All of his tattoos.

His beautiful smile.

His thick, sensual cock.

The patch of grass he fucked me on a few days before I left for school. The way he shushed me, begging me to stay quiet but also wanting me so badly to scream to the sky. I dreamt of all of him. Every single thing about him.

Then I woke up, facing reality at five in the morning.

I felt defeated. And stupid. And… weird about all of this. What the hell was I thinking, coming back to this place?

Fucking Primrose. It never failed to let me down.

SEVEN

The next morning, I smelled the crisp, salty scent of bacon. It’d been years since I smelled anything cooking in the mornings. Sitting up, I pushed out of bed and lumbered my way to my bedroom door, cracking it open. The aroma was much stronger as I peeked out. I inhaled, and then my stomach growled.

I felt severely hung over after witnessing Mr. Black with his toy. Something fatty, greasy, and unhealthy was definitely needed to cure me. Brushing my teeth and washing up a bit, I tossed on a pair of sweatpants, tied my hair up, and then hurried downstairs, barefoot. The soles of my feet landed on the wooden floorboards as I met downstairs.

Rounding the corner, I spotted Margie in the kitchen, my father at the bar counter. He sat there, almost lifeless. I came to a halt, watching as he tampered with the edges of the newspaper spread out in front of him.

When I was younger, during the times when he would actually be around, the paper would be in one hand, the other occupied with a piping hot cup of expensive Colombian coffee. But today, both hands were vacant, his stare empty.

Margie spotted me and hurried my way after placing the hot plate of bacon on the counter. “I’m guessing today is one of the bad days?” I asked quietly.

Margie looked at me, eyes full of sorrow. “I’m sorry. Hopefully he comes around. He took his pills. They should help.”

I blinked my tears away, nodding and then sighing as I walked ahead. I took the stool beside him, picking up the box of Cheerios and dumping them into the empty bowl on the counter. “Morning, Dad. How you feeling?”

His head turned vastly, eyes boring into mine. “Dad? I’m not your father.” He blinked, confused. “Hey, lady!” he hollered at Margie, who rushed to his side. “Who is this girl? Why is she calling me her dad?”

“You are her father, Mr. Knight. This is Chloe, your daughter. The one in the pictures on your nightstand.”

He looked around the kitchen. After studying his surroundings for nearly ten seconds, leaving us in an uncomfortable silence, he asked, “Where am I?”

My heart snagged, emotions running wild. I swallowed hard, suddenly in no mood to eat. I started to reach for him, but he quickly jerked his hand away. My eyes instantly burned. I knew I couldn’t take it personally, but how was that humanly possible when the man that helped bring me into this world couldn’t even remember my name? Better yet, his own?

“Uh, Chloe, sweetie,” Margie called, gesturing for me to meet her in the corner in front of the breakfast nook. I slid off my stool, walking her way. “He most likely won’t eat anything crunchy. I made the bacon for you, so feel free to eat it. I was just going to run off to the store for some yogurt and oats. He loves that during days like this. Do you think you can watch him?”

I looked from Margie to my father who was staring at us strangely, almost like he didn’t trust us. His eyes were wide, lips pressed thin, brows knitted. I hugged myself, feeling way too uncomfortable in my own home.

“Or would you rather run the errand for me? I didn’t want to bother you too much—”

“No, no. Please,” I said quickly. “I can go. What kind of yogurt?”

“Any brand is fine as long as it’s vanilla. Any type of oats, preferably honey.” She smiled, but it didn’t touch her eyes. “We could tag along with you…”

“No, it’s okay. He should probably stay here.” I forced a smile, backing away and giving my dad one final glance. Margie nodded, tending to my sick father again. Rushing out of the kitchen and up the stairs, I shut my door behind me and stood there for a moment, leaning against it.

Tears wanted to be set free, no doubt, but I kept my shit together. Talking to him felt like many bullets were being shot straight into my heart. It hurt. But I had to suck it up. This was what I signed up for this summer. He was still my dad, whether he remembered me or not.

I changed clothes, clutched my keys, and zoomed downstairs, purposely avoiding having to go into the kitchen again. I made a mental note of the yogurt and oats and jumped into my car, driving straight to the market.

Once inside, I searched through the aisles, coming across the oats. I snagged two bags just in case, and then started for the dairy section. Making the turn, I ended up on aisle nine, and standing in front of the line of milk in the cold box, nearly perplexed as he looked for his brand, was Theodore Black.

I came to a screeching halt, eyes expanded. Out of everyone I could have run into in Bristle Wave, it was Theo. I started to turn back, but he looked up while scratching the scruff on his chin. When he caught sight of me, I could sum up every emotion that most likely flooded his veins. His heart.

Joy.

Sorrow.

Anger.

Confusion.

I stood still for a moment, unable to form words. Speaking wasn’t going to happen on my end… at least, not right away. Theo’s throat worked up and down, and he stepped away from the milk, his head shifting into an angle as he released the cooler’s door.

“Chloe.” His voice was smooth and deep. Like warm honey drizzling throughout my entire body. Delightful. Delicious. “Uh,” he scratched his head. I began to turn, but he called after me, causing me to stop in my tracks. I heard the heavy crunch of his boots swiftly coming in my direction, and in no time, he was standing before me, a precarious smile hidden beneath his goatee. “Damn… how long’s it been?”

“Three years.” My voice was dry. I stepped back.

“I… can’t even believe it.” His eyes roamed my body but, surprisingly, it wasn’t in a sexual manner. “Man, you look great. What brings you back to Bristle this summer?”

“My dad is sick.” I shrugged. “Just here to help him.” I hated that I was being so informal, so rude. But the image of him sleeping with someone else was seared into my brain. I couldn’t get rid of it. It haunted me. I hated him for it. Petty, I know.

Theo’s smile dropped, brows puckering. “Sick? What happened? Is he alright?”

“He has Alzheimer’s and he had a stroke not too long ago. His nurse says he has his days, but I’m sure he’ll be fine.” That was a lie. It was obvious he wasn’t going to be okay. Not for long.

“Damn. I’m sorry.” He seemed really sincere. I used to tell him all about my parents… way before… well, you know. His lips did that thing. The twisty kind of thing that made him appear so innocent, like he wouldn’t hurt a fly. There was something different about him. His eyes were still sad, but he held his head a little higher, his back straighter. He seemed to be doing okay, but just okay. Not great. Not wonderful. Just okay, taking each day one at a time.

“Listen, we should catch up, have some lunch sometime at my place? I bought a grill! Hardly even use the damn thing. Could whip up some burgers, hotdogs, steaks—whatever you want. I can get whatever we need right now, while I’m here.” He looked around the grocery store, smiling a little.

I couldn’t help my stare at him. Why? Why was he acting like we were okay? Like we hadn’t laid our hands on each other? And let’s not forget the fact that I still hadn’t told Izzy? We were taking this to the grave, but he was acting like I was nothing? Like I was a mistake and he wanted to start over—start fresh and get rid of the imprinted memories.