Page 22 of Should Have Been Me

He grinned in a way that said he knew me better than that, despite all the years that had separated us. “The look on your face, for one.”

I leaned back in the hard, plastic chair, bringing one ankle up and propping it over my knee as I arched a single brow.

“Not saying it to insult you, son. It’s just who you are. You’re intense, always have been. Even when you were a little kid.”

“You mean cold.” The words spilled out of their own accord. I hadn’t realized I’d been thinking them until they were out there, unable to be pulled back.

My father shifted again, sitting up even straighter. “I meant what I said. Sure, intensity can sometimes be mistaken for being cold, but I know you, Vaughn. I know you aren’t cold.”

Unlike my mother.

I was sure he was thinking it just as I was. Because the only intense thing about Estelle Cavanaugh was her complete disdain for the human race.

I cleared my throat that suddenly felt dry and scratchy, reaching up to loosen the tie wrapped around my neck. “Yes, well, it doesn’t really matter now, does it? My reputation is what it is, and I’m fine with that.”

Or at least I had been.

The corners of his mouth curled upward. “What does your new girl think of your reputation?”

My brows slammed down in the center, forming a deep V. “My new girl—” I started, the confusion evident on my face, at least until I remembered the scene I’d caused in the middle of that crowded café the other day. “Oh, yes. My... girl.” My tie suddenly felt like it was strangling me, but I couldn’t reach up and adjust it again without giving away my discomfort. “She seems to like me just fine,” I answered lamely.

I thought back to the fire that sparked in her gray eyes, that flash of anger before she hissed “You don’t have any clue what you’ve just done.” I was sure it said something not at all flattering about me that the fight in her gaze had made my dick thicken and my blood pump faster. At least until she bolted on me, running out of there like her ass was on fire. One spontaneous act in years, and it had backfired stupendously. I didn’t even have her last name, for Christ’s sake, and it wasn’t like I could ask Bartleby for it without giving myself away.

“At least for the time being,” I tacked on, because fake or not, I was sure whatever it was I felt between Calamity and me would end the same way all my other acquaintances with women ended. Horribly.

It never failed that the woman I was spending time with would get tired of how much I worked or how withdrawn I was. I’d been called a workaholic, a robot, an emotionally stunted asshole, you name it. All because I refused to change myself or my lifestyle to better fit my companion. I couldn’t really blame them, though. No matter how well things started, it always went down the same road. I’d explain that work came first. They’d claim to be okay with that, then, in a matter of weeks or months, they’d change their tune. They’d want me to prioritize them more, make them feel like they mattered, and when I’d explain—rather bluntly—that was never going to happen, it was as good as over.

I’d accepted that as my lot in life. For me, there was no work/life balance. There was only work. Intimate relationships were too unpredictable. Too volatile. I couldn’t control them the way I could my job. At least there I had complete control.

“I’m glad you’ve found someone to spend your time with.”

I shot him a bland smile, tugging at the French cuffs of my shirt to hide my discomfort with the turn the conversation had taken. “I have plenty of ways to fill my time.”

“You have work,” he contended.

“Yes. Work that’s very important and time consuming,” I said more defensively than I had intended. “And have you forgotten I’m here for you? Not some random relationship that most likely won’t last more than a handful of weeks.”

Hershel’s features softened. “I’m going to be okay, son.”

That lump in my throat was getting bigger by the second. “Yes, I’m aware,” I said, my tone coming off bored and mildly irritated to mask how I was really feeling. Even though I’d heard as much straight from the oncologist’s mouth, it was still hard to believe it. Really and truly believe it. Especially when I sat with him as the chemicals meant to save him ravaged his body. It was the first time I’d attended one of his chemo treatments, but I knew from Millicent what would come after.

He'd be violently ill, followed by a few days where he could do little more than sleep. Then, just as he seemed to be on the mend, it would be time for another course.

As if he sensed I needed to move off the current topic, he shifted gears. Unfortunately, what he’d decided to switch to wasn’t any better.

“How is your mother doing?”

I gave him a skeptical look. “You really want to know?”

He lifted one gaunt shoulder in an easy shrug. “Of course. We might not be married anymore, but we shared a life together at one time. It would be nice to know she’s doing well.”

I took a few seconds to really study him, looking for any signs of insincerity, but there were none. He really meant it. He wanted her to do well. To be happy. The woman had ended their marriage in a way that could have only been described as cruel. Then, years later when he’d finally managed to move on, she reared her head in order to take his son away from him. Still, he only wanted the best for her. That much was clear.

“She’s... Estelle. You know how it is. No one really knows how she’s doing because she can’t be bothered with silly things such as emotions.”

His focus trailed off, moving to the window overlooking the parking lot, but I could tell by the way his gaze became cloudy that he was too lost in thought to notice what was happening outside this cold, sterile building.

“You know, I always hoped that one day she’d meet the person she was meant to be with. The person who fit her better than I could. It was clear from the very beginning we were just too different, but I never once regretted our years together, because they brought me you. I hate the thought that she’s still alone.”

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