I nod in affirmation, but still don’t speak. What is there to say? Quinn was there the day I found out that the girl I could see a future with had lied to me then skipped town. She was there the day I saw Celeste on the stupid modeling show and threw my phone at the screen, shattering it. And she was there the day my daughter announced Celeste was her role model and wanted to be just like her. And I had no choice but to smile and nod and agree that Celeste is beautiful and talented. Which she was—is—but it still hurt like hell admitting out loud.
One week was all I had with her. She shouldn’t have been anything more than a blip on my fucking radar. I’ve been with dozens of women since her, and I couldn’t tell you half their names. But Celeste, if I close my eyes and focus hard enough, I could tell you everything about her. The way she smelled like the beach and roses. The way she moaned softly every time she came because she was young and embarrassed, but it felt too good for her to hold it in. I could tell you how soft her skin was and point out where every freckle she has is located because I spent hours learning every inch of her body while she slept—and while she was awake. I could tell you the adorable way she scrunched her nose up when she wasn’t sure of something. The way she blushed when I said something crass—which I did just to see her cheeks flush pink.
So while she shouldn’t have been anything more than some chick I fucked a few times—okay, several times—she was more than that. Through my daughter, I watched Celeste’s career explode. From her modeling, to the startup of her company. I watched her grow and blossom into an amazing woman who chased her dreams and held onto them like they were her lifeline. I watched her become engaged to Nick…and then I watched it end. All while assuming she probably wouldn’t even recognize me if she saw me in person. Until she walked into my shop and did, in fact, recognize me. And in that moment, I thought maybe she would apologize for leaving, or at the very least, explain. But she did neither. She snapped at me and acted like I was the bad guy. And then after hugging my brother, who she barely fucking knew, she walked out the door once again.
“Jase, are you going to tell me what happened?” Quinn asks. When I raise a brow, she rolls her eyes. “I didn’t mean those details. I meant what’s going on with the two of you. I know she’s always been the one who got away…” What the hell is up with my siblings referring to her as that?
“She didn’t get away. She ran,” I say, repeating the same words I said to my brother at the club. After taking another swig of my drink, I add, “And I don’t want to talk about it. There’s nothing to say.” I stand, and without another word, head into my bedroom and close the door behind me.
* * *
Want to know why parents don’t get drunk as often once they have kids? It’s not because they’re more responsible or mature. No, it’s because the next day, when those kids wake up at seven in the fucking morning, demanding breakfast and to go to the pool, there is nobody to save your hungover ass because you’re the damn parent. Which means, even with a pounding headache that won’t go away, you have no choice but to drag yourself out of bed, take a shower, order room service, and pray she doesn’t pick today to talk too much or ask too many questions.
“Dad, come in the pool with me!” Skyla screams way too loudly. I’ve taken several aspirin, but nothing is helping the throbbing pain that feels as if my head was smashed into a cement wall instead of me drinking a bottle of Johnnie last night.
“Alright, alright.” Taking my shirt off, I throw it onto the chair, kick my sandals off my feet, then head over to the steps to slowly work my way into the pool. With my aviators on, the sun is slightly dulled. When my feet touch the water, I thank whatever pool God is up there for the pool being warm.
“Yes!” Skyla screeches, and I do my best not to flinch at her voice. It’s not my daughter’s fault that her father thought it would be a good idea after she went to bed to get stupid drunk in an attempt to temporarily forget the woman he fucked bare in the bathroom at their friends’ wedding reception.
“Celeste!” Skyla yells, and my head whips around so fast it feels like a million nails were just hammered into my skull. “Over here!” When I finally spot where Skyla is looking, I see Celeste standing next to a lounge chair in a tiny-as-fuck black and white string bikini. She’s bending over as she pushes her shorts down her tanned, toned legs, and her tits, the same ones I was kissing all over last night, are on display. She stands back up, and it’s then I notice her flat stomach is donning a belly-button ring, which is glittering in the sunlight. Her hair is pulled up into a messy bun and she’s smiling at Skyla hesitantly, trying to decide whether to come over or run away since I’m standing right next to my daughter.