Page 15 of Splintered Memories
My name was so familiar on his lips, and it tore at a jagged memory in my chest. I pushed the feeling down, replacing it with wary coldness.
My eyes narrowed. “What are you doing here?” One blink was the only tell at his surprise in my tone. I supposed he wasn’t used to receiving much from me other than blind obedience. “And why the hell did you come to this door?”
A grimace curled my father’s lip, but someone else answered my question for him.
“We went to the front door, but you didn’t answer.”
My gaze slid to the man standing behind my father. August Ramsey looked different. His usual easy smile was gone, replaced by a tense jaw and a muscle fluttering along his cheek.
“I knew you had soundproofed your studio so I suggested we try this door before we left,” he continued.
My body stiffened at the use of the word “we.” Anyone who aligned themselves with Tristan Hawthorn was immediately suspect in my book.
“I need to speak with you,” my father said.
I glared up at him. “I amworking.” I emphasized the last word. “I’m sure whatever the hell this is could’ve been taken care of with a simple phone call.”
It was my father’s turn to tense. His nose wrinkled at the bridge. “Maybe it could have, but I don’t have your number, Emersyn. I haven’t known your number for years.”
The fact that he was acting as if that were my fault put my teeth on edge. I was sure, being the wealthy man he was, with many connections in this town, that he could’ve found my number easily. I opened my mouth to say as much, but he raised a finger before I could speak.
“And don’t pretend you wouldn’t have hung up on me the moment you heard my voice. I’m not an idiot and this is important.”
I closed my mouth again. Fine. I gave him that.
My gaze bounced between the two men standing on my doorstep. “What exactly is so important?”
Whatever it was, a sick feeling crawled up my spine. This couldn’t be good.
“May we come in?” my father asked, voice gentle, but cautious.
“No,” I said, immediately.
His hands curled into fists at his sides. “I don’t want to stand out here and argue with you. The neighbors will start to talk.”
“I don’t care what my neighbors say.” But I knew that he did.
“Ten minutes,” he grumbled between his teeth. “That’s all I need.”
Everything in me revolted at the idea of letting him into my home. This was a place I had built all on my own. Maybe not with my two hands, but I had worked so hard to buy this house. I’d poured everything into making a place for myself, a place that was all mine and no one else’s. A place that felt safe after so many years of constant fear in the spaces where I lived.
My eyes sought out August again. He still looked…unsettled. The planes of his face were harder, but his eyes softened as he noticed my gaze. Something in my chest shifted, ever so slightly. I wasn’t sure what it was, but the rebellion in me eased a fraction.
My finger twitched around the door handle as I looked back at my father. I wasn’t sure whether I was going to let him in or shut that door in his face, until the words slipped from my mouth in a terse, clipped warning.
“Ten minutes,” I said. “That’s all the patience I have.” Then, I let them in.
The hair on the back of my neck stood on end, regretting my decision the moment my father stepped inside my space.
“Thank you.” He let out a relieved breath, his shoulders sagging with it.
I walked clear across the room, leaning my hip against my desk as I pinned the two of them with a stare, silently warning them they were not welcome to step in any farther.
They didn’t.
“What do you want?” I glanced at my watch, noting the time to keep track.
My father sounded more annoyed than anything when he spoke next. “You are a grumpy little thing, aren’t you?”
