Chapter 16
“Babe, you should be here! Rita’s roast turkey smells to-die-for!” I can picture the pout on Fi’s face on the other end of the phone and my stomach tightens, wishing I could join her.
I can think of a million places I’d rather spend Thanksgiving than being forced to entertain a room full of my father’s guests, forcing fake smiles and playing happy families when we’re anything but.
And as much as I’d love to be with my best friend right now, celebrating with her, I can’t because I’m stuck here.
It’s strange, but the guys and girls that make up the Lawless family, I daresay are slowly becoming friends. A few weeks ago, I couldn’t imagine ever saying something like that, but here we are.
“Believe me, if I could, I would,” I say, smoothing down the baby blue knee-length dress in the freestanding mirror, tugging at the high neckline that cuts into the base of my throat.
Through the mirror, I glance across to where my original choice lies discarded on my bed, a simple dark blue fitted dress that ends mid-thigh, paired with tights and black heels.
Personally, I didn’t see the issue, but of course my father was all-too eager to object the second I entered the room, claiming it was too revealing.
Despite the neckline not showing anything, and the slit up the left thigh only being three inches long, in his eyes, I would pass for a harlot.
Why not just ship me off to a convent and have done with it?
“Killian’s here,” Fi adds.
I’m not going to lie and say the mention of his name doesn’t make my belly flutter. “I’d be surprised if he wasn’t.”
“Sure it’s not enough to tempt you to come? I heard about what happened at the bar the other night.”
“What?! What have you heard?” I panic.
“That you basically admitted you have the hots for Kill in front of him and some of the guys.”
“Oh, right.” My heart rate slows. Thank god that’s all she knows.
“Why, what were you talking about?” she quizzes.
“Nothing,” I lie.
It’s been a couple of days since I’ve seen Killian after our encounter in the storage room and it sort of feels like he’s avoiding me.
I’ve been at work every day since and every time the damn door to the bar swung open, my breath locked up in the hopes he’d come sauntering through like he always does, but it never happened.
Does he regret it? Do I? I should, but I definitely don’t.
I’ve replayed it in my mind more times than I care to admit and the memory alone is enough to have heat pooling low in my belly.
Which is why when I got home that night I spent almost an hour under the covers in the darkness of my bedroom with my fingers between my legs, desperately trying to recreate the feelings he conjured in that room.
I had hoped that having the mental image of Killian pressed up against me, the way he smelled enveloped me and his raspy voice in my ear would be enough, but as usual, I wasn’t able to, resigned to the same steady plateau, never quite able to get there.
I hate it.
The only communication I’ve had with Killian since that night was a text to say my car has been fixed and was ready to pick up at the garage.
“I just can’t believe you like him. I was under the impression the only way you’d like him is if he was roasting on a spit with a rod shoved up his ass.”
I laugh at the mental image. “I don’t like him. I don’t have to like someone to find them attractive.” I’m not sure who I’m trying to convince by that statement, her or me. We both know I’m lying.
“You still think I can’t see through your bullshit? Babe, I’ve practically known you since were in diapers.”
“You think I wanted this? I didn’t plan it, and as for my little confession at the bar the other night, my brain couldn’t catch up with my mouth. I was never supposed to say that out loud.”
“I can’t believe I’m finding this out from someone other than my best friend! I should be the first person you tell when your pussy gets the sweats for a guy.”
“You have a really interesting way with words, they really paint a picture.”
“Eh, it’s a gift. Listen, Kill has his charms, but he chews up girls and spits them back out again quicker than you can blink. I just don’t want to see you another notch on his bedpost.”
“You don’t have to worry about me, Fi. Me and Killian are world’s apart, I mean, could you imagine?” I laugh it off, pretending her words don’t strike a cord because I’d be lying if I said the thought of being a conquest to him hadn’t crossed my mind. Why else would he be interested in me?
I hear my father calling my name from downstairs and I groan. “Fi, I’ve gotta go, I’m being summoned. I’ll see you soon.”
“Okay. Love ya, babe. Happy Thanksgiving!”
“Love you too, Happy Thanksgiving.”
She signs off with a kiss before hanging up, and after checking my appearance once more, I head downstairs, finding my father in the living room.
