Dear Stetson, I Want You (Midnight Chronicles #1)

Prologue

COVE

“Before you heal the body, you must first heal the mind.”

Aristotle

His softening cock barely slips out before I’m on my feet, shuffling quickly to locate my scattered dress and heels. I find them in a heap on the floor and mentally retrace the events leading up to tonight.

I met a guy. One thing led to another. My vagina is still dry. It was hardly epic. End of story.

Tossing my gold Valentino dress over my head, I groan to myself for entertaining another subpar conquest. I wonder what it would take for men to actually apply some effort in the bedroom? Not only did I ride this man for longer than my legs could handle, but I sucked him off, too.

I’d consider that being pretty fucking generous.

Meanwhile, I get nothing. Not a remotely interesting man to get off on or any kind of action that comes close to satisfying me. And they wonder why they get the crazy side-eye when round two is requested.

Strapping my heels in place, I lift my head to meet…shit. I already forgot his name. Although he stares at me like he’s ready to make permanent plans after this, that simply will not be the case.

“We should do this again sometime,” the mustached bed warmer tells me.

I’m already running late.

I sling my purse over my shoulder, all while searching the overly luxurious hotel room for any other belongings I may have misplaced. “Phone. Where did I put my…phone?” I mutter, flustered and on a mission to book it out of here.

Mike clears his throat, legs spread wide at the edge of the bed with my phone in his hands. “Oh. I’ll take that. Thank you…Matt.” I smile cautiously, confident I fucked up his name, but on the off chance I got it right…go me.

I cannot remember it for the life of me. Was it Mark or Matt? Max? I don’t know, and I don’t have time to investigate, nor do I care to.

“It’s Manny. I’m assuming I won’t be hearing from you again, Cove?” He annunciates my name for the added gut punch that has no impact on my lack of guilt.

Ah, Manny. That rings a very cloudy bell.

“We had fun,” I say, my voice wavering between question and panic. “Why ruin a good thing with another—”

“Good thing?” he questions, brows raised. Manny is a good-looking guy. Tall with dirty blond hair and tattoos—my typical choice. Yet, nothing about him is memorable, and good thing because I don’t intend to see him again.

“Right.” I stand tall, giving myself a glance over in the bathroom mirror. My hair has seen better days, and my unwashed face has yesterday’s makeup spread haphazardly across my cheeks and under eyes.

I look like one too many tequila shots got the best of me and I wound up in the bed of the chatty bartender who was topping me off all night.

Sadly, that’s exactly what happened.

I remember him whispering in my ear that he would book us a room after his shift, and before I knew it, I was ass-up on a California king with his subpar dick inside me, my well-rehearsed fake moans echoing throughout the hotel room.

Goddamn it. I tipped him with my vagina and sadly stayed sober enough to remember how horrible it was. Lesson learned.

I’ve also got a bone to pick with my best friends for letting me get my horny on, because how could they? They’re no strangers to my emotional spirals after sex. And my redheaded friend is about to be on the receiving end of today’s emotional catastrophe.

I glance down at Manny, naked except for a pair of tight boxers, wondering if by staring I’ll suddenly get the urge to rethink seconds and decide he could be worth it.

My stamina has reached a lull, so, hard pass.

If my mindset toward men says anything about my future, I’d like my get out of jail free card now, please. I don’t want to be averse to men. I want to want them. One man who’s perfect for me.

And despite my fucked-up childhood, I’ve always dreamed of being in love. Finding someone who makes me question everything because nothing makes sense without them.

Feels like a long shot, even at twenty-one. I know I’m still young, but I also feel jaded in a way I’m not sure would benefit an attempt at a healthy relationship someday.

I’ve been too hurt. Experienced too much.

I psych myself out of any sort of happiness before I even take a chance to entertain it and find out. It’s my biggest downfall.

And as much as I hate to admit, I’m the queen of taking self-sabotage and making it my whole personality.

“I’m just gonna…go,” I draw out awkwardly before scurrying to the door. I’ve prolonged this enough. All Manny does is nod, and it’s better that way. I exhale a deep breath as the hotel room door closes behind me and my eyes fall shut.

Another night. Another conquest.

This is getting old, Cove.

