Jack
I grip the steering wheel so hard my knuckles bleach white against the leather.
The engine roars as I press the accelerator harder than necessary, my mind replaying Mia's confession on an endless, torturous loop. She’s had sex with all three of us.
And she wasn't apologetic about it. And to make matters worse, she doesn't sound like she's in a hurry to make a decision.
Honestly, I can't choose.
The words slice through me like broken glass. Sharp. Jagged. Leaving wounds that won't stop bleeding.
I pull into my driveway and kill the engine, but I don't move. Can't move. My hands are still locked on the wheel, my jaw clenched so tight my teeth ache.
Blake. Noah. Me.
She's been with all of us.
The jealousy that rips through me is primal and consuming. It burns in my chest, spreads through my veins like acid. I'm the principal of Riverside Academy. Their boss. And I'm competing with my own employees for a woman I never stopped wanting.
A woman who apparently wants all of us.
I finally force myself out of the car and into my empty house. The silence hits me like a physical blow, and I head straight for the bar cart in my study and pour three fingers of scotch. Then I pour another finger because three isn't nearly enough to dull the rage and confusion tearing me apart.
The first swallow burns. The second goes down smoother. By the third, my hands have stopped shaking, but my mind is still spinning.
I pace the length of my study, the scotch glass dangling from my fingers. My reflection catches in the window. A man in his mid-forties, still fit, still commanding respect in every room he enters. But right now, I look like exactly what I am: a man losing control of everything that matters.
That Fourth of July night nearly ten years ago plays in my memory with crystal clarity. The heat. The fireworks exploding over the lake. The way Mia looked at me across Robert's study, her blue eyes dark and innocent, yet sexy and sultry.
She was eighteen. Barely legal. And my best friend's daughter.
And I wanted her with an intensity that terrified me.
I'd told myself it was wrong. That I was twice her age. But none of that mattered to either of us. I tried a different tactic and mentioned that her father was my best friend. She just shook her head and stepped closer, saying what he doesn't know won't hurt him.
But when she kissed me all those rational thoughts evaporated like smoke.
We had sex right there in Robert's study.
The same place I'd spent many a night sitting with him, talking about work, our wives and children, or even just the latest sports game.
And then, there I was, seducing his daughter and enjoying every moment of it.
We had come together fast and desperate and completely wrong.
Her skirt pushed up around her waist. My pants barely undone.
The fireworks outside providing cover for the sounds we made.
I should have felt guilty, but I didn't. Not when I was caught up in the moment. Not when I was buried so deep inside Mia that we were practically fused together.
The guilt came afterward. I'd betrayed my best friend. Taken advantage of his daughter. Crossed every line that mattered.
Now she's back, and every feeling I tried to bury is clawing its way to the surface.
But she's not just mine.
She's divided between three men, and I don't know if I can share her.
I drain the scotch and pour another. The alcohol dulls the sharp edges of my anger but does nothing to erase the images flooding my mind.
Usually, I'm a very practical man, but right now I've got an imagination to rival any storyteller's.
My mind keeps throwing images at me of Mia naked and moaning in Noah's arms. Of her gripping Blake's hair while he pleases her with oral sex.
"Fuck," I growl and then wince. I don't usually use the F-word because I think it's too crass. But right now, it seems to fit perfectly.
This possessiveness I feel is irrational. I know that. Mia isn't property. She's a grown woman who can make her own choices.
But knowing that doesn't stop the fury from consuming me.
I think about Blake. The charming football coach with his easy smile and athletic build. He's younger than me. Stronger. The kind of man who makes women look twice.
Has he made her laugh? Has he held her while she cried? Has he made her come apart the way I did in my office?
The thought makes me want to put my fist through the wall.
Then there's Noah. The quiet history teacher with his intellectual intensity and thoughtful eyes. He's closer to her age. Probably understands her in ways I never could.
Has she opened up to him? Shared secrets she won't tell me? Let him see parts of herself she keeps hidden?
The jealousy twists deeper, sharper.
I'm competing with my own employees. Men I hired. Men I'm supposed to lead.
What kind of principal loses control like this?
What kind of man?
I pace faster, the scotch sloshing in my glass. My thoughts spiral between anger at Mia's deception, fury at Blake and Noah for touching her, and crushing self-loathing for letting this happen.
I'm the one who should have maintained professional distance. I'm the one who should have said no when she showed up in my school after ten years.
But I didn't. I couldn't.
Because the moment I saw her standing in my office, every buried feeling came roaring back to life.
And now I'm paying the price.
My phone buzzes on my desk. A text from Blake asking if we can talk. I ignore it. Another from Noah saying we need to figure this out. I ignore that too.
I don't want to talk to them. Don't want to hear their justifications or their claims on Mia.
I want to go to her apartment, pull her into my arms, and make her choose.
But I can't do that. Because forcing her to choose might mean losing her completely.
I sink into my leather chair and press the heels of my hands against my eyes. The scotch has made everything fuzzy around the edges, but it hasn't dulled the guilt or the anger or the desperate need clawing at my chest.
I want Mia. I've always wanted Mia.
But I don't know if I can share her with Blake and Noah. I don't know that I can wait for her to make a decision, all the while knowing she's seeing them too.
The possessiveness is consuming. Irrational. Destructive.
And I don't know how to stop it.
A knock at my front door interrupts my spiral. I glance at the clock. Nearly ten. Who the hell is here this late?
I set down my glass and walk to the door, my movements slightly unsteady from the scotch. When I pull it open, I find Emma standing on my porch with an overnight bag slung over her shoulder.
My daughter looks exactly like her mother. Same delicate features. Same cool gray-blue eyes, and the same ability to see through my bullshit.
"Emma." I try to compose myself, but I know I'm failing. "What are you doing here?"
"Mom is being insufferable." She pushes past me into the house without waiting for an invitation. "I need to stay the weekend. We need to talk about something important."
I close the door and follow her into the living room. She drops her bag on the couch and turns to face me, her eyes narrowing as she takes in my appearance.
"Have you been drinking?" Her tone is accusatory.
"I had a scotch." Or four. But she doesn't need to know that.
"You look like hell, Dad." She crosses her arms over her chest. "What's going on?"
"Nothing. Just a long day at work."
"Bullshit." Emma's voice sharpens. "I know that look. Something's wrong. Tell me."
I run my hand through my hair, trying to think of a plausible excuse. But my mind is too fuzzy from the scotch and the emotional turmoil to come up with anything convincing.
"It's complicated," I finally say.
"Everything with you is complicated." She moves closer, studying my face. "This is about a woman, isn't it?"
My silence is answer enough.
Emma's expression shifts from concern to something harder. "I heard an interesting rumor at the country club today."
My stomach drops. "What rumor?"
She tilts her head, her eyes never leaving mine. "That my father is sleeping with the new English teacher." She pauses, letting the words sink in. "The same Mia Wilson I absolutely hated in high school."