Page 78 of Frozen Hearts
“That’s my boy.” There’s genuine pride in my father’s voice that alleviates some of that pressure and makes me wish my father was here to talk to in person. It’s just not the same with him stuck behind a cell and restricted to one visit and only so many calls a week.
A familiar beep comes over the line. “I gotta go,” he says, voice softer now. “Will I see you soon?”
“Yeah,” I sigh. “I’ll be up to see you next week.”
“Good. We can talk about this deal you’ve signed then. I’ll see you soon, son.”
He hangs up before I have the chance to respond.
Sure thing, Dad. Happy Thanksgiving to you, too.
In the deafening silence of the car, I relax back into my seat, barely aware of my surroundings as drive down the freeway. A whirlwind of guilt, anger, and uncertainty churns in my stomach. That uncertainty has been growing stronger with every month that we grow closer to his release. Uncertainty for what the future will hold once he’s released. Uncertainty for my position in the company when he’s back in charge.
I shake my head, chastising myself for being so self centred. Whatever happens, I’m sure we will work it out. Everything will be easier once he’s released. When he’s no longer stuck behind bars and feeling as if he has no control over his own life. My dad is smart. He’s got a good business head. He can see the fiscal improvements my decisions have made on our bottom line. When he’s no longer trapped in a cell, I’ll talk to him—explain that I want to remain a vital part of this company. That I don’t want to hand the CEO title back to him and walk away.
He’ll understand.
I know he will.
20
RILEY
When I arrive at Lux on Saturday night, I change and head straight for booth number four, not surprised in the least to find Ruthless—or as I have dubbed him: Mr. Moody, Hot, and Arrogant waiting for me. Personally, I think that’s a far more suitable name for him. He’s not ruthless, he’s just a hot, moody, arrogant asshole.
One who has shown up at Lux every night for the last three weekends. He demands a dance or two purely to piss me off, then he goes on his merry way.
It’s weird, right?
Yes, it’s definitely weird.
And just a little bit hot?
Or maybe that’s my inner damage talking.
Now that I’ve become more comfortable around him, the initial fear has worn off. I’m still wary, mainly because his motives are unclear, but there’s no denying a shot of excitement zips through me when I see him waiting for me each night.
Instead of terrifying and tormenting, dancing for him has become sensual. Feeling his heated gaze rake over my skin, the manner in which his eyes eat me up, and his pants grow tight when I perform solely for him… it’s a heady sensation. Provocative. It makes me feel powerful. Sexy. Wanted in a way I never have been before. In a way I was somewhat afraid to be.
I’ve been stuffing myself into a box, pulling away from all forms of human contact to pursue my goals and so focused on becoming the parent I need to be for my daughter. Intent on building a life for us. One in which I can regain custody and provide for her—give her all the love I was denied by my own mother—that I have neglected my own needs.
From the second that stick turned blue and I set down the razor blade, I have been breathing solely for my daughter. Every single thing I have done has been for her. To get back to her.
To the extent that I have avoided confronting my own trauma, and instead allowed it to taunt me from the shadows, to keep me from stepping foot outside of the cage I’ve locked myself in.
I thought I was content in my pen, living only for Aurora, but it has taken coming to Halston for me to realize it can’t be enough. As much as I may want it to be, it simply can’t.
In order to be the best mom I can be, I need to live for more than just my daughter.
I need to live for me.
Despite the complex nature of my relationship with Logan, he has been a large factor in helping me understand that. In our short time together, he has breathed new life into me. Shown me a world in which I can be happy forme—not solely for Aurora.
And these regular dances my dangerous mystery man has coerced me into have pushed me out of my comfort zone. Forced me to face my fears. To overcome the demonsheetched into my flesh.
Every time I dance for Mr. Moody, Hot, and Arrogant, I reclaim a part of myself I thought I’d lost. I steal back some of the powerhestole.
So it is with a newfound confidence that I step into the booth tonight.
