It won’t.
I don’t care if I have to blockade the door every night while I sleep. I’m never letting that prick catch me at a disadvantage ever again.
Callum
I almost crossed a line I wouldn’t be able to come back from.
It’s like I can still smell her—honey and sweet cream, so real I can nearly taste it. This is going beyond an inappropriate crush. This is a maddening obsession. When I had her alone with me in the copy room, it was wrong, but it felt so goddamn right.
I need a drink.
Or an ass kicking.
Maybe both.
I could visit my father. It’d be a good reminder of why I can’t allow myself to fall down this rabbit hole with Willa. I’ll be just like him. And I cannot be just like him.
Park Mountain Lane is quiet this late afternoon. In the spring, it’s bustling with lawn care workers as they fuss over my father’s immaculate lawn, but since it’s winter, it’s devoid of workers. Even with the flowers and grass dead from the cold, the house is otherwise perfect, custom built to Dad and Jamie’s specifications. You’d never know nearly two decades ago a different house stood—the house I grew up in.
“Miss you, Mom,” I mumble under my breath.
The fire that destroyed our home and took my mother from us also nearly took my brother, Jude.
Don’t think about bad shit.
But that only leaves Willa and I’m trying not to think about her at all. Not her supple bottom strawberry lip as she bites down on it. Not her slightly pink cheeks that flood crimson when my gaze falls on her. Not her long, dark lashes that flutter when I’m near.
I pass Dad’s house and then Hugo’s next. Even after what my father did to me, I still couldn’t escape him. Our family populates Park Mountain Lane from the turn off the main road that runs through Park Mountain, Washington, all the way to Grandpa’s old house at the base of Park Mountain itself. My house is situated between Hugo’s and Grandpa’s, where Jude lives with him. Parked out front is Dad’s golf cart, reminding me no matter how hard I try to avoid him, he’s always there.
Maybe I should take a page from my uncle Theo’s book and move to the other side of the mountain, far away from Dad. Then I wouldn’t have to see him on a daily basis, constantly reminded of how wrong he did me when I was Willa’s age.
Willa.
Fuck.
The last thing I need is to have a stupid conversation with Dad while thinking of Willa’s tight, young body I remember with precise detail from those photos.
So much for that.
At least having to speak to Dad will kill my stupid boner.
I pull into my garage, attempting to keep my anger at bay. If living on the same street wasn’t bad enough, he infects my life as though he has the right to.
Hell, I suppose he does.
This is his town after all.
Sucking in a few deep breaths, I attempt to calm myself. Talking to Dad while I’m on edge is never a good idea. I’ll say rude shit and he’ll remind me of his authority over me. Jamie or Hugo will get involved, both of them peacemakers, and I’ll end up backing off like I always do. The chip on my shoulder will grow and the cycle will continue.
I step into the house from the garage to the scent of coffee. Taking my time, I pull off my coat and hang it, along with my laptop bag, on a hook before making my way into the kitchen. Dad—also dressed in an immaculate suit—is seated at the bar.
“Afternoon, Cal.”
“Dad.”
I toss my keys on the counter and then set to making myself a cup. Dad’s stare bores into me. For him to show up at my house like this, it means either he wants something or he’s here to demand something.
“It’s been a long day,” I say once my cup is brewed and I’ve dumped enough sugar in it to make my teeth fall out. “What do you need?”
Dad chuffs and sets his cup down on the black-and-white granite with a clink. He stretches his arms out in front of him, loosely threading his fingers together. His titanium wedding ring glints in the overhead lights, always mocking me.
“Have you spoken to Hugo?”
“About Spencer?”
Dad smirks. He doesn’t look a day over forty, often getting confused as our brother rather than our father. As if he needs anything else to make his head swell.
“Spencer. Ahh, that boy. So much like you at that age.”
Spencer is a shit starter. We both know this. Dad’s dig doesn’t hit where he intends it to. I’m able to ignore it, quirking an impatient brow at him to move the conversation along.
“No, Cal,” Dad continues. “About Washington State Attorney General.”
I frown, racking my brain for the information about who Washington’s AG is. Melinda something, I think. “He didn’t mention her.”
“Not her,” he says with a chuckle. “About the upcoming campaign.”
“I’m afraid he didn’t.” I scowl at my father, hoping he lays it on me rather than delivering his demand in tiny spoon-fed doses. That shit is annoying.
“Hugo’s running for AG. He’ll be making the announcement soon at a press conference.”
“Attorney General? You sure he’s ready for that?”
Dad waves me off with his hand and then picks his mug back up, slowly sipping. “Hugo’s been ready for politics his entire life. He’s always kept his nose clean and his past is flawless. The people of Park Mountain admire and love your brother. He’s ready.”
“But…”
Dad’s lips press into a firm line and his brow furrows. If he knew this expression aged him ten years, I doubt he’d do it. I’m not going to tell the bastard.
“But Spencer is not ready.”
“And you want me to keep Spencer in line? You know that kid doesn’t listen to anyone. He’s as bad as Dempsey.”
“I’ll handle Dempsey,” Dad bites out. “Your baby brother will step in line. You all will.”
“Does Hugo even want this position?”
“Hugo knows what’s best for this family. It’s why he went into law, like me and your grandfather.”
It’s always about control with our family, my dad being the one tugging on all our strings.
“I’ll speak to him about his grades,” I grunt out. “Is that all?”
“Our family, more than ever, will have a magnifying glass upon us. We don’t need anything popping up out of the blue. Hugo can achieve this, but it’s going to take everyone doing their parts to get him to the top.”
“Noted. Is that all?”
Dad slides off the bar stool and stands. He’s not nearly as tall as me, but he’s just as solid. I sip my sweetened coffee, attempting to relax my muscles. Whenever he’s near, I get tense as fuck.
“Your mother—er—stepmother.” He chuckles. “Jamie wants everyone to meet at the house on Sunday for a celebratory dinner honoring Hugo’s new endeavor. You’ll be there of course.”
My hand tightens around the handle of my mug, my knuckles turning white. “Of course, Dad.”
He studies me for a beat, clearly disappointed that his little jabs haven’t resulted in an outburst he can belittle me for. With a quick nod, he excuses himself and leaves the kitchen, exiting through the garage door. Every time I change the code, the fucker cons one of my brothers into giving it to him. My bet is on Hugo.