The Bad Boy OR The Best Friend

forty four

When Chris and I came downstairs to the living room again, I made sure to sit on the floor to keep some distance between us. Chris wasn't pleased with the idea, but I was done sitting in his lap for the day.

The game continued, and it turned dirtier — no thanks to Jordan and Luke. When Jordan said, 'Never Have I ever sixty-nined' and both Evan and Rose took a sip, I actually tasted vomit in my mouth.

And after that I announced, "If we are playing this game, I either need a bucket or I am puking in Jordan's lap."

So, that's how the game stopped. Thank GOD! I didn't need anyone sexual details about anyone's lives, especially not Evan's. Shit, that actually kind of hurt but more than that, I was purely grossed out.

Chris walked home with me, hand in hand as he talked more about his relationship with his Dad and I realised that the man meant the world to him even though he wasn't around much. But Chris didn't seem to mind, if anything, he seemed so understanding.

On Sunday, I couldn't help but look up Damien Reed. As much as I didn't talk about my birth mother in front of anyone, the thoughts of her bothered me. The fact that she offered to stay in contact was still with me, and I considered it so much.

"Where are you lost, hon?" My father asks, as he takes a bite of the roasted chicken he made this evening.

It's a Tuesday night, and he came home extremely early, offering to cook food. And since I had a lot of homework to do, I didn't deny.

"Thinking about Cassandra." I tell him honestly, because if there's one person I don't hide things from — it's my father.

A look of surprise takes over his features but he quickly covers it as he sips on his wine. "What about her?"

"Why did you never marry someone else?"

It's a thought that had been coming up again and again, and even though I know a part of the reason was Cassandra, but after eighteen years, I expect anyone to move on. Even Michael did, after Breanna's mother died. So, what stopped my father?

He keeps his fork aside as he looks at me from across the table. "Why do you ask?" His full attention is on me, now.

"I've been wondering a lot lately." I shrug, telling him the truth.

He sighs, "I've always been honest to you, An, so that's the path I'll choose right now. When she left, I didn't expect her to leave. There was a huge part of me, a foolish part of me that believed those nine months meant something to her and that she would stay, if not for me, then for you."

I dropped my fork as well as I pushed my food plate aside, losing my appetite as I listen to him talk about his feelings, because he doesn't do that often. Guess, I get that from him.

"But it's been eighteen years, Dad. You have to know she's not coming back, right?" I say, my voice gentle because I don't want to offend him.

He offers me a sad smile, "Sweetheart, I knew she wouldn't look back the moment she left the hospital that day."