Page 176 of Tar City
“Can’t I come with you?”
“You can’t.”
I see what it does to her so I lean back down, cup her face between my hands. “Let me get this done, and tonight I’ll go back to being your fuckboy.”
I bite her lip gently and her smile breaks through despite herself. “Promises, promises.”
She slides out of bed, already reaching for her clothes. “I’ll go to the studio. Lou’s probably losing his mind anyway.”
I watch her pull her hair up.
“You better stretch, ballerina. You’re gonna feel me tonight.”
She glances back. “Jax, you’re going to need time to heal.” She stops herself, her eyes widening as the realization hits her. “Holy shit. You won’t.” She says it like a fact. “You’ll be good to go by tonight.”
I look at her. “It’s not a perk, rabbit. It’s a fucking curse. But if it means I’ll be inside you again tonight, I won’t stop it.”
* * *
The chime over the door is a fucking ice pick in my ear, and the black seam in my palm itches immediately. Every step feels like a decision I’m not supposed to make, although I’m certain it’sthe only option I’ve got. The tar stays quiet and that bothers me more than if it were screaming.Why isn’t it fighting me on this?
“Dr. St. Clair here?” I ask the woman at the front desk.
She glances up and her smile falters when she recognizes me. I recognize her too, she used to slip me lollipops whenever my mom dragged me in here. “Your father will be out of surgery in a few minutes. You can wait in his office.”
My father’s office is a damn time capsule. Same heavy desk, same wall of certifications proving he’s a genius. Even the photo on his desk is frozen in time. It’s me, maybe six, pressing a toy stethoscope to his chest. We’re both laughing at the camera.
The door opens and he walks in without saying hello. “There are other doctors in this goddamn city, you know,” he says taking a seat.
“I don’t want to see you any more than you want to see me. You’re the only one I can afford.”
His mouth tightens. “You mean the only one willing to fix your problems for free.”
My hand curls instinctively and the movement draws his attention to my palm. The irritation drains from his face so fast it almost looks like fear. He braces his elbows on the desk. “When did that appear?”
“I need it done,” I say ignoring his question. “Today. Right now.”
“Whatever you think you need done can wait.”
“It can’t.”
“That’s not how this works. Procedures get scheduled. Consultations happen. You wait like everyone else sitting out there.”
“Unless you want another member of your family under control of that fucking thing,” I say, my voice rising before I can stop it, “you’re going to do this now.”
His expression changes. “Are you saying?—”
“You need to make sure I never have a child,” I cut in. “Never.”
He studies me carefully. “And you can’t wait?” he asks. “You can’t control yourself that badly?”
I let out a dry laugh. “You know damn well I’m not the one in control of what I do.” I try to remain calm. “Go out there,” I continue, “and make sure it happens. If you can’t do it yourself, find someone who can.”
His expression hardens. “You walk in here demanding permanent decisions like a frightened boy,” he says coldly. “You think mutilating yourself fixes inheritance?”
I step closer to the desk. “You don’t have a fucking clue to what inheritance means. Just be grateful,” I say quietly, “you never had to choose between letting the dark in… or letting it swallow someone you love.”
His gaze moves again to my palm. “I can perform the procedure,” he says at last.
