Page 7 of Kissed and Missed

I get to my feet. “Julian. Please,” I correct, because I feel like enough of an old man without a woman who looks like she does calling meMr. Ballard.“Have you, uh, heard from Riley?”

She winces, stopping ten feet away from me. “Um. No. I mean, I talked to her in the car, but that was the last time. She wasn’t, you know, nice about it.”

Not a surprise. Blowing out a rocky breath, I shake my head. “I’m sorry, Honor. Truly. Both for what she did, and for the timing.”

Honor lifts a shoulder, her lips twisting into a wry smile. “It wasn’t your fault.”

That may be technically true, but I’m her parent. I was responsible for raising her, for teaching her right from wrong, and now Honor is paying the price for my failure.

She seems to guess what I’m thinking though. “She’s an adult. She knows right from wrong, and she still chose to do this. That’s not on you, Mr. Ballard—Julian.”

I hate that I love the way she says my name.

“You’re much calmer about this than I am.”

Honor’s eyes drift from my face to the ocean behind me as she tucks a wayward lock of light blonde hair behind her ear, looking troubled. “I think I knew. Subconsciously.” She lets out an uncomfortable laugh. “Lesson learned, I guess.”

Even with about a decade of poor behavior under my kid’s belt, never have I been angrier with her.

Honor seems to shake herself, wincing apologetically. “I’m sorry. Weird day. Um. I’m having some trouble getting a flight home, because of the storm hitting the East Coast right now. I managed to find a motel about forty-five minutes away, but I wasn’t sure if I could order a rideshare here, with the security and everything.”

“You’re not taking a rideshare to a motel.” I bristle, annoyed despite myself. “Your holiday has been ruined through no fault of your own. Stay here.”

She shakes her head. “I honestly don’t really want to be here when Riley shows up.”

“She didn’t get on the plane.” My grip tightens on the phone in my hand as a fresh wave of anger with Riley surfaces. “My bet is she’s going to stay in Hawaii with her mother.”

Honor rocks back on her heels, obviously still hesitant. “I don’t want to get in the way.”

Wordlessly, I gesture to the massive house behind her. “If you’d rather be alone, the guest suite has everything you’ll need, and the staff can bring up your meals.”

My pulse stutters as color rises in her cheeks. “It’s not that. I just know you were going to have family over, and probably don’t want to introduce them to Riley’s ex-girlfriend.” Honor reaches up to tuck the same hair back behind her ear, this time exposing a few inches of pale skin below the hem of her T-shirt.

My cock twitches, and I grit my teeth, furious with myself for feeling this way. I have no business being attracted to this woman, not while she’s a guest in my home, or when she’s recovering from a heartbreak inflicted by my own daughter.

“Stay. You’re more than welcome to hide away upstairs if you feel more comfortable avoiding the entire thing,” I insist and—damn me—when she smiles shyly in thanks, I feel about twelve feet tall.

5

HONOR

PRESENT

“Wow, thank God Sophie is banging our dad, right?”

I wince as I help Leni onto my roommate’s bed, her leg—wrapped in an elaborate brace—extending awkwardly over the edge. “Don’t be gross.” I drop her tote bag on the mattress beside her, cold with exhaustion.

Normally, I would be a lot rougher on my sister over a comment like that, but her chalky skin and the flat, dull quality of her eyes scares me a little. Even when we were young kids, Leni threw herself headfirst into life, following her dreams without apology. I always kind of envied her for it. Who wouldn’t be a little jealous of their beautiful, talented younger sister?

“You’re going to be okay,” I say for about the thirteenth time today alone. “Just wait, with the physical therapy, you’ll be back in New York in no time.”

Leni lets out a hard, humorless laugh as she leans forward to adjust Sophie’s pillows behind her back. “Sure.”

“I’m being serious!” I insist, my throat tight. “The doctor said you’ll make a full recovery with some work?—”

“Some work?” she spits, glowering up at me. “This was a career-ending injury, Honor. It will take six months before I’m able to walk without a cane, never mind resume professional training. Best case scenario, I could be back from my littlehiatuswhen I’mtwenty-four. That’s assuming I make a full recovery, which is almost impossible.”

After spending about fifty percent of my childhood doing homework in the waiting area of my sister’s dance studio, I know more than my fair share about ballet. Professional dancers’ careers peak in their mid-twenties and are usually over by the time they hit thirty. Taking several years off in the middle of that is unheard of. I’m trying to stay positive for her sake, but admittedly the prognosis for Leni’s career is grim.

---