Page 52 of Crimson Desires

Once tour ended, I’d go back home, get hired at another bar or restaurant (because where else would hire a girl with no qualifications?), and return to the monotony and rhythm of the everyday. Worst of all, I’d be alone again.

Regardless of the lofty promises Jack had made to me at the park, I knew that it was wishful thinking to believe that a relationship with him could ever actually work out.

Relying on empty promises was foolish. Depending on love was even more so.

“Does Dad need me back home?” I asked.

“Oh, no, dear. He doesn’t want you to come home yet. You still have a few weeks left working for that band, don’t you?”

“Yes, but-,”

“I promise, Aster, I’ll stay with your father to make sure he’s taken care of,” Melinda assured me. She made a nervous sound at the back of her throat. “Although, I suppose I should warn you now—the doctors are saying that your father will need more aggressive treatment soon.”

“Aggressive treatment?”

“Surgery, dear.”

My stomach dropped.

It was one thing to pay for medication. It was another thing to pay for regular visits to the doctor. But surgery was another beast entirely.

Outside of selling an organ on the black market, I had no idea how I’d ever afford to pay for surgery. Even if I pooled all the money that I’d be earning on this tour, I doubted it would even make a dent in the bill. Plus, there was still rent to think of.

“How much did they estimate it to be?” I asked.

“We’ll talk about that later. I think you’ve had enough stress for tonight,” Melinda said. Ironically, that was the most stressful thing she could’ve told me. I didn’t tell her that, though. “Get some sleep, dear. I’ll have your father call as soon as he’s able.”

“Okay. Thank you, Mel. You’re a saint.”

We exchanged goodbyes before hanging up.

As soon as the line went dead, I collapsed. My phone dropped to the carpet as I buried my face into my hands and tried to hold back the tears that sprung to my eyes.

“Aster? What’s wrong?” Jack rolled off the bed and sat down next to me. He wrapped an arm around my shoulder, drawing me into his chest. I welcomed the comfort.

“It’s my dad,” I said. “He suffered a blood clot. It was minor, and everything’s fine now... but apparently, he’s going to need surgery soon.”

“Oh, shit,” Jack said. “Aster, I’m sorry.”

“Five years ago, Dad had his first stroke,” I confessed.

I didn’t know why I was telling Jack this—maybe it was because I was emotionally exhausted and needed to vent. But thankfully, he took my admission in stride. His expression remained neutral as he nodded at me to continue.

“I was barely a sophomore in college. Until then, my life had been... well, still not great. But it was fine.” I laughed miserably. “Dad’s stroke put him out of work. But he wasn’t sick enough to qualify for disability. So, I came back home to take care of him. That’s when I started working at Greg’s bar.”

“That’s a lot to put on your shoulders,” Jack said. “Wasn’t there anybody else who could help take care of him? Your mom? Your older sister?”

I shook my head. Bitterness filled my chest as I pictured my mother’s face. “Mom divorced Dad shortly after he got fired from his job. Apparently, he was too much of a burden on her. I wasn’t surprised—for as long as I can remember, they’ve fought.”

“And your older sister? What was her name—Viola?”

“Violet,” I corrected. “And things with her are also complicated. Violet left for college when I was eleven. And when she did, she cut contact with our family. I never found out why.”

“I’m sorry, Aster. That’s hard,” Jack murmured. It was clear that he didn’t know what else to say. I didn’t hold it against him. Honestly, I didn’t even want him to say anything. I just needed him to listen.

“I don’t hate my dad. I don’t hate that I had to give up my college experience or my art career or whatever to take care of him,” I said, my heart in every word. “But sometimes, it feels like I’m fighting this uphill battle. And right when I start to get my footing, something happens that sends me tumbling down to the bottom all over again.”

I felt my lower lip quiver. My eyes were hot with tears threatening to spill. I forced them back. It was easy to orgasm in front of someone you cared about. It was harder to cry.

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