°Jeremy’s POV°
I sank into the couch, the soft kind that swallows you whole if you sit long enough. My phone was in my hand again, and for maybe the fiftieth time today, my thumb hovered right above the call button. Just there. Not moving. Not pressing. Just stuck in that little space between doing it and backing out again.
Should I call him, or shouldn’t I?
That question had been haunting me all afternoon, bouncing around in my head like an annoying ringtone you can’t get rid of.
I’d been living on my own since senior year of high school. Mom died, and suddenly the world got cold. Like, really cold. Dad? He wasn’t even around. He was somewhere in the UK—doing business, sitting in boardrooms, making decisions for people who wore suits and ties and for packs that bowed to him like he wa