Gathering myself together, I swing my head down the halls, hoping no one sees me fall victim to the dreaded walk of shame.

I guess it’s my lucky day because it’s a ghost town on this floor at eight in the morning.

My heels clack against the marble flooring as I make my way toward the elevators, absentmindedly pulling my phone out to text Betsy and find out where they are.

I’m alive. Not that you CARE. I’m also starving. Bartender fucked me and forgot to feed me. What kind of gentleman act is that?

Knowing I likely won’t hear from her for a while, I slip my phone into my purse and wait in the elevator as I descend to the lobby. The moment the doors open, I’m hit with the overwhelming smell of tranquility mixed with coastal luxury.

I’m not sure what it is about expensive hotels and resorts, but they all smell the same. Like perfume and cleaning products made a baby, fumigating the air enough to bomb all who enter.

Yet, somehow, it still smells pleasing? Make it make sense.

Around me, the lobby appears more packed than the halls upstairs, with visitors both arriving and leaving. Suitcases roll along the marbled flooring, and bellhops assist where they’re needed, pocketing tips left and right.

I’ve been to Key West a few times in my life, my mother taking me as a child for vacation occasionally. But I wouldn’t exactly consider myself equipped to know my way around without directions.

Despite knowing how I look, I hang left near the main lobby and head toward the guest services counter, tucking myself away enough not to block the incoming visitors.

A flight must have just landed because nearly five sleek black cars arrive at the front entrance, ushering their guests into the hotel and securing their bags.

I need to find directions to the nearest coffee shop and slip out as fast as humanly possible. Betsy’s text comes through just before the man in front of me in line finishes up with the representative.

Betsy:

Trying to understand a man is like teaching a cat to bark. Useless and disappointing. Meet us @ Sailor Mug.

I’m gonna take a guess and say Sailor Mug is a coffee shop?

The man in front of me dismisses the woman behind the counter, and I take that as my sign to approach. “Good morning. How can I help you?” she asks kindly. But I can’t focus. It’s as if my body, my mind, my life, reverts back in time.

I freeze.

Because the sound of a voice I could never forget, no matter how hard I try, the same one that haunts all my favorite memories, steals my attention.

As if on instinct, I close my eyes. I know what I’ll find once I open them, and sadly, I’m not sure how I’ll respond. I never thought about how I’d handle this happening. But in Key West, of all places?

Will I run? Will I break down and finally let myself cry? Or will I get mad?

“Ma’am?”

“Just a moment, please,” I tell the woman, unsteadiness in my voice.

I need…just a moment. Open your eyes, Cove.

I turn around, and the same paralyzing sickness I experienced twelve years ago sends shockwaves throughout my body the moment I become aware.

Because there he is, stepping out of one of those sleek, expensive cars I clocked immediately and striding into the hotel like he owns the place, flanked by two people I refuse to acknowledge until I’m absolutely sure it’s him.

But I know. How could I not remember the man I once believed was my personal superhero?

His tall frame, dark brown hair, and a trimmed beard, all tied together in a navy blue suit. The same suit I remember picking up in multiples at the dry cleaners every week on my way home from school.

But the sight of him alone isn’t what knocks the breath from my lungs. It’s the same hands that once dried my tears as a little girl, now clasped, as if it were the most natural thing in the world, with another young girl who’s definitely not me, looking less than ten.

Or maybe it’s the smile on his face directed at the tall woman beside him?

The woman with short black hair and warm tan skin.

She’s dripping in wealth—enough that it’s noticeable from where I stand.

Her Prada handbag accompanied by layers and stacks of gold jewelry.

I couldn’t miss the overzealous rock on her ring finger if I tried.

And trust me, I’d be perfectly content living life without that vision.

The entire picture before me, if I’m being honest.

One moment, I can’t convince myself to look his way, and the next, I can’t look elsewhere. Thankfully, I’m out of their line of sight, concealing my lingering.

I feel like I’ve seen a ghost.

Because I have. It’s been twelve years since he left us. My mom and I. Twelve years since the man who was supposed to love me forever and commit his life to protecting his daughter, broke the bond we could have had.

There’s my dad. After all these years…

With a new family at his side. A wife and a daughter.

It’s like he copy and pasted the same life he had before.

Except, we were never wealthy the way he clearly is now.

