“You have to be joking.”
“I wish I was. The assistant confirmed it all.”
“God, that man is sick.”
“That’s what I’m trying to make you see. As bad as I am, Cowan is ten times worse. I did warn you.”
“Oh, shut up.” I turn away from my father, shaking with rage. Cowan told both of us the truth, but only half the story to each. He really was filming everything we went through, and he really was doing it all for revenge. That monstrous piece of shit could’ve hurt me, hurt my baby, and now I want to break his stupid skull open.
I should’ve let Baptist beat him to death back in the hotel room.
“Don’t let Cowan win, Blair. As much as I don’t love that you’re pregnant by your business partner, don’t let Tony Cowan be the reason the two of you aren’t speaking. Baptist maybe isn’t my type of guy, and maybe I think you can do better, and frankly, you’ve made a bunch of terrible decisions lately—”
“Dad,” I snap, turning around, hands balling into fists.
“Right,” he says, lookingalmostapologetic. “What I’m trying to say is, fuck Tony Cowan. Do you want to know where Baptist is or not?”
I stare at my father and try to make sense of all this.
Cowan used me. He used Baptist. He put us through hell for some childish revenge fantasy, and he got it all on film—which he plans on using as part of his alleged masterpiece.
And he’s doing it to someone else as we speak.
Meanwhile, Baptist is in hiding, and I’m still pregnant, and all this nightmarish insanity stems from one old director’s bitter anger toward the world. I can’t imagine having the energy for that much hate, but here we are.
In the end, none of that matters.
Because Cowan isn’t the reason I’m not speaking to Baptist.
Baptist is the reason.
“No, thanks,” I say and feel a piece of me release something I’ve been holding on to for a while.
Need for my father’s approval. Need for Baptist to come back into my life. A dozen other things, all of them holding me back over the years, slowly fading.
I turn and start back toward my apartment. Dad doesn’t follow, but he does call after me.
“Another mistake. Typical Blair!”
I don’t look back, because screw him.
He doesn’t understand how fucking hard this is right now. I’m crying as I hurry away, and more than a few people glance in my direction as I lower my head and power through, trying to lose myself in the after-work crowds.
Knowing that I can find Baptist, knowing that I can locate him right now and talk to him, that’s the worst feeling I can imagine. It’s almost better that Baptist disappeared. It’s a mercy that nobody knew where he was, because I could almost pretend like he was dead and gone, and not just that he abandoned me.
But somehow, my father tracked him down, and now I have the choice.
I can find Baptist if I want.
And god, do Iwant.
There’s nothing I want more in this world than his touch, his kiss, his comforting arms, his low purring voice. I want him to hold me and tell me everything will be okay. I want him to make me feel alive as he fucks me, and I want him to make me feel warm as he pulls me tight against his chest.
I want him so badly it kills me.
But he left.
He walked away.