Page 300 of The Grand Duel
I blink over and over, staring at his chest. “I can’t believe they said that. That my dad would just…give it to me.”
He reaches up and tucks my hair behind my ear. “He did the right thing.”
I’m not sure my dad has ever done the right thing by Jovie and me.
Ever.
“They want to see you before they leave. If that’s something you want.”
Panic makes my heart kickstart to the point I can feel the beat in my chest. I shake my head. “I…I don’t think I can…I don’t want to…”
“Okay, good.” He kisses my temple, wrapping me in his arms. “Because I told them they can go to hell.”
I let out a sigh of relief. “You did? You told them that?”
He pulls back, his hand in my hair. “I want to make something abundantly clear right now. Should your mum and dad ever apologise to you and attempt to put things right, if in time you decide to forgive them for what they did, I will not.” His jaw tics. “I cannot, under any circumstance, forgive them, Lis. There’s no way.”
“I don’t think I can either,” I rasp.
“But it’s okay if you do. You know that, too, don’t you?”
I nod. Because I do know that. That if one day my stubbornness loses out to the inherent need to have my parents in my life, if I let them talk, maybe even apologise…
My eyes drift closed.
It would never be the same. It’s impossible. And I can’t see there ever being a time that I’d try.
I just can’t.
“I don’t know what I’ll do with the house. I don’t want to live there, but knowing it’s not going to go anywhere, or change, is a relief.”
“Then keep it that way. Keep it empty.”
“That’s awful. No, there are people sleeping on the streets.”
“Mason has two homes.”
“And it’s terrible,” I repeat, my lips curling. “Don’t tell him I said that.”
“I won’t.” He chuckles, leaning in to kiss me. “Take your time. There’s no rush to do anything with it, okay?”
I nod, my face flushing as I run my hands over his shoulders and up his neck. “Okay.”
He eyes me knowingly. “I have something else for you.”
He steps away from me before I can thank him for the first thing, my childhood home, and crosses to the fridge. He bends to pull open the top drawer in the fridge freezer.
When he walks back over to me, he has a pot of Macca’s ice cream in his hand.
“How long has that been in there?” I ask, frowning.
“Days.”
My mouth drops open. “Days?”
He smiles. “I’ve been saving it.”
“Saving it for what?”