Page 77 of Ravaged
I squint. “Soquittingis probably the wrong word. I plan to stay as a partner and have a hand in the big-picture decisions for the company. But the day-to-day operations as far as being over marketing and promotion? I’m resigning, and Dani can be promoted to my position.” When both of themcontinueto stare at me, I smile. “Trust me. Let’s talk over Froyo.”
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
JORDAN
“Don’t ever make the mistake of forgetting what I am. Changeling. Not human. Thank the goddess.”
—North the Woodsman, Ravaged Lands
Cyrus stares out the driver’s side window at the entrance of the chain hotel. Even though I can’t see his face, I have zero doubt a frown creases his brow. He’s emanating Big Frown Energy.
And yeah. I’m never saying that again. Not even in my head.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks.
No. “Yes. Besides, it’s a little too late now.”
His head swings toward me, and I witness that scowl firsthand. “No, it’s not. We can drive away right now, and no one would know the difference.”
I blow out a short breath of laughter. “You make it sound like we’reThelma & Louise-ing it. We’re not criminals. You’re too shitty behind a wheel to be anyone’s getaway driver, and I’m too pretty to go to jail.”
“And you’re stalling,” he points out. Damn him. “Which only emphasizes my argument that maybe you should put this off for another time. At least until you’re sure you—”
“Cyrus, I’m sure.” I study the hotel, looking up to the third floor and the row of windows there. “I appreciate you worrying about me, but I need to do this. Now. It’s been overdue.” I pull on the door handle and push open the car door. “Thanks, bruh. I’ll be back shortly.”
In moments, I walk into the hotel lobby, tugging down on the brim of my baseball cap to try and conceal my face. Not breaking stride, I head straight for the bank of elevators and, once inside, press number three. Nerves tangle inside me, and I stare at the numbers above the doors as the floors slide by. Too soon, the three lights up, and the doors slide open with a small hiss.
I step out and follow the arrows directing me to room 323. It’s all the way at the end of the hall. Giving me just enough time to talk myself out of this decision, back into it, out, and back in. I thrust my fingers through my hair, fisting the strands as I stare at the closed door with the fake-gold numerals on it.
Cyrus is probably right; maybe I should’ve put this off until I wasn’t so raw about Miriam. When my emotional skin still didn’t feel like a third-degree burn afflicted it. But it’s been only days. Getting over Miriam Nelson? How long does it take to measure forever?
Clenching my jaw, I briefly close my eyes. Anxiety spikes inside me like a crazy-ass pogo stick, and I’m back to asking if I’m really ready to do this shit when I whisper, “Fuck it,” and knock.
A minute later, the door opens.
And I come face to face with Michael Jones for the first time in ten years.
It’s like staring into a mirror. Same blond hair, dark-blond brows, facial features, towering height, and big build. Although the last decade hasn’t been kind to him. Deep lines fan out from the corners of his eyes, and they’re not from smiling or laughing. More grooves cut under hischeekbones and dent either side of his mouth. Gray liberally sprinkles his beard and hair, and weight sits in his gut, straining the front of his white long-sleeve shirt.
Life has not been kind.
I wait for the dark glee or satisfaction at the signs of wear and tear to fill me. But I feel ... nothing. Not happiness at his rough-around-the-edges state. Not the need to punch him in the face. Not sorrow over his abandonment.
Just nothing.
“Son.” Michael breaks out in a grin, his arms outstretched. “I’m so glad you—”
I step back. “That’s not what this is. I’m sorry if you got the wrong impression.”
The smile bleeds from his face, and his arms slowly fall to his sides. “At least come inside so we can talk about this.”
“Actually, we can do this right here, thanks.” I hold up a hand, forestalling anything else he might have to say. “I didn’t come here for a kumbaya moment, and if that’s what you thought, then let me get that out of your head. I didn’t even come here for a conversation. This is going to be a monologue, not a dialogue.” I inhale a breath, release it. “I needed a father when I was three, six, and even thirteen. I needed you to teach me how to pee straight, not hit girls, control my anger, be a damn man. I needed you to be there for Mom so she didn’t have to work two or three jobs to make rent and pay bills and make sure I ate and had clothes on my back. I needed you to be there so she wasn’t exhausted all the time and I didn’t blame myself for it. But since you weren’t, since you walked, never looked back or sent a dime, Mom picked up the slack in every area of my life. And where she couldn’t, my coaches did.
“So what I’m trying to say, Michael, is this ... I needed a father then, not ten years ago after I was drafted. And not now. It’s not about forgiveness. I forgive you, if that’s what you need, although a part of me doubts it is or that’s why you came back here. But if it is, you have it.But it’s all you’ll have from me for now. And don’t come through Mom again. Leave her out of this. You’ve done enough damage there, and she doesn’t need to be reminded of it. If I need to talk to you, I know how to get in touch with you now. But understand this and respect it, Michael.I’llcontactyouif and when I decide to. That’s my decision, not yours. You forfeited that right when you walked out and didn’t look back.” I take another step away. “Goodbye, Michael.”
This time, it’s me who walks away and doesn’t look back.
Minutes later, I exit the hotel and find Cyrus parked exactly where I left him, the motor running. I smirk. He took the getaway-driver thing a little too seriously. After climbing into his car, I shut the door and exhale a deep breath.
