Chapter 30
Chapter Thirty
Seth
Ithought I’d heard Ripley’s voice when I stepped out of the shower.
Then I’d internally scolded myself for allowing my brain to give me any kind of hope.
I was prepared to tell Iris I was going insane.
Until I walked into my living room and saw him sitting there, looking as fucking beautiful as ever.
The weight of his presence in my space, of my two worlds colliding, was too much to handle right before a dinner with my family.
So I did what I do best and pushed it down.
After panicking in silence and scrambling for what to do, I’d intended to tell him to stay in my apartment, and we’d talk when I got back.
It wouldn’t have been my best idea, but it would have been better than this.
Shaking my head in disbelief, I flick on my blinker to exit the parking garage of my building.
This may be the worst idea he’s ever had.
I don’t know why I’m going along with it.
Maybe I just wanted to be wrapped in his scent again, maybe I just missed him too damn much to let him out of my sight now that he’s here.
It was selfish, what I’m doing is selfish.
I shouldn’t be exposing him to them, not when I know what will happen.
My family doesn’t deserve to know him, and I certainly don’t want to see or hear them judge him.
Neither of us tries to speak to the other, and I don’t glance in his direction, terrified of what I’ll see when I do. I saw the hurt in his eyes when I found him in my living room, I’m not prepared to face it again.
I hate how much I hurt him, but I hate myself even more for continuing to do so. I could cancel this dinner. I would pay the price later, but I could cancel. I could take him back to the apartment and talk out our shit.
Dealing with emotions has never been my strong suit though. I’m content to sweep issues of the emotional variety under the rug until they’re so glaring I can’t ignore them anymore or they disappear on their own. Ripley deserves better—so much fucking better.
I see his fingers messing with the bottom of his jacket out of the corner of my eye. It takes everything in me not to wrap his hand in mine, to comfort him in the way I should.
I’m glad he’s nervous, he should be, but I’m concerned he’s more nervous about being in the car with me than what we’re about to walk into.
He probably thinks I’ve exaggerated how bad it can get with my father and stepmother; he’s probably convinced himself they’ll love him because he’s so charming.
Under normal circumstances, I’d agree with him. He’s hard not to love. But my father loves no one but himself. Even Liam and the twins aren’t immune to his failures at being an actual father.
I’ve told Ripley about my father, but he doesn’t truly know.
No one can until they meet Jonathan Cassidy.
And I’m not talking about the Jonathan he puts on for the world.
No, I mean the cruel man who hides behind closed doors.
The one who delivers blows with his calculated words and strategic attacks.
He plants them like a grenade, waiting to set it off at the exact moment he knows he’ll achieve the most destruction.
And I’m public enemy number one every single fucking time.
I need a plan. I know I’m fucked, but I have to try and salvage whatever is left. He came all this way for me, which means earning his forgiveness isn’t as far-fetched as I’ve made myself believe. Sadly, this dinner could put whatever we have in the grave before I have the chance to revive it.
Which is why I have to think of a way to deal with this, a way to escape it mostly unscathed while keeping Ripley safe.
I can’t focus though. Not with him sitting right next to me, breathing the same air, in Seattle. I can’t think about anything else other than getting another chance with the man I love.
Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I’ve been driving on autopilot, barely paying attention to my surroundings, my eyes glued to the pavement in front of me.
It’s not until I’m turning down my father’s street that I realize we’re too close to turn back now.
I’m about to walk into my father’s house with my—fuck, what even is he now?
My boyfriend? My… fuck buddy? Regardless, I’m about to expose him to the people I hate and also love the most.
A part of me can’t help but be happy he’ll at least meet my sisters, though I wish it wasn’t this way.
As I put the car into park, Ripley turns in his seat, mouth opening to say something, but I don’t let him.
“Don’t speak.” His mouth opens again, a smartass remark building on his tongue, I’m sure. “I’m so fucking serious, Ripley. Do not say a word. Please.” I can’t hide the desperation in my voice or the plea on my face begging him to listen, just this once.
