his hair, frustration and something else—want, maybe—written across his face. “I know. Believe me, I know. It’s… complicated. Messed up. But I can’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

I clutch the straps of my tank top, trying to steady my breathing. “Do you realize what this is? Your son—my boyfriend. This is… forbidden. Wrong. I can’t—” My voice catches. “I can’t even process it.”

He steps closer, and even though my rational mind screams at me to back up, a part of me can’t look away. The tension between us is palpable, thick like a living thing in the room. “I didn’t plan it. I never would, if I had known. But I also can’t ignore what happened. Not anymore.”

I shake my head again, feeling dizzy. “You’re… you’re my boss. Your son… I—”

“I know,” he interrupts, his tone sharper this time. “I know all of it. And that’s why I’m here. I want to make it clear that I won’t force anything. I’ll leave if that’s what you want.”

My stomach twists at the idea of him leaving—at the thought of him walking away, like none of this ever happened. And yet… my mind screams that none of this should have happened at all.

“I… I need time,” I whisper, finally finding my voice. “I need to think.”

He nods, eyes never leaving mine, and steps back, taking a slow breath. “I’ll wait. But I can’t lie—seeing you here, knowing it’s you, I can’t just walk away. Not now, not ever.”

The whiskey bottle gleams on the counter between us, a silent witness to the chaos in the room. I sink onto the edge of the couch, pressing my face into my hands. My chest heaves with a mix of fear, shame, and some part of me that can’t deny the electricity in the air.

Greg lingers near the door, watching me like he wants to step closer but knows he shouldn’t. “I’ll leave for now,” he murmurs. “But… I can’t promise I’ll stay away. Not from you.”

And with that, he finally turns, mask in hand, and exits the apartment. I hear the door click shut behind him and I slump back against the bed, trembling. My phone buzzes in my pocket.

Chuck

I stare at the screen, my thumb hovering over the answer button. How could I even begin to explain?