28. CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
Joss
N o. No, no, no, no .
She’s early and I’m not prepared. We were supposed to have time this morning. I was supposed to formulate a rock-solid plan, and now I’m out of time.
Wes’s head hits my chest with a little groan and I want to laugh, I really do. But I can’t.
“She’s early,” I choke out, my voice sounding far away even to my ears. We both look at the clock at the same time. Ten a.m. Two hours, we should have two more hours. We also well and truly missed dawn patrol. Whoops.
“I’ll get it,” Wes says, and pushes himself off the bed.
His eyes linger over my body, splayed out in nothing but my underwear and cami. A burn re-emerges, my skin heating in direct correlation to the path of his gaze. I can see the desire there and know it’s mimicked in my own eyes.
Another knock sounds across the space, and I wince. My brain wakes up to the fact that I can’t avoid this any longer. The last thirty-six hours have been an oscillation of worry over this visit and living in wishful ignorance that it would never come. Well, it has. And I can’t hide behind Wes for this.
“No, it’s fine. I’ll get it,” I say, sliding out of the bed in his wake.
My feet hit the floor, toes scrunching in the soft carpet. My jeans lie splayed next to the bed. I pull them on in a rush, grabbing a discarded hoodie of Wes’s. The smell of him, masculine and heady, fills my nostrils, and I give myself just one second of bliss to breathe him in.
I catch a glimpse of Wes in grey sweatpants, a T-shirt in his hand, walking from the closet as I head out of the bedroom. Another knock penetrates the silence. God, talk about impatience.
“Joss, wait.”
But I can’t wait. Now that I’m moving, it’s like a fire’s been lit and it’s burning out of control. I just want this part over. The doorknob is cold under my palm, the click of the deadbolt loud in my ears. I have the briefest moment to take in my mother standing at the threshold before she shrieks, “Surprise!”
I’m shocked back a step when she pulls me into a hug, and my back hits a bare chest. Wes’s chest. Where is his shirt? I crane my neck enough to get a glimpse of his torso before his shirt slides into place. Ah, he was pulling it on as I opened the door, and now I’m trapped in a Wes-and-Mom sandwich.
“Mom. ”
I don’t know what I expected, but this hug as if nothing happened isn’t it. I can’t look at her, so my eyes flick back to the door. My entire body goes rigid as a sickening realization crests over me like a wave. She didn’t bring Bill. She didn’t bring some random guy she’s shacked up with. My vocal cords thaw just as my mom pulls back and turns to face the man standing in the hallway.
“Dad,” I gasp.
Wes’s arms band around my middle in a heartbeat, the word throwing him into action. He pulls me tight against his chest again, away from my mom. She’s looking between us with a smile on her face. This is why she was so vague about who she was bringing. She brought him .
“Hi, Joss,” my dad says, sounding tentative but hopeful.
Just hearing his voice hurts. It’s like a finger pressed to a long-healed wound. One where the scar tissue is almost more painful than the original blow. That voice, all these years later, brings with it an onslaught of memories. I’m thankful for Wes’s steady presence and the way it’s keeping me upright.
I can’t speak, my voice has seized yet again. I was prepared for Mom—or at least as prepared as I could be—but this? There is nothing I could have done to prepare for this. Wes’s arms lock tighter around my waist for just a second, a silent promise. I’ve got you.
One arm loosens from where he’s wound around me, reaching forward to my mom.
“Hi, I’m Wes. I’m afraid you caught us still in bed.” He lets a laugh loose, a real laugh, and the entire mood lightens. Awkward chuckles from my parents echo around us. I hear it all through a fog as I force a smile onto my face. It probably looks deranged .
My mom’s hand meets his and her smile grows. He’s charming her already. “Andrea. It’s so nice to meet you, Wes.”
When my mom moves aside, my dad takes a step forward and I tense. Our matching grey eyes haven’t left each other since the first moment I saw him. His arm moves as if in slow motion, extending toward Wes. Their hands meet, and at the same time, Wes’s other hand slips just underneath the hoodie, his thumb rubbing circles over my hip, soothing an ache he can’t even see.
“I’m Brian. We’re sorry for disrupting your morning.”
