Chapter 49
The Drop
Ian
“What’s going on with you?” I ask Killian one night, having called him to my office to talk.
Jenna dropped hard after the night with the piano bench, but she recovered after a couple of days.
She still seems a bit lost, but nothing I’m truly worried about.
Killian, on the other hand, has been moping and snarling ever since, his temperament flaring, and he’s showing no signs of improving even days later.
He has become withdrawn, avoiding both Jenna and me.
“What do you mean?” he asks, crossing his arms over his chest in a defensive position.
I heave a sigh and lay the truth out there. I can’t keep handling him with kid gloves. He asked to be an equal, so he needs to hear the truth. “You’re dropping, Killian.”
“What?” He gives me a look as if I’m stupid.
“Top drop. I’ve told you about that. It’s not just submissives who drop; Doms can do it as well. It’s a natural reaction when—”
“The fuck I am,” Killian cuts me off.
Despite his rising anger, I continue, “You need to give her aftercare, Killian. Not for her. For you. You might think you’re immune and you don’t need it, but you do.”
He starts pacing, sending me sharp glares that make me fear for my furniture and the paintings on the wall. But they’re not important. I can handle his temper. What I can’t take is the way he keeps hurting himself, so I go on.
“You’re not a psychopath. You need the care to balance out the hurt you’re causing.
You need to respond to the intimacy you’re opening up for with Jenna.
I know you care about her. Deeply. You need to face those emotions.
I think you should just spend some time with her tonight. Watch a movie. Play the piano. Talk.”
“Fuck no.”
I release an exasperated sigh and study him for a moment as he keeps pacing.
Despite his rejection, the fact that he’s still here, not having kicked anything, is a good sign.
I’ve been seeing a lot of those lately. Something is changing in him.
Something that gives me hope that he might finally be ready to open up.
So I carefully venture into the territory I’ve avoided for years, hoping he won’t shut off the way he’s done every other time I’ve brought it up.
Because he needs to confront it so he can take care of Jenna and himself.
“Jenna is not your mom,” I say. “She’s not going to leave you out of the blue. She’s not going to leave you at all.”
I sense the storm brewing. Killian pauses, glaring at me with a fury that has the hairs at the back of my neck standing on end.
I remain calm, letting him get his anger out if needed.
But where he usually starts yelling and cursing, he says with a coldness so stark it has me shuddering.
“You think you know me, what I need, what I feel.” His mouth twists in a snarl.
“You think it would hurt me so much if Jenna left. It wouldn’t.
The truth is that I can’t wait for the moment she’s gone. ”
I almost believe him, shocked at the vehemence with which he speaks, but when he leaves the room and slams the door so hard that my conservatoire diploma falls off the wall, I know he’s still in there, my caring, sensitive boy that he locked up so many years ago.
Jenna is starting to break through those barriers, and he’s rattled, so much that he hardens his cold facade even further.
Knowing he’s still in there is a relief, but one that does little to calm me in the long run.
Because I fear that the coldness is settling in a way he’ll never come back from.
I don’t see Killian again for several days, and Jenna doesn’t either.
When she asks about him, I can’t bear to tell her about our conversation, so I simply tell her that he’s stressed about upcoming exams. I don’t think she fully believes me, but she accepts the explanation.
As the days pass and we don’t see Killian, she becomes quieter, and I sense a somber air of longing in her.
When we’re in the kitchen one evening, cooking dinner, Killian comes in and doesn’t leave upon seeing us for the first time in days. He doesn’t acknowledge us either. He just goes straight to the fridge and grabs a few items.
Jenna pauses chopping vegetables, staring at him with huge, perplexed eyes. I pause as well, holding my breath as I sense something coming.
When he moves to leave, she turns to look after him. Just as he rounds the kitchen island, about to disappear from view, she blurts, “Can I have a hug? Please.”
Her voice is low, hesitant, but the urgency is right there in her eyes as she watches him, risking his rejection, bravely asking for what she needs.
Killian turns, approaching with slow steps. And there’s that icy coldness that makes the temperature in the room drop several degrees.
“Did Dad put you up to this?” he asks with malice, getting in her face. “Or are you just being the same pathetic princess you’ve always been, thinking you can just smile and everyone will like you?”
Jenna’s face falls, all hope gone, and her shoulders draw tight, her defense mechanism surging. It breaks my heart to see her like this.
“Enough!” I bark, slamming my hand onto the countertop. “If you want me to treat you like an equal, you’d better act like one.”
Killian casts me a mocking glance. “Fine.” He leans into Jenna’s face again, speaking to me. “You can have her all to yourself.” Then he rounds the kitchen island, casting me a murderous glare, and slams the door with a force that reverberates through the air.
Jenna stares after him for a moment, eyes wide and shocked. “What’s going on with him?” she asks when I go to her and stroke her cheek. “Please tell me the truth.”
I heave a sigh. “He’s dropping. Top drop. But he refuses to acknowledge it and do anything about it. I think we’d better skip play tomorrow.”
“Oh,” she says, looking a little shell-shocked.
“Don’t worry, he’ll come back around soon. Just give him some time,” I say.
But after another week, Killian is the same, if not worse. A constant angry energy is rolling off him in thick waves that hang in the air long after he’s gone.
I tell him to stay off Jenna, to not talk to her.
“Whatever you say, Dad,” he shoots back with sharp irritation, but he does as I say, at least, ignoring Jenna or sticking to condescending glares.
Jenna, however, ardently tries to get something from him—anything to heal the gaping wound his cold rejections create.
“Will you please talk to me?” I sometimes hear her saying when I hover close by after hearing Killian coming downstairs. “Killian, please,” she keeps going when he doesn’t respond. “I miss you.”
The ache in her voice breaks my heart. Both for her and for him.
Because he’s missing her as well. He just won’t admit it.
I think something happened that night with the bench—an intimacy Killian wasn’t ready for.
Jenna hasn’t told me the full depth of the story, but she’s given me enough to put two and two together.
As I witness this cold distance play out and see them both draw further in on themselves, I come to a difficult acknowledgement: Killian is not ready for the responsibility of having a sub, and he might never be.
I had hoped that he just needed time and that we could figure out a way to do this arrangement in the long run—to keep Jenna here.
But it’s becoming clearer by the day that it’s not going to happen.
So I start thinking of alternative solutions.
I promised Jenna I wouldn’t ever hurt her—a promise she made me quietly retract.
But I’m hell-bent on keeping it. I don’t know how, but I’ll find a way to keep her in my life while doing what’s best for my son.
Somehow, I’ll figure this out without hurting her more than Killian already has.