Chapter 299: Running Out Of Anger

As soon as my dad finished inviting Damien to stay the night, I realized arguing would be pointless. Not because I suddenly agreed with the idea but because Dad had that familiar look on his face...the one he always wore when he’d already made up his mind and wanted me to know my thoughts were just for show.

He was sitting there in his wheelchair, one hand resting casually on the armrest, looking all innocent while Damien hung out by the kitchen door with that stupid hot face, clearly relishing every bit of my frustration.

I shot glances between the two of them, half-hoping someone would crack a smile and admit it was all a joke. No one did.

"Fine," I said with a little more force than necessary as I tossed the last plate into the sink. "Stay, who even gives a fuck what you do."

Damien’s eyebrow arched slightly, and the corner of his mouth started to twitch like he was fighting back a smirk that made me want to hurl the nearest dish towel at him. I pointed at him before he could say anything.

"Don’t look so smug, asshole."

"I’m not."

"You are."

"I truly am not."

"You’ve got the face for it."

"What face?" His lips betrayed him, just twitching enough to annoy me more than an outright grin would have. "I haven’t won anything."

I rolled my eyes and scoffed, I turned to my dad, who was watching our little back-and-forth with the smug satisfaction of someone who had managed to pull off a masterful rearrangement of the morning without raising his voice.

"Are you happy now?"

Dad beamed. "Very."

"Great, fantastic. Since everyone seems to be having the time of their lives, I’m heading to my room."

Dad frowned, all concerned dad at that moment. "You’ve got work?"

"I always have work to do."

"You don’t have to today."

"I have papers to grade."

"You said you finished most of them yesterday."

"I found more."

Dad stared me down.

I stared right back and Damien cleared his throat, and it sounded suspiciously like he was trying not to laugh, which only made the kitchen feel even smaller and more cramped than it already was.

I turned back to him. "And you."

"Me?"

"Stay out of my room"

He shot me a small smile that managed to look innocent and unapologetic at the same time. "I’ll try."

I left the kitchen before I said something that would force me to explain to my dad why I had just threatened a billionaire with a spatula.

Once I got to my room, I shut the door behind me and leaned against it, staring blankly at nothing for a few seconds. The house felt suddenly too small, and I hated that I could still hear distant sounds from the living room even with the door closed.

My dad’s laughter drifted through the hallway, followed by Damien’s lower voice, and the whole thing irritated me way more than it should have.

It looked like my dad was perfectly happy to have his favorite almost-son back, ready to replace me again before lunch.

I pushed away from the door and snatched my phone before flopping down on the edge of my bed, the mattress sinking under my weight more dramatically than the situation warranted.

I had a bunch of notifications waiting for me, mostly work-related, along with some messages from students asking questions that could’ve been answered by actually reading the assignment instructions they seemed to think were written in ancient Greek. I responded to two, ignored three, and then noticed Connor’s name pop up on my screen.

Before I could call him back, the phone rang.

I answered. "Hey."

"Please tell me you’re home."

Despite myself, I smiled at the sound of his hungover despair, which felt more comforting than anything that’d happened in the kitchen. "I’m home."

On the other end, there was a long, dramatic groan. "Good. Because I woke up thinking I’d died."

I couldn’t help but laugh. "That’s what you get for drinking like you were trying to wipe out your entire family tree."

"I don’t even remember drinking that much."

"You literally gave me your car keys and spent ten minutes trying to convince me parking meters were judging you."

There was a pause. "Did...did I really say that?"

"More than once."

"Oh God."

I laughed again, and for the first time that morning, my shoulders relaxed enough that I could lean back against the pillows without feeling like the walls were closing in. Connor groaned.

"I’m never drinking again." He said with a sigh.

"That’s what everyone says when they’re hungover."

"No, really. I’m done."

"You’ll be fine by tonight."

"I hate that you’re right."

I settled back against the pillows, listening to him whine about his headache and how his mouth tasted like regret.

Talking to Connor felt easy, probably because there was no pressure. I didn’t have to pretend to be okay or worry about every word being taken as something more. A few minutes went by and then he sighed. "Seriously, thanks for last night."

"You don’t have to thank me."

"I made you drive me home while I was practically out cold on our first date."

"You were awake enough to complain about my driving."

"Because you drive like an old man."

"Hey don’t say that shit, I drove safely."

"You also drove like your grandma was in the back seat."

"I don’t have a grandma."

"Exactly. That’s how cautious you were."

I chuckled softly, then I fell silent and Connor picked up on it. "What’s up?"

"Nothing."

"That sounded like something."

I focused on the ceiling, suddenly finding the cracks in the paint more interesting than they had any right to be. "My ex is here."

There was a moment of silence. "Wait."

"Yeah."

"Here, as in your house?"

"Unfortunately."

Connor let out a low whistle. "Wow."

I rubbed my forehead, feeling a headache brewing behind my eyes. "It gets even worse, by the way."

"How?"

"My dad invited him to stay."

"Stay where?"

"At my house."

Connor was quiet for a few seconds. "Overnight?"

"Yes."

"Your dad invited your billionaire ex, whom you haven’t seen properly in four years, to sleep under the same roof as you?"

"When you phrase it like that, it sounds absurd."

"It is absurd."

"I know."

Another pause, and then Connor laughed. "I’m sorry, man, but your life is wild."

"Tell me about it."

I glanced at my bedroom door. and I could still hear voices from the living room, though I couldn’t catch what they were saying.

"My dad still adores him," I said quietly. "It’s like those four years never happened."

"Maybe your dad only remembers the Damien you knew before everything fell apart."

"Maybe."

"And maybe he thinks having him around’s not such a bad idea."

I frowned. "Whose side are you on, O’brien?"

"Nobody’s. I’m just hungover."

"Good answer."

Connor chuckled, then his tone softened. "You know, you don’t have to hate him."

I stared at my hands. "I don’t hate him, not as much as I want to at least."

Connor sighed. "Look, I’m not saying you need to forgive him. I’m not even saying you should get back together. I’m just saying... if you have to fight this hard to convince yourself that you hate someone, maybe that’s not really how you feel."

I didn’t respond, because I knew exactly what he meant.

The silence stretched between us. Finally, I said, "He’s making it hard."

"To hate him?"

"Yeah."

Connor chuckled softly. "That sounds like your problem."

"You’re supposed to be on my side! I was there for you when you thought you were gonna throw up last night!"

"I am being supportive. I’m supporting your emotional growth."

"I don’t want to grow emotionally."

"Nobody does."

I smiled faintly and Connor continued, "From what you’ve told me, he really does want you back."

I looked back at the door. "Yeah."

"And maybe he has a reason for disappearing."

"Maybe."

"You don’t have to forgive him until you know what that reason is."

"I know."

"But you don’t have to decide right now if you’re going to forgive him."

I exhaled a long breath. "Thanks."

"Anytime."

Connor’s voice became lighter again. "And if he does you in, I’m telling Maya I warned you."

"Very comforting."

"I’ll text you later."

"Okay."

"Oh and try not to murder the billionaire, please."

"No promises."