He’s less than a foot from me. This man I haven’t seen or spoken to in sixteen years. Not since I was fourteen years old. All at once, it’s too much, and I wrench myself free. My stomach pitches. I’m going to be sick. I barely hear Wes’s pained voice calling my name as I run for the bathroom.
My knees hit the tile and I relish the sharp pain, the pressure, as I heave and heave over the porcelain bowl. There’s nothing but ringing in my ears, blocking everything else out, so I don’t hear him coming. His hands reach around my face to pull my hair back, fingers grazing my cheek, my neck. A soothing hand glides up and down my back from where he’s crouched around me like a protective animal.
There’s nothing left in my stomach, but my body continues to shudder against the onslaught of dry heaves until I finally slump sideways into Wes. The force knocks him off-balance and he falls back against the bathtub with a thud, me in his lap.
“Shit, I’m sorry,” I say, attempting to move, but his arms wind around me, twining vines of support, intent to hold me steady. I relax into his grip, my head lolling onto his chest .
“Don’t apologize, Grey. I’m good.”
A washcloth materializes in front of my face. Grabbing it, I wipe my face, feeling disgusting and still a little queasy.
“So, uh, that’s your dad, huh?” The irony in his tone isn’t lost on me, and my answering laugh is humorless and rough.
“Yeah. That’s him.”
“What can I do, Grey? Do you want them to leave? This isn’t what you signed up for with this visit.”
Is that what I want? I mean, at this point, they’re here. Maybe I ought to take this opportunity to… Shit. I don’t know. There must be a reason they’re here now, right? They wouldn’t have traveled all this way for nothing. Oh god, are they here together? Like, together together? My stomach clenches again, and if there were anything left to throw up, I would.
Deep breaths, Joss. Inhale. Hold. Exhale. Hold. Again and again.
Wes presses a kiss to the top of my head and I sink into him further. I want to stay cocooned on the bathroom floor and forget that my parents are sitting in the living room waiting for us.
“Are they just sitting out there?” I say into his chest, letting my fingers splay across the muscles there.
“Yeah, I wasn’t sure what else to do with them.” His hand drifts up and down my arm.
“Okay.” I exhale loudly on the word. “I need to take a shower. I can’t go out there like this. Can you—”
“I’ve got it, take your time. We’ll be there when you’re ready.”
I nod against him, not wanting to get up but knowing I need to. It takes me another full minute to will myself to stand. Wes presses himself off the floor, uncurling gracefully like a cat .
“You okay?” His eyes hold the question, and I think back to how many times he’s asked me the same thing since this all started.
“Yeah.” I clear my throat. “I will be. Thanks, Wes.”
“Anytime, sweetheart.” This time it’s my forehead he kisses, soft and light, but he lingers just a second longer than would be considered “friendly.” A deep sigh escapes him when he finally pulls away.
I shut the bathroom door behind him, listening to him move around his room for a minute before the click of the bedroom door makes its way to me. The steam from the shower fills the space, warm and inviting. I strip off my dirty clothes, wishing I could strip away the last fifteen minutes and end up back in bed, snuggled up with Wes.
The hot water against my skin burns and scalds, injecting life back into me and leaving me feeling invigorated. I scrub every inch of my body, enveloped in the scent of Wes’s bodywash, my mind set to the task of figuring out what the hell I’m supposed to do now.
I feel raw and exposed. These last few months I’ve been lowering my walls, letting Wes in little by little, allowing my emotions to take the reins more than I have in years. Yet sharing my family history and being vulnerable with him left me unprotected from the shock of my dad being here in a way that I hate. I showed weakness to the two people I can’t trust not to exploit it.
Dammit. This is why I have that box inside myself where I keep all this shit locked up tight. Letting it out does nothing but bring me pain. I guess Eric and Jaz were both right when they said I don’t let people in, but how can I when this is the result ?
The water beats on my shoulders, every motion on autopilot as I rebuild my walls brick by brick, until I’m back to being the Joss that I’m comfortable as. The Joss that can handle this whole situation. The one who can keep it together in the face of her father who abandoned her. The Joss who doesn’t care about the mother that stole from her and broke her trust.
