Page 53 of The King (Masterpiece Duet 1)
My breathing speeds up. This doesn’t feel coincidental. The same booth. The same order. Damon isn’t making me prepare his coffee, but this still feels like history repeating.
“Are you sure that’s all?” Jessica asks, her gaze meeting mine.
She’s asking if I need help. The offer sends a needle through my heart. We both know there’s not much she could do if I did need help, but it’s sweet to have friends.
“That’s all,” I tell her, forcing a small smile.
When she leaves there’s only silence. The muted shout of Ruth Mae as she gives Jackson grief. How many times have I heard those things? It feels so strange to be here, like I’m a puzzle piece that’s gotten wet, the cardboard expanded. I don’t quite fit anymore.
“How long were you in that place?”
“We staked it out for a week before he came back. There was a short struggle, but we had the upper hand.”
“So you’ve been torturing him for two weeks?”
He looks at me sharply, as if surprised I would mention something so indelicate, despite the fact that he still smells faintly of something burnt. “And would have gone on longer, if you hadn’t shown up.”
“Am I supposed to apologize?” I ask, feeling defensive.
“No,” he says, dismissing the idea. “That’s not necessary.”
I hate the tone he’s using with me, like I’m beneath his notice or care. It’s so far away from the low, seductive voice he gave me all those nights. But as much as his tone bothers me, his silence hurts worse. All the things he isn’t telling me. Leaving me in the dark.
Stripping away my dignity, exactly like his father did in this very booth.
“What happens now?” I ask, digging my nails into my palms.
Neither of us have touched the coffee mugs.
Jessica returns, giving me a worried glance as she sets down a slice of pie. Blueberry this time. Neither of us acknowledge it. After a quick nervous look at Damon, she returns to the kitchen.
“You can go back to your life,” Damon says, as casually as talking about the weather.
Once upon a time those words would have been met with relief. Now I can’t imagine anything more horrible. Not even green tiles and black water are worse than this. “What?”
“I’ve taken care of your father’s other debts,” he adds, like that’s my only objection.
“No.”
There’s a weighted pause, as if Damon’s giving me time to reflect on my disobedience. This is what he’s become all those days torturing his father, becoming him. Losing that final battle.
“I don’t believe you have a choice,” he says lightly.
“You said I would be yours. Yours to keep.”
“For as long as I want,” he says agreeably. “Time’s up.”
It shouldn’t be so hard to breathe outside the water. At least my gasp is silent, my pain private. “You said I would be yours to protect.”
“And you’re safe now. You can run back to your little boyfriend. What was his name? Brandon?”
“Brennan,” I say, tears stinging my eyes.
“Right. I’m sure he would love to fix your intimacy issues and give you a couple babies. You can live happily ever after.”
“That’s not what I want,” I say, my voice low.
“Oh, my sweet Penny. Where did you get the idea that matters?”
Chapter Twenty-One
“You have to eat something,” Daddy says, pushing a dry hot dog in front of me.
I swear to God everyone wants me to eat, as if food can fix this gaping hole inside me. As if it has anything to do with the way my body has shifted and grown and changed.
The edge of the hot dog has turned white from being in the microwave too long. The ketchup has slid down the crack of the bun, forming a pool on the plate. Nothing about this is appetizing, even if I were hungry. Except that Daddy made this for me.
A hundred nights he was gone playing card games, leaving me to scrounge for food, to learn to work the stove before I really should have. All I’d wanted was this, a dry hot dog that he would make for me.
I force myself to take a bite. Somehow it tastes worse than it looks.
Chew. Swallow. Act like a person.
Daddy’s eyes are wide with hope and worry. “If you don’t like it I can bring something else.”
“No,” I say, a little loud. “No, this is perfect. Thank you.”
The truth is he’s been nothing but supportive ever since Damon dropped me off at the door, like an errant lost puppy he was returning to its owner. Daddy fell over himself apologizing to me, swearing things would be different. At the time I had been too numb and too cold to even run through the ordinary thoughts—don’t believe him, Penny. It will only be worse when he gambles again.
Except he didn’t gamble again. Not in the three weeks I’ve been home.
