Page 96 of The Prodigal

No wonder I like this fucker sometimes.

“I think so,” I lie. “Is that when I raw-dog her on your kitchen island and forget to pull out?”

“Okay, okay, you win. Stop before we’re both nauseous.”

He’s such a quitter. “What did you want, Dr. Depressing? Talk fast. I only have a few minutes until she gets me hard again.”

“Well,” my father starts, his voice turning stern, “I would like to know where thefuckyou are and why you haven’t been in class? Your roommate says he’s never even met you.”

I almost laugh out loud. “Look at you, Pops. You’re quite the investigator. I bet Mom had her way with you for that little bit of snooping.”

“She did.” He scoffs like I’m stupid. “But don’t try to change the subject. I want to know where you are.” He’s so cute, trying to play grown-up.

“You know where I am. Underneath”—I pretend a girl is with me—“what’s your name again, sweetheart?”

“Remington!” All the teasing is gone from his voice. “I want answers. Where are you, and what are you doing?”

“Didn’t Mom tell you?”

He goes quiet. “No. She won’t choose between us.”

That’s my queen of revenge.

Mom knows I’m going after Albrecht. Hell, she even offered to help, but we both know Dr. Depressing would spoil our plans like he did with her whenshewent after Albrecht.

He inhales, trying to hide his frustration. “I know what you’re doing with Albrecht.”

“Do you?” I chide with an amused grin. “And whatexactlyam I doing with Albrecht?”

“Let me help you,” he pleads, lowering his voice.

“I don’t need your help, Dr. Duke.”

To be honest, I never needed any of the Potters’ help.

But I took it anyway.

And that’s where I went wrong.

Allowing Halle to help me. Letting Vance give me a job. Spending the summer at the lake with my mother and father. Eden and her fucking snark.

All of it made me weak.

It stirred up emotions that I had suppressed for years.

It made mewant.

It made me crave a future I could never have.

And I can’t take it. I can’t endure the pain anymore.

I want to be numb again…like when it was just me, alone in a shitty motel.

“I’ve been talking to Kelly, you know, Summertime Girlfriend, the reporter that your mother and I talked to before? She has information we can use to take down Albrecht. Whatever it is you’re planning, you don’t have to do it alone. Let us help you, son.”

Son.

He uses the term so frequently now. Like it was something he was born to say. And yet, I can’t reciprocate. I can’t call him dad when he deserves to hear it.

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