Page 130 of The Keeper

It fueled me as I paraded into the bathroom. I stared at my reflection in the mirror and scowled as my eyes filled with tears. I shouldn’t be this upset. Maybe he’s just as shocked and confused as I am. Maybe he needs a minute to figure out what happened, just like I do. Wiping my eyes, I undressed.

Shit.

In all the uproar, I left my underwear in my office. Now there’s something a person doesn’t say every day. Thankfully I’d locked them in my desk but still. Not smart or professional.

I moved through my bedroom on autopilot, sifting through the closet shelves for something comfortable to wear. After settling on yoga pants and a tank top, I flopped on the couch. Again, not smart. My head pounded. I closed my eyes, willing myself to relax.

Dinner with my father proved to be the least stressful event of the day. The most stressful prize goes to Killian and Max after I asked them to pick up my car at the stadium. Neither one would do it until I told them what happened and why.

I did, of course. They’re my closest friends and know everything anyway. What’s another grenade to lob into the fray? Killian pestered me about not laying into Xavier for pulling a disappearing act. I went off on a tirade to actually defend Xavier and the overwhelming shock factor of the situation. Maxim played referee, again.

I threatened to delete Xavier’s number from Killian’s phone if he texted him without my permission. The last thing I wanted or needed was my friend launching an offensive against my boyfriend.

My boyfriend?

Christ Almighty.

I arrived at the restaurant first and waited at the table, checking my phone every two minutes to see if I had a missed text from Xavier.

I didn’t. Obviously.

I typed out a message, deleted it, typed another, deleted it. Frustrated from my own lack of conviction and ability to send even a simple text, I dropped my phone on the table. The server came over to see if I wanted anything to drink. I wisely stayed with water.

“There she is.” The sound of my dad’s voice transported me back to when life was uncomplicated and whole. “Sorry I’m late.”

Much to my surprise, I flashed him an unforced smile. “I haven’t been here long.”

He sat across from me and reached for my hand. His skin was tanned and soft with more defined wrinkles than I remembered. Has it really been three years? A lump formed in my throat. Why do I keep pushing the people I should be leaning on the most away?

“You look beautiful, Tori,” he beamed.

My heart twisted. Killian and my dad are the only two people I allow to call me Tori. It was my sister’s nickname for me and even though I complained about it non-stop when she was alive, I did secretly like it. But now that she’s gone, only my dad and Killian have the privilege.

“It’s the dim lighting,” I joked.

He waved off my silliness. “Neither you nor your mother could ever take a compliment.” His faint English accent was more pronounced.

I squeezed his hand and smiled. “Thank you.”

“Better.”

“What brings you to New York?”

“You.”

I rolled my eyes. “I highly doubt that.”

“So skeptical.” He grinned. “Tell me what you’ve been up to at work.”

Talking to my dad about work was the easiest way to get the conversation started. Plus, I actually had quite a bit to say. And it relaxed me. I could tell him things without hiding a detail or forcing an emotion.

My dad worked a lot when we were kids, much to my mother’s dismay. But we lived a beautiful life and I always appreciated the sacrifice. I also absorbed quite a bit of my dad’s work ethic.

My sister and I never felt neglected or like his job was more important than us. Every night, without fail, when he returned home after a long day, Dad would sit with us on the couch and ask about school or cheerleading practice or the debate team’s next competition.

He was always present. Always.

Until it all fell apart.

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