“Done,” I say.
“Step one, complete.” Humor fills her voice. “Now, go look for any signs of life—outside, in the kitchen, in an office. Just because he’s not in the bedroom doesn’t mean he bailed.”
Her words don’t give me hope. When I pad out of the bedroom, I grab my bag that was drunkenly dropped to the floor when he dragged me to his bedroom. My sandals squeak against the marble floor as I move through the home, eyeing the wall of windows and modern furniture. As I hit the kitchen, I spot a box of doughnuts and two coffee cups on the counter.
“Breakfast is on the counter,” I say.
“That’s a nice turn of events,” she replies. “Maybe he isn’t a runner.”
As I grow closer, I notice a note and cash next to the food. As I read it, I cover my mouth and gag.
Here’s money for a cab or Uber.
You can see yourself out.
Don’t worry about locking up.
What the actual fuck?
As if yesterday’s rejection hadn’t shred my heart enough, this guy tattered what I’d had left.
I pull in a breath to stop myself from crying. “He left a note.”
“A note?” Lola asks. “Like a love note?”
My hands are shaking when I read it to her.
“Code red. Time to run. Take the coffee, snag a doughnut, and fuck him—differently than you did last night.”
For a moment, I debate on staying—lounging around his lavish home until he returns, so I can call him out. I can take a bath in the massive whirlpool, drink the overpriced alcohol on the bar cart … or pour it all down the drain in spite.
Or rob him. I’m sure I could find a pretty Rolex or piggy bank around this place. He deserves some good thievery. Unfortunately, unlike the man I slept with last night, I’m a decent person with morals.
Those morals could be somewhat questionable after last night.
I went home with a man who I’d previously Googled to see if he was in the Mafia.
With a doughnut in my mouth, I rummage through my purse for a pen. I fail but find something better. A rush of satisfaction shoots through me when I march to his bathroom and write, Your dick is small, in red lipstick across his mirror.
A loud yawn escapes me when I fall in a creaky chair at my brother, Cohen’s, kitchen table.
After leaving Chase’s this morning, I took an Uber, the driver judging me for my walk-of-shame outfit, and picked up my car from Bailey’s.
A bar I’ll never return to.
I held my chin high during the drive to my apartment, showered, popped a few painkillers, and napped before coming to Cohen’s.
Cohen isn’t just my older brother; he’s my entire family, bunched into one person. He stepped into the role of parenthood, playing the mother and the father, when ours wouldn’t. He was my parent, big brother, provider, friend, babysitter, and also authoritarian. Had he not stepped up, my childhood years would’ve most likely been spent in the system, jumping from foster home to foster home.
“I need to tell you something.” I pop one of Noah’s fruit snacks in my mouth before gagging. “I’m also requesting you don’t buy sugar-free fruit snacks again. Gross.”
He peers over at me while washing a Ninja Turtle cup in the sink. “What’s up?”
“I found Dad.” My attention slides from him to the wall as guilt surfaces over hiding this from him.
The cup slips from his hand, falling into the sink, and the water sprays his shirt.
He quickly turns off the faucet, grabs a towel, and dries his hands. “Okay?”
“And I might’ve gone to see him yesterday.”
“Jesus Christ, Georgia. Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You would’ve said it was a stupid idea.”
“From how you look, it was.”
“Rude,” I grumble, failing to meet his eyes.
Crossing his arms, he rests his back against the counter. “What happened?”
“He has a new family.” I rub at my eyes—an attempt to stop the tears from surfacing. “A woman answered the door, looking like she wanted to kill me. My guess is, she thought I was his mistress. He knew who I was as soon as he saw me. When I blurted out that I was his daughter, the woman nearly fainted. She had no idea he’d had a family before her. He showed me the door and demanded I never come back.”
He blows out a ragged breath. “I’m sorry, sis.”
I shrug, and my voice cracks. “That chapter is closed now. No more what-ifs, you know? I wish I’d been like you and not cared about him.”
As he stares at me, I take in the similarities he has to our father—tall, brown hair, sharp jaw. “Dad left when you were a baby. You never knew him, so no one can blame you for being curious. I never cared because I was seven when he bailed and knew what kind of person he was.” He motions for me to stand. “Come here.”
There’s a sense of comfort, of security, when he wraps me into a tight hug. I cry into the shoulder of the only man who’s never broken my heart.
“Screw anyone who doesn’t want us in their lives,” I mutter.
He squeezes me tighter. “Yeah, fuck them.”
Fuck POS fathers.
Fuck men who ditch you.
Fuck Chase Smith.
I’m my heart’s worst enemy.
No doubt if it could choose a different chest of residence, it’d pack up and haul ass.
My brain, on the other hand, is my worst enemy.
When I return home from Cohen’s, I come up with the brilliant idea to call Chase. The problem is, I don’t know his number.
What I do know is his assistant’s number.
She answers on the second ring, “Hello, this is Kiki.”
No going back now.
“Hey, Kiki,” I say. “It’s Georgia. I’m the woman—”
“I know who you are, honey,” she interrupts. It’s not a rude interruption yet also not friendly. More of a why are you calling tone. “What can I help you with?”
Here goes.
“Can you give me Chase’s number?”
“Why?”
“I need to ask him a question.”
“I’m sure I can answer that question.”
“Not exactly.”
“Let me put you on hold for a moment.”
The line turns quiet, and I pull my phone away, checking to see she didn’t hang up on me.
A few minutes later, she’s back. “I’m sorry, Georgia. He’s busy at the moment.”
I need to talk to him, to know why he did what he did. Even if it’s an answer I don’t want to hear, one that’d break my heart, it’s what I want.
“I can wait.”
“Honey, you’ll be waiting forever then.”
“What?”
She sighs. “Listen, don’t pursue him. Nothing will come of it. Arch—I mean, Chase will not take or return any of your calls.”
Short, simple, no bullshit in her tone.
“All right,” I say softly.
We end the call.
Briefly, I debate on driving to his house but stop myself.
For someone who doesn’t want to talk to a hookup, why did he take me to his house?