Page 32 of Vicious Little Games

With a heavy sigh, he says, “I’m just doing some research.”

“Research? On what?” I ask, taking a seat in a chair next to the sofa.

“Why do you care?”

Wow. He’s in a shit mood today. Is it because we didn’t fuck last night? Because I threatened to kill him? I wouldn’t actually try to drown him or anything. Probably.

When I don’t respond and don’t leave, Cole eventually answers me. “Since I don’t have anything else to do this summer, I'm…looking for my father.”

“Oh.” That’s the last thing I was expecting him to say. And based on his tone and refusal to make eye contact, I’m guessing it’s a touchy subject. One I shouldn’t give him hell about, or he would never forgive me. So, I don’t say anything bitchy. Instead, I just say, “You don’t know where your father is?”

“I don’t even know his name,” he explains. I have no clue how to respond to that statement. Thankfully, I don’t have to before Cole adds, “You have no idea how lucky you were to grow up with your dad around.”

“And you have no idea how lucky you were to grow up with Vanessa,” I quickly reply.

His head comes up again, eyes landing on me. “Sorry. I forgot that your mother disappeared.”

“It’s fine.”

“What does Dante think happened to her? That Yuri Petrov killed her?”

“Nobody knows for sure,” I tell him. “She was just gone one day. I was still a baby.”

“That sucks. I’m sorry, Cassie. That couldn’t have been easy. I know Dante’s not easy either, but at least you know who’s responsible for you know…creating you.”

Nodding with that sentiment, I find myself telling him, “For years, Dante would make up shit whenever I asked about her, where she was, or when she was coming home. He would say shit like she's traveling for work, or visiting her family, or on a vacation and would be back soon. And of course, she never came back. I was a teenager before I realized he had no idea where she was but didn’t want to tell me. I wish he hadn’t left me with that hope.”

“Hope is better than nothing,” Cole says.

“I’m not so sure about that. He never told me anything about her. I don’t even know what she looks like. It's not like my father would keep photos of all his dead girlfriends hanging around the house.”

“I doubt that he avoids hanging photos out of anything except his own pain and guilt. Maybe he can't bear to see the women he feels like he's responsible for losing, all of your mothers. Three innocent women are three too many.”

“Yes, it is,” I agree. “I know it may be fucked up, but I hope she was killed.”

Cole stares at me silently for several long moments with pity in his eyes rather than thinking I’m a bitch. “Because if she was murdered, it means she didn’t make the decision to abandon you?”

I nod my head, surprised he grasped that sentiment so fast. And ready to change the subject, I ask him, “What do you know about your father?”

“Not much.”

“Because Vanessa refuses to give you more information?”

“Pretty much,” he agrees, shoving his fingers through his short hair. “All I know is that my father may have been in the Sigma Chi fraternity at USC in the fall of two thousand two. Or, hell, he may have just been at one of their parties at the frat house. So far, I’ve found that they had twenty members who lived in the house that year. Not that the one she…slept with lived there, but they apparently fucked there. I was just doing research into the men to see if, I don't know, if I looked like any of their photos. Since I have my mom's hair and eye color, nothing is really jumping out at me.”

I consider that information for a long moment, then ask, “What about your height?”

He arches an eyebrow. “What about it?”

“Well, you're more than a foot taller than your mother so your father must be a giant.”

“My grandfather was tall, so not necessarily. But that's not a terrible idea.”

“Maybe you could see if any of the frat bros played basketball.”

Cole chuckles. “I may be tall, but I’m shit at basketball. At all sports for that matter.”

“Then the athletic gene could have skipped a generation.”

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