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“You have no idea,” he said softly. “Also, your brakes need done.”
I knew that.
“I know,” I sighed. “Unfortunately, that costs a lot of money. And I don’t have a lot of money to spare right now.”
“Find it,” he suggested. “I bet those have another week, tops. If they even have that.”
We would see.
I’d use the damn parking brake if I had to.
I could practically hear the worry emanating from Etienne, so I avoided his eyes like the plague and sat up.
Eyes downcast, I picked up the book on the coffee table.
Chicken Soup for the Soul.
I hadn’t heard, or seen, one of these books in forever.
“Wow,” I said. “I didn’t even know they made these kinds of books anymore.”
Etienne snorted as he said, “They don’t. I had to find that one at a used bookstore.” He hesitated, as if he didn’t want to say what he said next. “When I was in prison, the library was very limited in selection. Chicken Soup for the Soul was the last book I was reading before I got out. There were some stories that I wanted to finish, so I went on Amazon and bought it through a used bookstore online.”
That was kind of sweet.
“Oh,” I said. “I guess that has to be frustrating.”
I didn’t know what else to say.
“I don’t think she feels bad for you, bro,” Cassius drawled. “What’s for dinner?”
“I was going to order pizza,” Etienne pulled out his phone. “If I could figure out the app…”
“I’ll do it,” I said. “I have them on speed dial—or whatever the equivalent it is for a frequently used app. What does everyone want?”
I shouldn’t have been surprised when they both requested large pizzas of their own.
I ordered myself a small, and then placed my phone back onto the table between us.
They were both staring at me, and I had to practically put a choke hold on myself to keep from fidgeting.
“You look…” Etienne started, but before he could finish, there was a knock on the door.
Etienne turned to glare at it.
“Do you want me to get it?” I asked curiously.
He couldn’t just leave whomever it was on the other side standing there.
Impatience must’ve gotten the better of whomever it was, because shortly after the door went unanswered, a pounding started.
Then again… maybe he could leave them standing there.
“Who the hell…” Cassius stood.
Etienne was halfway across the room already, stalking angrily to the door.
When he opened it, I should’ve been surprised to see who it was.
I wasn’t, though.
Not with him.
I sighed and flopped back onto the couch, reaching for my phone.
After placing another large pizza order to be delivered as soon as possible, I finally acknowledged the three men now staring at me.
“Dad,” I said carefully. “What are you doing here?”
“I’m here because nobody can fuckin’ find you,” he said. “I went to your place, and they said that you were evicted.”
“I wasn’t evicted,” I corrected him. “I chose not to pay his rent increase, and moved out.”
“To where?” he asked.
That’s when I looked over at Etienne to see him smiling and studying the ceiling.
“What’s it matter?” I asked.
“It matters because I need to know where my daughter is,” he lied.
He might have wanted to know, but there was always an ulterior motive when it came to them.
My dad was awesome… by himself.
With the rest of my family? Not so much. It was as if he was a different person I didn’t know.
It was the weirdest thing, too.
There was the dad that I knew and loved—the one that my stepmother wasn’t a part of.
Then there was the dad that was married to her.
Judy Elizabeth Deveraux was one hundred percent, through and through, a woman that was worried about appearances and appearances only. In public? I’d be the daughter that she loved, just like Sadie, my sister.
But man, oh, man. Us in private? She hated my guts.
She also made it to where my father couldn’t like me, either. Not and come home and get anything at all from her—he’d learned his lesson from my mom.
Needless to say, my dad had two personalities.
Really, he only had one. But he had to put on this fake mask when he was around my stepmother that made me hate his guts.
But when it counted, I supposed he was always there.
“Why are you really here, no bullshitting?” I crossed my arms over my chest, feeling the road grime on me from our motorcycle ride to Louisiana and back.
My dad cataloged everything, from my hair, all the way down to my toes.
His gaze went to Etienne, and not, might I add, Cassius—so that meant two things.
One, he knew who I’d been with all day. Two, he knew that there was some sort of relationship there. Or, more likely, that I wanted there to be some sort of relationship there.
“Gentlemen,” I said to the two men that weren’t related to me. “This is my father, Ladd Deveraux.”
