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As for Hailey, I was going to have to fucking grovel.
He’d stayed the night at the ranch, giving Hailey the room she’d wanted. He’d texted her, which had reassured him she was fine.
I glared at him now, but he wasn’t fazed. This was my shit show, and he was only here for backup.
Hailey was right. I had to confront my dad. I had to know the truth. It was eating me up not knowing. There were seven billion people in the world, and just one was ruining my life.
I wanted Hailey in it. I wanted her over my lap. Under me. Any way I could get her. Turned out, Lucas and I were right for her. I was right for her. I gave her something she needed, something she only got from me. And in return, she gave me something. Love, although she’d probably throat punch me before admitting it, and her trust.
Her trust was like a drug I couldn’t live without. And that was why I was manning the fuck up and dealing with my dad.
And the glare Lucas was sending my way.
“Fuck,” I breathed, then made my way to the door.
It opened before I could knock.
My breath caught as I got my first real glimpse of the man who’d made me since I was nine. There had been footage of him as he’d left the police station, his mug shot. I knew he’d aged, but now… he looked a decade older than fifty-five. I remembered his dark hair—something I got from him—but it was white now. Thinned. His face had deep creases as if he were a pack a day smoker. His eyes were droopy, his clothing too big for his frame. I also got his height, but his shoulders were stooped.
This was a shell of the man he once was.
“I heard you pull up.”
Of course, he did. There was nothing else around. The sound of my truck couldn’t be missed unless you were dead.
“Why did you do it?” I asked. I wanted answers and I wanted gone.
“Come in,” he offered, stepping back. All I could see of the interior was sparsely furnished. Old.
“No. I’ll stay right here.”
I didn’t want in his house, in his life. I just wanted answers.
He gave a slight nod of understanding.
“Why did you do it?” I repeated.
He scratched his head, and I watched dandruff fall like snow onto his gray sweatshirt.
“Left your momma?”
There was so much I wanted to know, but it had been eighteen years. Too much time. Mom
was gone now. What did it matter?
“Why did you say you killed Erin Mills?”
“I figured you wanted to know why I left you.”
“Fine, tell me.”
I felt silly standing on his front stoop. We probably looked silly, him letting all the warm air out of his house.
“The mill closed. I lost my job. There was no work for me in Cutthroat anymore. I began to drink. To gamble. Let’s just say I lost more than money.”
I made a funny sound, like a laugh, but it wasn’t funny. “All the shit Mom had to deal with all because of excuses that took you two seconds to say.”
I wasn’t sympathetic at all.
