Dr. Petersen crossed his hands in his lap. “At times, one or both of you will backtrack a bit. That’s to be expected considering the nature of your relationship—you’re not just working on you as a couple, but also as individuals so you can be a couple.”
“I can’t deal with this, though.” I took a deep breath. “I can’t do this yo-yo thing. It’s driving me insane. The letter I sent him . . . It was awful. All true, but awful. We’ve had some really beautiful moments together. He’s said some—”
I had to stop a minute, and when I continued, my voice was hoarse. “He’s said some w-wonderful things to me. I don’t want to lose those memories in a bunch of ugly ones. I keep debating whether I should quit while I’m ahead, but I’m hanging in here because I promised him—and myself—that I wouldn’t run anymore. That I was going to dig my feet in and fight for this.”
“That’s something you’re working on?”
“Yes. Yes, it is. And it’s not easy. Because some of the things he does . . . I react in ways I’ve learned to avoid. For my own sanity! At some point you have to say you gave it your best shot and it didn’t work out. Right?”
Dr. Petersen’s head tilted to the side. “And if you don’t, what’s the worst that could happen?”
“You’re asking me?”
“Yes. Worst-case scenario.”
“Well . . .” I splayed my fingers on my thighs. “He keeps drifting away from me, which makes me cling harder and lose all sense of self-worth. And we end up with him going back to life as he knew it and me going back to therapy trying to get my head on straight again.”
He continued to look at me, and something about his patient watchfulness prodded me to keep talking.
“I’m afraid that he won’t cut me loose when it’s time and that I won’t know better. That I’ll keep hanging on to the sinking ship and go down with it. I just wish I could trust that he’d end it, if it comes to that.”
“Do you think that needs to happen?”
“I don’t know. Maybe.” I pulled my gaze away from the clock on the wall. “But considering it’s nearly seven and he stood us both up tonight, it seems likely.”
*
It was crazy to me that I wasn’t surprised to find the Bentley waiting outside my apartment at quarter to five in the morning. The driver who climbed out from behind the wheel when I stepped outside wasn’t familiar to me. He was much younger than Angus; early thirties was my guess. He looked Latino, with rich caramel-hued skin, and dark hair and eyes.
“Thanks,” I told him, when he rounded the front of the vehicle, “but I’ll just grab a cab.”
Hearing that, the night doorman to my building stepped out to the street to flag one down for me.
“Mr. Cross said I’m to take you to La Guardia,” the driver said.
“You can tell Mr. Cross that I won’t be requiring his transportation services now or in the future.” I moved toward the cab the doorman had hailed, but stopped and turned around. “And tell him to go fuck himself, too.”
I slid into the cab and settled back as it pulled away.
*
I’ll admit to some bias when I say my father stands out in a crowd, but that didn’t make it less true.
As he exited the secure security area, Victor Reyes commanded attention. He was six feet tall, fit and well built, and had the commanding presence of a man who wore a badge. His gaze raked the immediate area around him, always a cop even when he wasn’t on duty. He had a duffel bag slung over his shoulder and wore blue jeans with a black button-down shirt. His hair was dark and wavy, his eyes stormy and gray like mine. He was seriously hot in a brooding, dangerous, bad boy sort of way, and I tried to picture him alongside my mother’s fragile, haughty beauty. I’d never seen them together, not even in pictures, and I really wanted to. If only just once.
“Daddy!” I yelled, waving.
His face lit up when he saw me, and a wide smile curved his mouth.
“There’s my girl.” He picked me up in a hug that had my feet dangling above the floor. “I’ve missed you like crazy.”
I started crying. I couldn’t help it. Being with him again was the last emotional straw.