My vocabulary wasn’t all that evolved when it came to the opposite sex. She was either hot or not. She was either cool or not. She was either a great lay or not.
But seriously… Harlow is a work of art, just in her comfy clothes and messy hair pulled away from her face. I find myself not all that irritated at Odin that I won’t be enjoying Harlow in bed to start my day. Somehow, walking her stubborn, vindictive dog for half an hour just so she didn’t have to go out in the nippy morning air fulfills me.
Not the same type of fulfillment, of course, but still pleasurable.
“I take it you two weren’t out for a leisurely stroll and just lost track of time,” Harlow says, eyes glittering with laughter.
“I think your dog intentionally stalled so I wouldn’t get back into bed with you,” I grumble, hanging the leash on the hook by the door. “You know he kicked me in the face this morning.”
Harlow snickers as she scrambles the eggs. “Now, you know that’s just not possible. Dogs don’t think that way.”
“Your dog does,” I insist, rounding the island and moving behind her as she cooks. My arms slip around her waist, and I rest my cheek against the side of her head, looking down at the pan brimming with golden, fluffy eggs.
And it hits me… I’ve never stood with a woman like this before. I mean, sure, I’ve had women cook meals for me. I’ve even had a few semi-serious relationships that were monogamous, but never built on a prior friendship. But I’ve never held a woman in this affectionate, easy way because it’s never felt natural.
With Harlow, it seems like I’ve been doing this for years. In fact, it would seem odd if I weren’t taking the time to show her affection while she’s taking the time to make me breakfast.
“What do you need help with?” I ask.
She leans her head back against my shoulder briefly, tipping it to look up at me. “You’ve done enough taking my duplicitous dog out for a half-hour potty. Get some coffee and I’ll serve up the food.”
I lean around her so my lips can touch hers. Just a brush, a good-morning kiss, and while I’ve got no orgasms on this morning’s agenda, I realize this is just as good.
CHAPTER 22
Stone
The team lounge in the Titans’ arena is much different from what we had in Boston. And we didn’t have a team lounge in Cleveland.
As with everything this organization does for its players, they spared no expense on the luxurious interior of the space where players go to relax before games. Thick carpeting, dark-paneled walls, and sconce lighting that provides a quiet, almost Zen-like atmosphere. There are no TVs, and everyone speaks in low tones.
I’m currently cocked back in a recliner with my headset on, listening to some Soundgarden. It’s not exactly meditative music, but it gets me pumped up for the game, which will be starting in a few hours. My music is interrupted by an incoming text.
I lift my phone from my chest, assuming it’s from Harlow since anyone else who would text me is in this arena right now. Instead, I grit my teeth and lose all my relaxed vibes when I see it’s from my father.
I’d been enjoying several days of quiet from him, and it’s been a relief. Prior to that, he was utterly manic in his demands for me to give him money, give him season tickets, give him respect because he’s my father.
Every bit of it deepened the divide between us.
I grimace as I read his tirade.
This is getting ridiculous, Stone. Your continued denial of what is due your mother and me is bordering on criminal. I have been in talks with an attorney and if you are not willing to split more of Brooks’s estate with me, I’ve been advised that we can press charges.
I actually laugh out loud at the desperate, untruthful, and fanciful words. First and foremost, my brother’s estate has nothing to do with the criminal courts. I would no more be at risk of going to jail than I would be of winning the lottery.
The fact that he thinks he can scare me with that tactic, though, is disconcerting, and my laugh dies. My father is not a stupid man. He knows I would never fall for something so ludicrous. It tells me that he may be losing it altogether. He sounds desperate, and desperate people do tremendously dangerous things. I think my father has bought into the ultimate fantasy that no one in this world is more important than he is.
Part of me wonders if I need to have a conversation with my mother about my father’s mental health. Maybe this isn’t about my dad being a narcissistic asshole, but perhaps he has some underlying mental issues.
My text chimes again, and I can see he’s switching tactics.
I wouldn’t expect you to understand. Your brother was a champion, and you are nothing but a loser who mooches off his brother’s success. And now you’re trying to take all the credit and not give me and your mother our due for raising and sacrificing everything we had for you and your brother. It borders on ungrateful.
Mental issues?
Nah… my dad is just an asshole. These are the same tactics he used on us growing up. Always bullying, always intimidating to get his way.
I start to close out of my texts, deciding to ignore him like I have been the last few weeks. When I don’t engage with his bad behavior, he eventually gives up. Granted, he’ll become progressively more bullish, and I expect a few more nasty texts, but eventually he’ll go quiet when I don’t respond.
But now I’m wondering if I can put an end to this. Maybe my mistake has been in not addressing the issue and assuming that my dad would get the hint and exit my life for good. If he decided to show one hint of care and concern for me as his son, I might be open to communication, but as of right now, my father adds no value to my life.
It’s probably time I said that to him.
I do so in a way that’s not overly complicated and cuts to the heart of the matter.
I am not sure how you got so off track from being a true father, but I’m done trying to figure it out. So let me make this clear. You are not getting a dime from me now or in the future. You can do whatever you feel is necessary in the court system, if you feel the law has been unfair to you. If you choose to go that route, simply have your attorney contact mine. But from this moment forward, you have no business contacting me further. After I send this text, I am blocking you from reaching me via phone in the future. I’m sorry it’s come to this.
And that’s it.
I hit Send and let out a deep breath of relief. My fingers keep moving on the screen, though, and I block his number.
I send a quick screenshot of this most recent text exchange to Harlow. After last night and our amazing morning enjoying breakfast and coffee and mundane chitchat—which turned out to be one of the best mornings I’ve had in a very long time—I know Harlow will understand my emotions regarding this step toward cutting out my dad.
We’ve talked about it before. She knows everything there is to know about Brooks’s relationship with our parents, my relationship with my parents, and lastly, how my relationship with my brother suffered because of my dad’s inability to be a good, loving parent.
Sadly, not just my dad. My mom is no better. She never stepped up and interceded on her children’s behalf. She’s as much to blame for our dysfunction as he is.
Harlow responds almost immediately. Want to talk?