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“And you suddenly care for my wellbeing?”
He sighs. “Don’t be like that. I’m still your dad, and this is still your home. Stay—we can talk. You want a beer?”
“No—”
He’s already walking away. “I’ll get you one. We can catch up.”
Catch up?He’s delusional.
Shaking my head, I head upstairs. Opening the door to my and Nicole’s old bedroom, I’ve been transported back in time, and I’m fifteen again. Although I don’t know how it’s possible given the state of the rest of the house, nothing’s been touched in here. Even the old makeup Nicole used to make me pretty to sell me is still here.
Snapping out of it, I grab her old boots and hoodie from her wardrobe. Dropping to my knees, I pull out an old shoebox from under her bed and take out the switchblade she stole from Granddaddy on one of his annual visits. It always seemed to me that he knew she had taken it and let her have it anyway.
After taking a deep breath, I return downstairs. My father is seated in the living room with two beer bottles on the stained coffee table. Having cleared the trash from the couch, he gives a toothy grin when he sees me. But it quickly fades. “Where are you going?”
“I told you—”
“You don’t want to talk to your old man? I haven’t seen you in forever. You’ve gotten so like your mom—”
“I’m nothing like her, and I don’t want to talk to you.” There’s nothing to say to this man. Real fathers don’t stand back while their daughters are hurt. They protect them, not give their blessing for a bag of dust.
He chuckles. “Your mom didn’t want to talk to me much either…before she left.”
I don’t have time for this. “I’ve got to go—”
“Wait!” He jumps to his feet and rushes over to me. Stepping back into the hall, he blocks the way to the door. “Don’t go. Please…just talk to me.
“Why do you want me to stay so bad?” After staring at him, I wonder why he suddenly wants to have a father and daughter session after all this time.
“Because…” He swallows heavily. “I’ve…I’ve missed you.”
“And?”
He frowns with confusion. “What do you mean?”
“What else?” I demand not buying this shit. He can’t look me in the eye, and he’s acting like he has a shred of humanity when he doesn’t. The little girl in me wants him to tell me he loves me so badly. For him to take me into his arms and tell me everything will be okay. But the woman he helped create doesn’t.Shejust wants him to suffer.
At last, he admits what I already know deep down. “Blake’s lookin’ for you.”
Hatred flares inside me, followed closely by despair. And fear. That’s there too. Of course, it is. How could I not see it sooner?
He’sstallingme.
It was foolish coming into the house. The sack of shit in front of me knows it too. Judging by the look on his face, he’s already sent word out to Blake that I’m here. Probably did the moment the car pulled up alongside the curb.
“You called him, didn’t you?” His eyes shift to the side, giving me my answer. “Looking for a reward to snort up your nose?” He’s still not looking at me, and it pisses me off. “Well, I hope it fucking kills you this time!”
I go to shove past him when his hand flies out and slams into my chest, pushing me back. Gasping, I gape at him in shock. He’s never laid a hand on me before. Never struck or shouted at me.
With my heart in my throat, I turn on my heel and run back upstairs. Hating that I’m all choked up when I should have known he’s not the father I once knew.
“It’s for your own good, girl!” he shouts after me, but I don’t waste my time turning around to look at his disgusting face again. He won’t follow, and now I know there’s no way he’s letting me walk out of here on my own. Blake’s men will be barreling through the door any minute now, so there is no time to waste.
As I poke my head out of the only window in my old bedroom, I see a broken gate in the thick undergrowth. Falling won’t kill me, but it will hurt badly if I do. When Nicole snuck out in the past, she often went down the drainpipe. She used to give me a mini heart attack every time, but she always made it down. Despite the pipe being cracked and water damaged, I think it’ll hold.
Lifting my leg over the windowsill, the height makes my stomach drop. Grasping the pipe tightly, I feel moisture gather between my breasts and along my spine. As I anchor my feet against the side and begin my descent, my heart swoops as I gain enough courage to let go of the ledge.
I’m almost halfway when I hear it—ferocious growls of motorcycles in the distance. Fear punctures me, and my foot slips out from beneath me. Metal sticking out of the wall stabs into my arm. I pull away from the spear with a cry of pain while trying to maintain a hold, tears springing to my eyes.
