Filed to story: I Slept With My Ex's Father (Olivia & Dylan) Book PDF Free
Maybe a little?
“That’s really low, even for you,” Nate says. “She fucking stepped up because she had to. Because you left her-“
“You and your mom never wanted for anything, did you?”
Nate purses his lips and looks off into the ocean. Something tells me he’s much more comfortable out there than on land. Too bad he can’t become a fish person or something and swim away from me.
“Not in the way you would define want.”
I understand what he means. There’s something of a numbing effect when you have access to so much money. You think you can use it to patch up just about anything.
I’ve done that my whole life. Ever since Clarissa told me she was pregnant. Just throw money at the problem to make sure everything’s okay, keep myself from having to, you know, face the way I feel.
Maybe if I’d started expressing my feelings earlier, my son might understand where I’m coming from just a bit more. “What are you doing here?” I confess I’m curious. “In New York.”
Nate’s jaw tenses, a clear indication that I won’t get the truth from him. At least not yet. “I wanted to be close to Mom. That’s all.”
I smile and nod. I know that’s not true.
Clarissa is as bad now as I was then. She chases after rich men to fund her next exhibitions. I know Nate wants no part in that.
“I’m sure she’ll appreciate that.”
“Yep.”
“I do too, for the record.”
“Well, I didn’t do it for you.”
“Not even a little?”
Nate narrows his eyes. “Not. Even. A little.”
Damn. He knows how to cut deep. Wonder where he got that from. “So, have you…reconsidered things?”
Nate scoffs. “I knew it. I knew you wouldn’t be able to have just one conversation with me without bringing up the club.”
“Technically, I didn’t.”
“Okay, then.” Nate raises an eyebrow. “What things are you asking if I’ve reconsidered?”
I hold my hands up. “Okay, you got me.”
“Wow. Shocking.”
“I just have to ask. The way we left things, I thought I might never…” I control the tremble at the back of my throat. “I thought I might not see you again.”
Nate won’t look at me. If he did, he might realize I’m a person with feelings, not the monster who gave him that ultimatum three years ago. I’ve changed a lot. I’ve had to. Abigail and Jack can attest.
“I know it hasn’t always been easy having me as a father-“
“Whatever this new tactic you’re using is, it’s fucking manipulative, okay? So, cut this shit out.”
I furrow my brow. “What?”
“This whole, ‘Oh, I’m a good guy, I’ve just made mistakes’ thing. You’re not going to make me feel bad for you.”
“It’s not a tactic. It’s…it’s how I feel.”
Nate’s laugh is cold. “Yeah, okay. I’ll believe that when pigs fly. Everything is a tactic to you, Dad. You do whatever you can to get what you want. Always.”
I’m a shrewd businessman. That would be a compliment coming from anyone else but one of my own children. “Nate, I’m really trying here.”
“You fucking stalked me to the beach and want to talk to me about the club. That’s not trying. It’s fucking sadistic.”
Frustration and rage war inside me.
I’ve been trying so hard to maintain an even temper, but how am I supposed to do that when he’s insulting me at every turn? I want to fix things, but I’m only human. I’m still me. And he’s pushing my buttons. “You can’t speak to me like that.”
“Of course, I can.”
“I’m your father.”
“And I’m a grown fucking man!” Nate seethes, blue eyes wild. “If you cared to pay attention, you’d know that. I am trying to live my life, not yours. And you couldn’t stand that. So, I left. And you couldn’t stand that either, and now I’m back and you can’t stand that, so-“
“I love that you’re back, I just want you to let me in!”
Nate makes a noise of disgust. “As if you’ve earned that.”
“I shouldn’t have to earn it, I’m-“
“Stop using the fact you’re my dad to justify anything. All you did was fuck someone without a condom.”
“Don’t-” I bite my tongue again. What’s the use? No matter how I try to defend myself, he’ll find a way to discredit me and my feelings. “Nate, I just want to fix things.”
My son stares at me. So much anger in his lithe frame. “I have spent my whole life trying to figure out how to be a man that loves anything. I never had that. Never had a dad who gave a shit-“
“That’s not true.”
“Never had a male father figure at all-“
“I was. I tried, I-” I did what my father did. That was my version of a father figure. It’s all I knew. Nate and I are more similar than he’d like to believe.
“But I fucking learned. I found things and people I love and-” His anger breaks for a second, and there’s a flash of pain in his eyes.
Sweet Nate…
Once he got to be a certain age, he stopped wanting hugs, would push me away if I tried to give him a pat on the back. The anger has been building for a while.
Still, though, all I want to do right now is hug my son. I want to make him feel better any way I can.
Even if I’m the cause of all his hurt.
“And yet, you want me to be like you.”
I shouldn’t ask. But I need to know. “And what would that mean? Being like me?”
“Cold and unfeeling.” He puts his hand to his chest, rubbing like it’s a muscle that aches. “I don’t want that.”
I don’t either, I think, but can’t say it aloud. If I tried to speak, it probably would come out all garbled with pain.
Nate’s eyes fall to the ground in front of my feet. “There’s nothing for me to reconsider.”
He turns on his heel and heads back to the group of guys, calling something out to which his friends laugh.
I doubt he said anything bad about me. In fact, I doubt he said anything about me at all.
That’s almost worse.
I have to get out of here before I break down. It seldom happens, so when it does, I need to be prepared for the worst.
I rush back to my Range Rover, lock myself inside, and grip the wheel so tight for a second I fear my knuckles might break.
With a loud, unending roar, I allow the boiling, painful fury out of my body.
And then I cry.
I don’t like crying. It hurts me. Not just my soul. My body, my heart. Reveals tensions in my neck and jaw I didn’t know existed from grinning and bearing it in my day-to-day life.
Maybe I’m not capable of changing. Maybe Nate is right to keep his distance.
How can I trade forty-nine years of coldness for warmth in the blink of an eye?
OLIVIA POV
There’s something wrong with Dylan.
When I first got to know him, I thought he was quite unreadable. This is just further proof I’ve spent too much time watching him, thinking about him, pining for him.
Because now I can pinpoint every micro-expression of tension in his ever-present stern expression. The way he holds his jaw, in the pinch of his forehead.
