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“Eden,” Dad said cautiously.
I continued to pace. “This doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.”
“Eden, did you really just give that man our address?”
“You know something. You know something and you’re not telling us and it’s ruining our lives. What is it you know? What is going on?”
Dad slowly stood to his feet. “Please tell me you honestly didn’t just give that man our address.”
And when I saw the seriousness on his face, I halted in my tracks.
“Dad, I love you, but in a few minutes a very powerful man is going to be knocking on our door because, somehow, he’s gotten roped into all of this.”
“Are you really dating that man?” Mom asked.
I shot her a look. “Focus. That’s not what this is about right now.”
“If that’s not the point, then why is he on his way here right now?” Dad asked.
I crossed my arms over my chest. “I don’t know. You tell me. Why is he on his way over here?”
And when he didn’t answer me, my sister took the reins. “Dad, we love you. We will always love you. You’re the man that raised us. Provided for us. Sacrificed for us. But you’ve got maybe ten minutes before that man shows up on our doorstep, and at that point we’re going to have another major issue that we’re going to have to apparently sort through. So, tell us what in the world is going on so that we can help.”
“Now,” I said curtly.
“Clyde,” Mom said as she slid her hand into Dad’s, “they’re right. You know our daughters can help us. They aren’t little girls any longer.”
He grumbled to himself. “They will always be my little girls.”
My arms fell away from my chest. “Yes, we will. We will always be your daughters. Your princesses. Your children. But, we’re adults. Em is a fantastic caterer who’s rubbed elbows with some of L.A.’s most elite. I’m a criminal attorney, for crying out loud. Dominik Drake is about to storm our porch looking for answers as to why our faces are plastered all over the internet right now, and I’m telling you, my gut has never been wrong.”
“What’s your gut telling you?” Em asked.
I pinned my father with a look. “It’s telling me that whatever Dad’s hiding from us, it’s the reason for all of this chaos. For the issue at the banquet. For our places being ransacked. For nothing being stolen. For the men in black staring me and Dominik down at tarmacs and outside of my place.”
That perked Dad up. “They were outside your place? When? Tonight?”
“Wait a second,” Em said as she held up her hand, “you mean that you’ve been telling us you’ve been working all weekend, when really you’ve been jetting around the world with L.A.’s biggest asshole?”
I chewed on the inside of my cheek. “It’s a bit more complicated than that.”
She scoffed. “Oh, really? And how is it more complicated?”
I wanted to slap her across the face. I wanted to tell her that I had sold my fucking body off to fix her shitty mistakes. I wanted to tell her that Dominik and I were simply victims in whatever my father had gotten wrapped up in, because I was all but certain that he was at the bottom of this. I didn’t know how, and I didn’t know why, and I couldn’t possibly begin to fathom where the hell it had come from in the first place. But Dad had been acting weird for days, and now all of this?
“Clyde,” Mom said sternly. “Tell them, or I will.”
And with that, Dad cleared his throat. “Girls, did you ever wonder how we could afford all of our family vacations that we took when you guys were kids?”
Em continued to stare daggers at me while I simply shrugged. “Hard work at your garage?”
Dad shook his head with a bitter chuckle. “I wish, but this country doesn’t work that way. It never has.”
“So, tell me how it actually worked. How could we afford all of those vacations if you didn’t make the money at work?”
Dad pinched the bridge of his nose before easing himself back down into his seat. “When I was younger, I got myself into a bit of… trouble.”
That caught Em’s attention and she quickly whipped around. “What kind of trouble, Daddy?”
