Macey doesn’t answer. She doesn’t need to. The tear that falls is enough for me. I’m pissed and fucking hurt that she kept this from me. I let go of her arm and stand tall.
“It was nice to meet you, Morgan,” I tell her, shaking her hand again and trying to get an eyeful before I walk the fuck out of this mall. I need to think, and the noise surrounding us together with the people gawking as they walk by isn’t giving my mind the peace and quiet it needs right now.
“When I call you, you will answer, Macey.” The threat is there and she knows that I’m not playing around. I want answers and the mall is the last place I’m going to get them.
I start to walk away when she calls my name, halting me in my tracks. Turning to look at her, she’s poised and dare I say, proud.
“The answer is no.” She turns and walks in the other direction, leaving me confused and dumbfounded. I know what I saw when I looked into Morgan’s eyes. They’re the perfect combination of Macey’s and mine, complemented by a mixture of our dark hair colors. The crooked smile that Morgan gave me is the same smile my mother used to bestow upon me every day when I came home from school. If this isn’t my child, then Macey sure has dumb luck getting knocked up by my doppelganger.
I speed toward home, eager to ask my father if he knows about Morgan. Yes, the man is cold, calculating and would hide what he surely would call an indiscretion from me. He doesn’t know about my night with Macey, not that I would’ve told him, but I suspect Macey would’ve tried to contact me and she’d have had to go through my parents to do so. One look at her back then would’ve told them that she’s not from our neighborhood or well-off enough to attend private school. One look and they would’ve shut the door in her face, telling her they don’t give handouts, everything has to be earned.
Pulling into the circular driveway, there are lights on in various rooms telling me he’s awake. Not that it would matter; I’m still going in as if I own the place. Rude and presumptuous, I know, but it was my house long before the wicked step-monster moved in.
I knock quickly before trying the door. It’s open and I take that as my invitation. The foyer is still as grand as I remember with a sprawling staircase and massive chandelier hanging overhead. The television echoes from the den and I call out, letting my dad know that I’m here.
The television is muted and I call out again as I move toward the den. There I find my dad with the remote in his hand and his wife curled up on the sofa with a book in her lap. Despite their wide age difference, she’s starting to look as old as him and I can’t help but laugh. I thought the whole point of marrying someone much younger was to make you feel younger, not make them seem older. As soon as she recognizes me, her glasses are off and she adjusts her shirt, pushing her tits up into her face, trying to get my attention. Too bad I don’t fucking care.
My dad comes over to give me a hug. I have to admit it feels good to have a warm reception, even if the last time I was here I vowed to never come back. “Finn, what are you doing here?”
Wow, that seems to be the question of the day.
“I had some time, so I thought I’d stop by and visit.”
“Well, welcome home, son,” the wife says, much to my displeasure. She stands and hugs me, and I play along because I’m not here to fight or make waves. Except she holds on a bit longer than appropriate and makes sure to graze my groin in the process. I get it now. Daddy is getting too old and the Viagra takes too long to kick in so you want to fuck your stepson. Too bad your stepson would cut off his dick before going anywhere near you.
“Right,” I say, pushing her away.
“Let me go make up your bed,” she says, leaving my dad and me alone. He watches her walk out of the room, but my eyes stay focused on him.
“So how are you?” I ask, sitting down on the couch. He follows and sighs.
“Tired.”
“I can attest to that. You should come to Vegas, play some golf and enjoy life there.” I laugh when I realize that I want to add, “and leave the whore at home.”
“Yeah, we’d probably like that.”
There was no “we” in the invite, but whatever. Maybe he’ll bring her and she’ll fuck her masseuse.