I drag my fingers through my hair, tugging on fistfuls.
Tears cloud my vision and my chest tightens so hard I gasp for oxygen, but it’s not enough.
Despite the enormity of his room, the walls close in around me. Making my way to his window, I switch the latch and shove it open until I’m met with a blast of tepid summer night air.
“He’s a liar, August. He’s such a fucking liar.” I turn on my heels, pacing back to the bed to grab my phone again—only I run straight into him.
“Hey.” He captures my wrists, gently lowering them to my sides yet not letting go. “It’s okay. You’re okay. Everything’s going to be okay.”
“She texted him,” I say. “The last time Mom was in the hospital. Kara texted my father, something about how it’ll all be over soon and the suffering will end. I don’t know what that means, but …”
I don’t think it’s worth stating what we both know—that my father has twice been accused of murder in his lifetime.
August leads me to the bed, takes a seat on the edge, and pulls me into his lap. Cupping my cheek, he angles my face until our eyes meet.
“Are you serious about your offer?” I ask. “About the home health aide?”
At this point, I need to do whatever it takes to keep Mama safe and healthy, especially if my father’s about to jump ship … or worse.
“I mean, technically it expired,” he says with a satisfied smugness in his words. “But I’m willing to give you one extension …”
I lift my hand to his face, brushing his messy hair from his sun-kissed forehead before tracing the two metal barbells in his eyebrow. Everything about him is hard and soft at the same time. Warm skin, soft embrace, cold gaze. Trust fund baby who looks like he grew up on the wrong side of the tracks. A man with every ability to devour me, but who has been nothing but patient and gentle.
Even if his offer weren’t on the table, I’d still go through with this because at the end of the day I want this.
My father would be destroyed if he knew what I was about to do, but August has only ever been off limits to me because of a past that has nothing to do with either of us. And I refuse to be held accountable for my father’s actions from here on out.
I’m a Rose.
But I’m my own Rose.
And tonight, I’m taking back my power.
I don’t care if this breaks my father because as far as I’m concerned … he no longer deserves my unwavering trust and loyalty.
“You seem torn,” he says.
I blow a strand of hair from my face. “What gives you that impression?”
“You’re a good daughter,” he says. “But your father’s a dick. He doesn’t deserve what he has. And deep down, he probably knows it.”
I nod, swallowing the painful lump in my throat. August is right.
“Doing that to your mom … while she’s sick and helpless? What kind of piece of shit does that?” His face twists. “And everything you’ve sacrificed … it’s messed up, Rose girl.”
I cup his cheek and bask in this unexpected sympathy. “You can call me Sheridan, you know.”
I don’t think he realized he called me “Sher” earlier.
“I like Rose girl,” he says. “It suits you. Makes me think of roses … beautiful from afar but covered in thorns, like some kind of warning to stay away.”
“Clearly the thorns didn’t deter you …”
“They did for the longest time.” He grazes my lower lip with his thumb, and my stomach somersaults. I wait for him to kiss me. He doesn’t make a move. It’s almost as if he wants to savor this moment, make it last forever because it’ll never happen again.
“Have you ever gone by anything besides August?”
His mouth forms a hard line. “My mom called me AJ when I was a baby—short for August John. After she died, my father thought it was too cutesy or some shit. Made me go by August. It was his great grandfather’s name and he thought we needed to honor him properly.”
I can’t picture him as an AJ. It’s too sweet. Too relaxed. It isn’t intense enough for a man like him.
“I like August. It’s different. And it suits you.” I smile, studying his angled features in the dark of his room. Moonlight from the open window trails in on a path that illuminates the floor by the bed. “Plus, August is the hottest month of the year. And I met you on the hottest night on Meredith Hills record. Also, you’re pretty hot yourself. It all works.”
I’m flirting—or trying to anyway. I don’t know. I’m terrible at it and likely making a fool of myself, but I don’t care. I’m comfortable and it’s keeping me from fixating on sadder things right now.