Not even close. I remember his automotive business just beginning to pick up speed.

As far as I knew, we were comfortable. We always had food on the table, and I never went without.

Hurt I never knew possible settles in my chest. My stomach.

Hell, I feel disappointment everywhere.

What was so wrong with me that my own father didn’t see me worth sticking around for? Or my mom? All we ever did was love him. Was that not enough for him?

Because what makes a father abandon his child? Only to turn around and have another.

Humiliation hits me. I’ve had years to process his absence.

And I have. But I think in the back of my head, I always hoped and prayed it was for a good reason.

Maybe that’s my lack of life experience, and the genuine benefit I often give people.

I want to believe goodness still exists in humankind even after they’ve hurt you.

But this new development changes things. It makes his absence inexcusable, not that it ever was excused, but now there’s no justifiable reason for his betrayal. It only serves as confirmation of what I knew all along—I can’t depend on anyone. Let alone a man of power and wealth.

Because there was never a permanent work trip he had to go on. Never a family member he had to care for elsewhere. And it was never a vacation he’d return to us from with open arms and love in his heart.

No. Because all I see is someone who wanted what they didn’t have. Another woman. Another life. A new family to create and build with someone else. Somewhere else.

His wealth sticks out like a sore thumb.

The grandest of lives he’s given both his daughter and wife.

He’s staying in this hotel, for fuck’s sake.

Things really have changed since he left.

I remember how often he worked, he and my mom screaming more times than not over him never being home.

Never making dinnertime and always working.

Trying his best to work hard and give us the “best life.”

The hope I once had in him has imploded into pieces. All I feel is rage and hate. He is not my father. Although his face has aged, the presence I always remember him commanding in a room has not.

I think my soul knew he was here. It took a hit before I faced him.

And now, my admiration and belief in men like him is eternally depleted. I’ve got nothing left.

I never pictured my quick turnaround trip to Key West to be the same moment in time my adult life shifts.

The moment I found my estranged father again.

But here we are. My mind doesn’t give two shits about the worthless one-night stand I just entertained, or the coffee date I promised Betsy and Kimber I’d meet them for. Today, more than ever, I’m grateful for my best friend’s lack of planning, not giving me a specific time to meet her.

I don’t have it in me to chat and gossip.

The sickness I anticipated feeling if I ever saw him again feels like a gunshot wound to my spirit. An ache in my bones with repercussions that shake my heart to its core.

He’s a fucking coward, and I hate him for it.

Ever since he left us, all we’ve done is struggle. Struggle to make ends meet. Struggle to make every second count because the bills were overdue. Struggle because Mom had to work second shift at the hospital, or at times her second job, just to pay for my soccer uniform or a field trip fee.

To think we could have lived a more comfortable life makes me physically ill.

But fuck him. Fuck him for thinking he deserved better than us.

I want nothing to do with the man who, as far as I’m concerned, was simply just a donor in my birthright. My Mother loved him with her entire being, and I was the one who held her together when she fell apart night after night.

The same way she did for me, as I cried for my daddy to return home for years. Years until I could finally comprehend that he might not be coming back to me.

And now, it’s just us and the life we’ve built together.

The life she has made possible for me. I will only ever give credit where credit is due, and that’s to my mother.

The woman who set an example of what it means to be loyal and dedicated. My career has just taken off, and she’s been my devoted cheerleader.

I’m better off without him. Better off without the money he offered to leave to me when I became an adult. I still remember laughing out loud at eighteen when my mom showed me the letter he left behind for me.

I was only nine when he vanished, too young to understand. I get why she kept it hidden for so long. It would have done me more harm than good to know about it.

And somehow, despite knowing he attempted to pay me for his leaving, I still hoped his motives were pure.

But now, as I watch him bring his wife’s forehead to his lips, there’s no doubt in my mind it was all out of selfish intent.

That’s the farthest thing from love. And the last thing I could ever want.

I won’t subject myself to this kind of hurt ever again.

Not if this is what greed and power can do to someone.

I’d rather be poor and cherished by someone who has loved me well.

It’s better I saw this now. I don’t want to be left wondering my whole life. Now, I can move on and forget he ever existed.

Because Nathaniel McIntosh is dead to me.