Page 35 of Falling for Fury

Unlovable.

The stupid thought hangs in the black void of my mind. I didn’t expect Noah to just fall in love with me. I thought at the very least we’d have some casual sex, you know, scratch the itch caused by that thing between us he kept talking about. But instead, I’m frustrated and annoyed that he left. What’s worse is that he left because I’m a big dummy and doused our chemistry with the word fun. Fun?! Like I have any sense of the word when it comes to men. I have never been a casual person in my life, and here is a guy, solid dream boat with a mouth of dirty words and a body carved in heaven, that was cuddling me, and I said fun. Honestly.

I tell myself that I am not pining for him. No, not him, just… the touch of him. I don’t even know if it is him specifically or just a man, in general. The touch, feeling wanted and desired. Because for a few minutes there, it really did feel amazing to have Noah whisper and moan about my body and how I felt against him. The buzz ended, as he obviously would rather be anywhere but naked next to me. Sure I said fun, but he didn’t have to run for the hills like fun with me is the worst idea ever. You’re overthinking again.

Maybe Rosie is right—and I will deny saying this if she asks—maybe I should download a dating app and get back out there.

I remember the promises I made myself after Jake, that I’d never let a man dictate my emotions or my heart again, not to get attached. Well, Noah just had to go and give me the most mind blowing orgasm of my life without even removing his pants. The image of his pretty mouth, that talented tongue and soft lips, is suddenly in my mind, and I have to shake myself. No more, Addison. You screwed the pooch on that one. That was it—he left. I shake any thoughts that are of the Greek sex god variety as I roll over on the bed, dragging my eyelids open, and blinking in the subtle daylight streaming in from the curtains.

I am unbothered.

Not a care in the world.

I’ll go downstairs and pretend like it never happened. Let’s see him try to avoid that.

Noah who?

Damaged goods.

Another word that slips the barricade I tried to put around all the hideous dark thoughts that take up a permanent residence within my mind. This one stings more. The words are my own and yet they are the result of another. My therapist has worked tirelessly trying to help me see myself as something else. It is harder to do in the wake of rejection.

Indifferent. I will be completely unaffected by him. I won’t give him the satisfaction of my sadness. I will just simply give nothing, and I will be damaged goods no more.

I grab a cup of coffee from the kitchen and decide I will give myself some much needed exercise and fresh air to clear my head. Putting my mug down on the island bench, I sit at the breakfast nook to pull on my runners when I hear my name, ending my growing enthusiasm.

“Addison, where are you off to?” I cringe as I hear my father’s voice approach from the stairs.

“Run,” I say with a clipped tone, not turning to face him. He continues to stand to my left, I presume, waiting for more of an explanation.

“Ah. Nice day for it. Just want to say that it is important to make sure you put more feelers out for a real job when you get home. You don’t need to be stuck in a bar forever.” Literally can’t make this shit up. Give it a rest. I laugh under my breath and shake my head at him before standing, meeting his gaze. “Perhaps I can give Geoff a call, get him to recon—”

“No. I don’t need your help. I can take care of myself.” He shifts uncomfortably, and I make to push past him toward the wilderness and fresh air beyond the front door.

He reaches for me, but like he sees me recoil on instinct, he drops his hand. “Addy. I am…” he squeezes his eyes closed and says the next bit through gritted teeth, “sorry.”

HA!

Firstly, at his sorry excuse of an apology, but secondly, that a father is struggling to apologize to a daughter he belittles and ridicules constantly.

I turn to face him again, keeping the needed space between us. “…uh…okay. What is this apology for?” I raise an eyebrow at him and search his face, trying to connect with his eyes.

“Everything… I guess.” He looks at his hands and shifts uncomfortably again. He isn’t usually so shifty around me, he’s usually more confident. It feels like… guilt? My stomach tightens. It feels like a gut reaction to him. After all these years, I can tell he’s done something, and he feels guilty. And fuck if I couldn’t care less what he has done now. I shove the feeling down and remove the question from my mouth.

“I know I don’t always say the right things. I know I am not father of the year. I don’t know when our relationship became so strained. I don’t…. I don’t understand how to fix this.” He looks at me then, with sad eyes. Half of my heart breaks for him. The part hoping the dad I miss would come back to me, and I find myself wishing we could put everything behind us. Picturing the feeling of being a parent and staring into the eyes of a child who despises you, doesn’t want anything to do with you. A child who you raised. A child who you taught to ride a bike and used to prank your other kids with. Because that is the dad I miss. The dad who used to laugh with me, used to take Riley and me to the DVD shop on a Friday as a treat. Before I can say anything, he continues. “Am I too late?”

“Too late for what, Dad?” My tone laced with the exhaustion I feel deep in my bones.

“To get back to where we used to be. I know I am not a good dad. But it doesn’t mean I don’t want to be. I want to… try more.” I force my eyes to close to blink back the tears threatening to break through as I remind myself of all the horrible things he had said to me in the last five years. Damn him for making me feel this guilt, but the need to connect with him, to feel his acceptance, his pride. God, I wish I could make him proud of me. To love me unconditionally. He says all these things, but I wonder if he’d retract the apology if he knew I was considering never working in law after graduation. That I’m glad I was fired. I wonder how conditional this show of concern and remorse really is?

“Dad…” I release a pained sigh, “I—”

“Morning, Addy. Hey, Dad!” Ava’s cheerful morning voice sounds from behind me, and I have never been so glad for an interruption. “Oh, sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt…” she visibly stiffens, recognizing the tension between us “…I’ll just go—”

“No need. I was just leaving.” Dad looks down and stalks for the stairs, my stomach sinking at his lack of fight to finish his apology. Ava turns to me, and I give her a pointed don’t ask look, and she looks me over, replacing her look of concern with her trademark smile.

“Going somewhere?”

“Yes, actually. A run. Fresh air, wilderness.”

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