“Do I meet with your approval now?” I ask, not bothering to hide the sarcasm in my voice.
My father’s eyes sweep over me from head to toe, his face never changing. “Much better.”
Not wanting to be around my father any more than I have to, I head through to the kitchen/diner and start setting the dining table while my mother hovers over the stove like the perfect little housewife my father has moulded her to be.
“Thanks, sweetie,” she says over her shoulder with a smile.
“No problem.”
There’s a heavy knock at the front door, signalling the first of my father’s guests.
“Kaia, get the door would you?” my father calls from the living room, despite being closer to the front door than I am.
“Kaia, it’s nice to see you again,” Sheriff Collins says when I pull open the door.
I force a smile. “Likewise, Sheriff Collins.”
“Please call me Barry.”
“Barry,” I correct, widening the door and stepping aside to allow him through.
His wife, Susan greets me with a loose hug and a peck on the cheek as she follows her husband into the house.
I direct them into the living room where my father is and escape to the kitchen while they chat to finish setting up.
A short while later, another knock at the door echoes through the house and I groan.
All I need to do is get through dinner and in a few short hours, it will all be over, I remind myself. But those few hours are going to feel like a lifetime, I’m sure of it.
Dinner, as I expect, drags along at a snail’s pace, and every time my eyes flick up to the clock on the wall opposite me, it never seems to change. Is it broken?
My father leads the conversation around the table, dipping in and out of politics where I conveniently switch off because god forbid he leaves those discussions for office hours.
He tells jokes which are only ever used to charm his colleagues and shares stories from years gone by, some even including me and I have to force myself not to scoff at every single one.
It’s a charade.
Everything is fabricated to make it look like we’re the perfect loving family and I hate it because not a single word of it rings true.
My father spends more time at work than he does with his family, which is a blessing in itself because at least if he’s there, he’s not picking apart every aspect of my life and my appearance and making me feel like shit.
My mother, as kind as she is, lacks any backbone when it comes to my father, plays along with his bullshit, hanging off of every word and fails to stand up for me in the moments I need her by my side the most.
I guess that’s why I’m warming to Killian so much. He stands up for me and it feels good to have someone fighting my corner for once and I won’t lie and say it doesn’t send a thrill through me defying my father.
“…hear you study law at Harvard.”
My head snaps up, pulling me from my thoughts. “Sorry?”
“Your father mentioned you study law at Harvard, that’s impressive,” one of the council member’s wives says from across the table.
“Oh, actually I don’t—”
“Kaia is taking a short break at the moment for personal reasons, but I’ve spoken with the President of the school, he’s a good friend of mine and he’s excited to welcome her back. She’ll be heading back next semester, isn’t that right?” my father interjects, his eyes shifting across to me.
I’m stunned. Slack-jawed.
What the fuck?
My heart pounds in my chest so hard I can hear it in my ears. I knew my father was a bastard, but to go behind my back and to put me on the spot like this in front of his colleagues is something else. He’s challenging me, I can see it in his face. He’s daring me to say something, assuming I won’t.
He assumed wrong.
“That’s news to me, seeing as how I quit.”
His face doesn’t change but I see the shift in his eyes, I’m an expert at reading them because I’ve had years and years of practice. He’s both angry and surprised I called him out rather than stay silent.
Across from me my mother takes in a deep breath, knowing the shit storm this is going to cause when our guests have gone because there’s no way the wrath I’m facing will come while he’s got an audience.
His face morphs into a smile, though the look in his eye never changes. “We can discuss it later. I must’ve forgotten to mention it earlier, I’ve been so busy,” he laughs off, his eyes moving around the table.
“What exactly is there to discuss, Father? I quit, dropped out.”
My eyes find my mother, her gaze fixed on the plate in front of her, ever the silent, meek little mouse my father wishes I would be, but that’s where his power and luck run out, because I’m not doing it anymore. I’ve been playing along to his tune my whole life.
That ends now.
“As I said, we’ll discuss it later,” he repeats, shifting the conversation back to politics and I remain silently seething in my seat, and every now and again, I can feel the heat of my father’s glare searing into my skin.