“But—”
“It’s either that or you stay in the car, your choice,” I tell him, putting my foot down, not allowing him to change my mind. I shouldn’t have brought him with me to begin with.
A tight line replaces the smirk on his lips, and he nods his head, hopefully realizing the gravity of the situation.
“Thank you,” I say as I push open the car door. I take a deep breath, once again wondering why I’m doing this.
Standing at the door to my father’s house, sweat beads on the back of my neck. I’ve never been so nervous in my life. I knock on the huge oak door, still as a statue as panic courses through me, settling in my gut.
Patricia opens the door, her eyes widening for a split second at the sight of Ripley.
“Seth,” she greets me, her voice clipped and cold as it always is. “You brought a guest.” Her disapproval is clear, but I don’t let it get to me.
“I did, sorry for not asking ahead of time.” My brain goes into overdrive, trying to formulate a good enough reason for the intrusion.
“This is Quinn Ripley. He’s… an investor and close friend of Cary’s.
” She moves aside, allowing us into her home as I continue to explain myself, shoving my shaking hands into my pockets.
“He was here on business, but his flight was cancelled last minute. I figured,” I stop, clearing my throat of the forming lump.
“Well, I figured Father would rather me show up with a guest than be late.”
From around the corner, my father’s voice pierces the air. “You wouldn’t be wrong.”
Face to face with Jonathan Cassidy himself, more sweat drips down my back as my nerves peak.
He eyes Ripley up and down, sizing him up to see if he needs to behave himself or if he can show his true colors.
He must determine Ripley isn’t important enough to hold back because he follows up with, “Though I’m sure your friend could have figured it out on his own without crashing a family dinner.
” He says it with a smile and a small laugh, it almost sounds like a good natured joke, but I know better, and so does Ripley, who winces at the insult but tries to hide it, and I hate myself just a little more.
“You raised me better than that,” I shoot back, hoping it gives my father enough of an ego boost so he’ll let it go.
Jonathan laughs, but there’s no warmth to it. “That I did, son. Do I get to know our guest’s name?” he asks.
“Quinn Ripley,” Patricia jumps in before I can speak.
I slip off my jacket, Ripley following my lead and doing the same.
I take his, walking them both to the hall closet.
Ripley runs his hands over the T-shirt he’s wearing, trying to smooth out some of the wrinkles he picked up traveling.
Without another word, my father and stepmother head to the dining room.
I look to Ripley, gauging how he’s feeling after his first interaction with them.
He gives me a small, tight lipped smile in response.
We stay there for a second longer before I take a deep breath and turn to walk to the dining room.
I stop behind my spot at the table, gesturing for Ripley to take the seat next to me.
Lowering into my chair, I watch as Ripley catalogues the fine china, the giant vase in the middle of the table, and the expensive tablecloth probably worth more than his house payment.
His face is impassive, and I’d kill to know what’s going through his head right this second.
My sisters bound down the stairs and into the dining room.
“Seth!” they say in unison as they wrap me in a hug. Their eyes catch on Ripley and spark with interest.
“Who’s this?” Millie asks.
“I’m—” Ripley starts, but I cut him off with a glare.
“A friend,” I say, fully intending to give them more, but my stepmother interjects before I can finish.
“Stop being nosy, and take a seat, girls,” she says. I hate the way she speaks to them. She treats them as if they’re still children. To this day, they’re told they’re meant to be seen and not heard. I can’t stand it.
“Seth,” Patricia says, demanding my attention as she passes the bread basket to my father. “I heard about the fire. Such a shame.” Condescension laces her tone.
Neither of them wanted me in the restaurant business. They thought it was a form of rebellion when I first told them I’d be partnering with Cary. They assumed I’d come to my senses and go into politics like my father and Liam.
I center myself with a deep breath before answering, “Just a small setback. The damage is minimal, and I—”
“This is why it’s important to have competent employees, especially when left to their own devices while you galavant around with your college buddy,” my dad says, interrupting me.
As much as their digs sting, I’m thankful the conversation is on Carina Cove and not the man sitting next to me, so I push down the anger bubbling inside.
“My employees are more than competent. And they weren’t left alone, Iris was—”