Page 31 of Challenged Mate
Kayla nodded, then cleared her throat. “So, the point of the story is, don’t shut your dad out forever. You never know how long he’ll be here.”
Kayla’s words rang in my head as we resumed eating lunch. Our conversation switched to lighter topics, but when Kayla suggested another training session, I told her I wasn’t feeling up to it.
She didn’t give me grief, instead saying she’d see me tomorrow.
A little later, as I sat alone in my guest apartment, I thought about my dad.
He kept the truth about my mother’s identity from me my entire life. He never intended to tell me about my dormant magic, and he wouldn’t have if he hadn’t be forced.
But were those enough reasons to hold on to this grudge eating away at me?
What was the benefit?
There was none.
So, with a steadying breath, I hit my father’s contact information on my phone. I held the phone to my ear.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
My throat tightened as I waited. I got up and grabbed a bottle of water from the kitchen counter, then settled back onto the couch. I took a long sip.
Ring. Ring. Ring.
A click sounded.
“You’ve reached Benjamin Hemmings. Please leave a message.”
Disbelief washed over me.
I knew the difference between a missed call and being sent to voicemail. After a week of not hearing from me, did my dad really just ignore my call?
What in the world would make him do that?
Surely, not even a pack meeting would be enough reason to ignore me—his only child—whom he’d sent to live in the middle of nowhere with strangers.
I turned off my phone. If I didn’t, I knew I wouldn’t stop calling until he answered, and then Mother only knew what I would say.
I clutched the device in my hands, irritation flaring as I continued to ponder what could keep my father from answering my call.
The answer was always the same:nothing.
Nothing should have kept him from speaking to me after a week of not hearing from me.
Did he not care?
Was I really nothing to him now that I wouldn’t become his heir?
I knew those thoughts were unfair and unfounded, but I couldn’t talk myself out of my spiraling anger.
In an uncharacteristic bout of childishness, I threw the phone across the room. The moment my fingers released the device, I regretted it.
That regret magnified tenfold when the phone collided with the wall behind the television, accompanied by the sound of cracking glass.
I sucked in a breath and rushed across the room, groaning a curse when I picked up the phone and saw the shattered screen and battery dangling from the back of the device.
Way to go, Blair.
Way to go…
