Page 117 of Burn With Me

A smile tugs at his lips as he glances over at me. “If I tell you, you gotta promise not to get mad.”

Well, I don’t like the sound of that at all.

“I make no promises.”

He laughs, chugging the smoothie-like shot before returning to the table to sit. “Last year, when Mick brought me in, I was in charge ofauditioningthe Confessional girls. It was my job to see if they had conversational skills.”

I vaguely recall interrupting a lunch he was having with Aunt Sadie, where they were discussing his communication skills. “So, you what? Just talked to them? Why would I be mad about you talking to Ginny?”

“Because she was one of the first girls I auditioned. At the club. In the rooms.” He looks at me expectantly, waiting for me to read between the lines.

“You saw her in lingerie?” I should be irritated, but instead, I feel bad for her. She was nervous enough with me the first night in the room. I can’t imagine how nervous she’d been with him.

“You better not have touched her.”

“No! I didn’t touch her! Jesus, Jackson. I told her to put her robe back on and never return wearing clothes like that again when I was in the room. I even started taking the women out for meals after that. I figured it was better than being in a dimly lit box with them half-clothed.”

A series of coughs erupt from his throat, and he grabs a napkin. Even though I’m sitting across the table, I can see the bright red specks of blood on the ivory linen. It’s a glaring piece of reality that he is indeed sick, and this isn’t just a bad nightmare I haven’t woken up from yet.

“That's why you were photographed with so many women last year.” It’s a statement, not a question. Even I had been surprised to see him publicly stepping out on Aunt Sadie so many times.

“Why did you let the press run with the cheating stories if that wasn’t what was really happening?”

Wiping his mouth with the napkin, he shrugs and shakes his head. “Honestly? I was lonely. Your aunt was always away in Jacksonville. Looking back, I know it was fucked up, but I thought she might catch wind and return.”

“You embarrassed the fuck out of her,” I say gently but pointedly. There's no sense in making him feel bad about it again.

“I know I did. And to be honest, notallof my interactionswith the womenwereby the book. But I will say that nothing happened with Ginny. She’s just easy to talk to. I started seeing her at the clinic not long after that. I grew quite fond of her—actually told Sadie I thought she’d be good foryou. Didn’t expect you two to collide like you did, though.”

“Neither did I. Didn’t expect to fall in love with her, either.” Reaching up, I rub my temples, the caffeine in the coffee not doing much for the headache between my eyes that’s been there since last night after Ginny left.

“Love sucks, kid. We can try and harden ourselves to it all we want, but eventually, that one woman is gonna come along and break down the walls we built so high. Sometimes it works, and sometimes all it does is create utter fucking chaos.”

Utter fucking chaos. What a great way to describe Ginny’s and my relationship.

I don’t want to keep thinking about the possibility of her telling me she’s done with me, so I change the subject. “Will you be in the office tomorrow? I think we should probably tell the board.”

“No, tomorrow I’m a guest speaker down at NYU. I’ll get something set up for next week. Let’s just take this one to let the information settle, okay?”

I nod in agreement as my phone vibrates in my pocket. My heart jumps, hands moving quickly to pull it out, hoping it’s Ginny.

It isn’t.

It’s Stacey sending me a message to say she won’t be in tomorrow because she and Kaia are both sick with the flu. I send one back, asking if they need anything, before shoving my phone back in my pocket.

“What do you think I should do? About Ginny. What if she decides she wants to go back to the club? What if I’m not enough for her?”

“Why don’t you fight for her, Jackson? Fight like hell. Show her youareenough. Show her that you want her.There’s a time and place for giving a woman her space. This isn’t it,” he scolds lightly.

“I feel like she needs the time to think about what she wants,” I tell him.

“Well, then give her the rest of the night. But tomorrow? Tomorrow, you show her what she means to you—got it? Don’t let her get away. I’ll be fucking pissed if you do. She’s like the daughter I never had.”

“Gee, thanks, old man.”

“Shut up, you’re not a woman. You know I’ve always treated you like you were my own son.”

His words bring an unexpected sting to my sinuses—the familiar burn of tears starting to form, causing me to look away from him. Not once in my entire life has he ever referred to me as his son. Knowing he feels that way makes the news of his illness that much harder—like I’m losing my father all over again. Only this time, I’m aware enough to know what’s going on.

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