Page 66 of Until Daddy

She read the short letter.

Carissa,

Found these in my drawer. I know how much you enjoy Pink. Go to the concert. Have a good time but be safe.

Jamison

Be safe? What was that?

Hadn’t he said they could go as friends? Wasn’t that what he’d told her when she’d reminded him their time would be up by March 13th?

The light from her apartment reflected in the window gave her a clear view of herself. All decked out and ready to go to the club to catch—what—another man? Another daddy?

No. She had a daddy, but more than that, she’d had a friend and a lover. She wasn’t giving up yet.

She opened the drawer of her writing desk and scribbled a note, stuffed it in an envelope along with one of the tickets, and sealed it before she could talk herself out of it.

Carissa grabbed her coat and ran down the steps toward the nearest mailbox. It had to get in the next day’s mail; the sooner, the better.

She found the box, pulled the blue door down, threw the letter inside and let go of the door. She stood there on the corner, staring at the mailbox.

Would he go?

Could he forgive her?

She had an entire week to stew about it before she found out.

* * *

Jamison sat in his car,fingers tapping on the steering wheel.

He’d received Carissa’s letter two days before. The concert was in two hours. He had a decision to make. Could he go? Could he see her again, so soon?

She’d mentioned two friends going out but he didn’t want a friendship.

The last few weeks without her had been fucking hell. One of his own creation, but it burned just as hot. He wasn’t sure he could see her and not want to touch her, devour her.

But it was an olive branch. He’d sent her those tickets because he wasn’t going to use them, knowing she’d love to go. He hadn’t expected her to send one back to him and ask him to meet her.

But he’d never expected to have walked out on his babygirl either. Could she ever forgive him for that? For taking out his anger on her and walking out on her when she needed him?

So many things had happened in the last few weeks that he wanted to share with her. Every time Detective Warren called him with news on his search for his mother, Jamison wanted to call Carissa to talk to her about it. Damien was getting closer, friends had started talking to him, started divulging more information.

His father had lied straight through his fucking teeth. He hadn’t offered her money when she said she was leaving him. He had sent her away. He’d controlled every minute of her day, her time, and when she’d tried to fight back, tried to get some breathing room, he’d kicked her out. As far as her friends knew, there was no money, no offer, only threats that if she tried to come back, he’d make sure she regretted it—and Jamison would suffer too.

Barron Croft stopped even trying to contact him, and he preferred it that way. Jamison’s attorney was working on selling off his shares in the company. He supposed he should feel grief over losing his father—not only the current relationship, but the memories of him. He’d never really been a father, Jamison could see that clearly now, more so than he had already. It was one thing to admit something, it was entirely worse to feel the truth in your bones. And he felt the truth now.

His phone beeped, and he swiped the messenger.

Sure. Why would I turn down a ride?

So his decision was made. He’d texted Carissa that morning before his mind was clear enough to stop him, offering to pick her up for the concert.

On my way

He turned on the ignition. They could get a quick bite before the concert. It would be fine.

Not awkward. Just friends. They could do that.

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