The woman I am when I step out of the shower is not the same woman who stepped in. I look at myself in the mirror. The hard lines of my jaw. Eyes a dull grey, closed off, no emotion to speak of hidden in their depths. Shoulders rolled back, spine straight. I take a deep breath. There’s not even a waver or quiver in it. It’s strong and controlled.
I gather my clothes off the floor, wishing I had extras to change into. When I enter the bedroom, the tiniest crack forms in my armor. A clean hoodie lies on the bed, beckoning me forward. I slip on my jeans, wishing I had fresh underwear, before pulling the hoodie over my head, relishing the soft fabric against my bare skin.
There’s no point in putting this off any longer. I stalk to the door, pulling it open quietly, ready to get this over with. Every step comes with an extra brick, reinforcing those walls that I rely on for protection, cramming putty into the cracks made by Wes’s latest bout of thoughtfulness. I don’t have space even for him to be inside these walls right now.
It’s my dad’s voice that carries to me first. “—and you’re American right?”
“That I am. Can’t seem to pick up the Australian accent, no matter how hard I try. ”
The laugh that ensues from across the room is a replica of my own. If not for the fortress around my heart, the sound of my mother’s laugh might make me sad or nostalgic, but instead, I feel nothing.
“That’s okay, babe,” I say as I join them, infusing my voice with confidence to match Wes’s. “I like your American one better anyway.”
He turns, his eyes becoming smoldering sapphires when he sees me, and I walk directly into his arms. His nose is buried in my wet hair, my face pressed to his chest, toes dangling above the floor.
“I’m so proud of you,” he whispers across my skin, low enough for only me to hear. “Also, as your boyfriend, I’m really excited to have my hands all over you.”
He pulls back and winks, pressing yet another kiss to the top of my hair. I try not to linger on the fact that he didn’t say “fake” boyfriend. He lowers me to the floor and I draw strength from him, letting everything else fall away. He takes up the space behind me as I step toward where my parents sit, watching me warily from the couch.
“What is it that you’re here for?” There’s no feeling in my voice, exactly how I want it to be. My mom looks taken aback by my tone, her gaze darting around anxiously. My dad is still staring at me though, as if it’s not his fault he hasn’t so much as laid eyes on me in sixteen years.
“Joss, we… your dad and I… we wanted to see you. Isn’t that enough?” Mom’s voice sends ice down my spine, and I repress a shiver in response.
My dad shifts in his seat, looking uncomfortable .
“I wish it could be, but you haven’t given me a lot of reasons to trust your motives, now have you?” She recoils like I slapped her and instantly looks to my dad. What has she told him about our history? Nothing, if I had to guess. “Is that why you’re here, Brian? Just wanted to say hello?”
I may still call him Dad in my head, and it may have slipped out when I first saw him, but he won’t get the honor of that title out loud again.
“Joss, I—” His voice breaks on my name, a hollow, sad noise that, if not for the walls, might actually make me want to go to him. “I did want to see you. I do. I know it’s been a long time, too long, but there’s things I’d like to say.”
He can’t look at me now, his gaze flitting from one thing to another as he takes in the room.
“Then say them. Tell me how your family is. You know, the one you left us for.”
His countenance sags, and when his eyes do finally meet mine again, the grey is rimmed with silver tears. They don’t fall but I can see them, speaking to the emotion coursing through his body. I let no such emotion show. He looks to his lap, hand smoothing the hair that is so like mine in color aside from the streaks of grey that glint in the sunlight streaming through the windows.
“That’s a long story, one you deserve to hear.” His voice quavers. “But, I—god, I’m so sorry, Joss. I know there’s nothing I can say that will make up for what I did, but if you hear nothing else, please hear this: leaving you was a mistake. The biggest I’ve ever made. ”
The facade slips just enough that my mouth falls open, complete shock radiating through my body. Those were words I never thought I’d hear, and yet there they are, hanging between us.
Wes must feel me drowning in them because he reaches for my hand. “How about a cup of coffee, yeah? Then we can sit and talk.” His eyes bore into mine, asking me questions that I can’t even begin to answer.
“Yeah. Yeah, coffee would be good.”
With one more look toward my dad, one lone tear sliding down his cheek, I turn and walk to the kitchen. Wes’s hand held tight in mine.