And when has that ever been true?Irritated with himself, he stepped inside. He went straight to the guest room where Sammy was sprawled out on the bed, nose in her phone. He figured the music thumping out of an external speaker was originating from the laptop on her desk, so he went over and flipped it closed.
Blessed silence followed. Sammy sent him one disgusted look, then went back to playing on her phone. She said nothing. Offered no apologies or excuses. Just haughty indifference.
Because she expected him to yell, lecture, punish. He wanted to—and probably should—but since she was expecting it, he started somewhere else. He couldn’t let her off the hook completely, but he could…work his way around to the hook.
“Has your mom called? Texted?”
Her eyebrows drew together, unable to hide her confusion at him not approaching the subject of herstealing. “No.”
Dani was a lot of things, but even when she was messed up, she communicated with her daughter.You’re grasping at straws.Yeah, he was, but he couldn’t stop himself. “Take me through her leaving again.”
Sammy rolled onto her stomach, looking at her phone, not him. “Look, I know you want this to be different or whatever. But it’s not. It’s the same thing every time. She’s gone. I’m screwed.”
Gard knew Sammy was right. That kernel of concern that something had happened to Dani was… Well, it was never right. It was always…not wishful thinking exactly—because he didn’twish anything bad on his sister. He just wanted her to be making better choices, and she never was.
“Come on. You’re helping make dinner.”
She said nothing. She didn’t move. She just kept looking at her phone, her thumbs moving over the screen at a rapid pace.
“Sammy.”
“Not hungry,” she said, not bothering to look up.
“Have you eaten anything since lunch?”
She shrugged.
He wouldnotturn into his father—cold and intimidating and threatening, but man, he could feel that welling up inside of him. It left him feeling a little sick to his stomach.
But shedidneed to eat, andGod, he hated cell phones. So he moved closer to the bed and she finally looked up at him. He took the momentary distraction to pluck the phone from her hands.
She shrieked.
“You want it back for school tomorrow? You’re helping make and clean up after dinner.” Then he simply walked out of the room. Calm. Direct. No yelling. No threats.
Maybe it wasn’t the best move—hell, how was he supposed to know how to be a parent? But it wasn’t yelling. It wasn’t the silent treatment. He wouldn’t withdraw love or support just because she was acting out and pissing him off.
He wasevolved.
He went into his room and put the cell phone in the safe with his gun. He changed out of his uniform and into sweats. When he went out to the kitchen, he was surprised to find Sammy was there rather than pouting in her room with the door locked.
She gave him a cool once-over. “I don’t even need my phone,” she said, nose in the air. “Technological dependency is a scourge.”
He did not say what he wanted—that she sure did an amazing impression of technological dependency—he just pretended he agreed. He opened the fridge and tried to think of something to make.
He tended to lean toward frozen dinners, sandwiches, or something canned, so he was a little at a loss staring at the contents of his fridge. “Well…” At least a sandwich could have a few different food groups. Maybe he could heat up a can of soup with them and—
“I’ll make spaghetti,” Sammy said, sounding disgusted with him. Or maybe just life.
“I can do it.”
She gave him a little shove away from the refrigerator. “No, you’ll put extra salt in the sauce and make it gross. I’ll do it.”
He opened his mouth to argue some more. She was in a lot of trouble, and her making dinner certainly didn’t get her out of it, and he didn’t feel right having someone else make him a meal. Not these days.
“I like it,” she muttered. “Let me do it.”
Since she muttered theI like itpart, he figured she wasn’t lying. “All right. You cook. I’ll clean.”
