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As if he could hear my churning thoughts like a scream, he sighs again. Long. Low. Drawn out. Ultra gruff and ultra tough. Very dad-like, or at least my dad-like. “It’s not that you can’t have your freedom. I just wish you would have told me. I could have sent one of the guys to keep an eye on you.”
“I’m sure they were all doing that anyway as soon as I got there.”
“We have an agreement, though, Ay. Right?”
“Right. I’m sorry. I’ll tell you next time. I’m going home now but taking Cass back to her place first. I’ll text you when I get there to let you know I’m safe. You don’t need to send someone to circle the block.”
“You know I will anyway.”
Now it’s me who grunts. Yes, I can be super classy, obviously. I mean, I did just get the address of the dark, dangerous, scarred-up, incredibly handsome god-man shrouded in the gray smoke he named himself after, but I’m not going to use it. I’m not going to sneak out of my condo in the middle of the night and freaking make my way there under the cover of darkness, sans all technology, so my dad can’t track my phone. Nope. Not going to even look up the address, write down directions, or plan how I’m going to go out unseen in case Dad has someone circling the block all night to make sure I’m okay. He worries. It might seem unnatural, but I know he doesn’t worry for nothing. He’s not a stupid man. I’m the daughter of a biker club prez. He has every right to worry that I might become a target one day, but it doesn’t make it any less annoying.
I’m used to living with the possibility of danger.
However, I don’t think Dad is, at least where I’m concerned. He loves the club, and he knows he’ll always keep me safe, but it’s the doubt that gets in his mind, doubt that wedges in those cracks in his armor and blows them wide like ice freezing in there and fucking with the system.
“Okay, yeah. Goodnight, Dad. I’ll text you soon. Sorry again. I love you.”
“I love you too, peanut.”
He hangs up before I can tell him not to use my childhood nickname. Not that I would, anyway. I guess I kind of like it still, no matter how juvenile it is. I always thought I’d get a badass name one day, like Ayana Knife Slinger or Ayana Bringer of Chaos, Fire Breather, Knife Flinger, and Kiss Ass Chick of Certain Destruction. But unfortunately, no. I’m still stuck with the most common of all nuts for a nickname.
“Are you in shit?” Cass asks. She takes my hand, and we walk down the sidewalk together. I don’t tell her that I have a knife in my boot, and if anyone followed us out here, they’re going to be in serious trouble. Cass doesn’t know about most of my rather unusual years of training. I keep those skills to myself, so I don’t scare the life out of her.
“Nah. He was just worried.”
“Okay. I…okay.” I know if Cass is going to spare me the overprotective-dad-that-I-need-to-stand-up-to-because-he-needs-to-learn-boundaries lecture, there’s more coming. Of course, I’m right. “So, that guy. Did you get his number? Give him yours?”
I have absolutely no plans to carry out any of the said plans that I just worked through in my head while I was on the phone with my dad. I’m not going to be sneaky. I’m not going to be devious, I’m not going to creep through the underbelly of the city like a shadow before dawn, I’m not going to go to the house of a stranger, a man who could be dangerous, and I’m not going to meet him there for any illicit, romantic interludes. I’m also not going to evade anyone who might be watching or tailing me, I’m not going to leave a trace, and I’m not going to do this because this is one secret that I can’t afford. It doesn’t matter that dating isn’t an option right now, and I’m a healthy adult with a young person’s sex drive and have normal, functioning ovaries, hormones, and other lady bits. I don’t date because of my dad and the whole club thing, and yes, I get where Cass is coming from when she says that’s fucked up, but also, I just really don’t feel ready. I don’t want to do the whole commitment, date-to-get-married thing, so what’s the point? I’m twenty-two. I want to live my life first. Also…
Okay, so my dad stuck around. I know some men can be trusted. And I know some men are loyal and amazing and fierce and will stand by you no matter what happens. I also know that some people—people like my mom—can’t stick it out. I know how much that hurt me as a kid, so I don’t necessarily want that hurt as an adult. Also? I’m part of my mom. I might barely remember her, but I have her DNA in me. I’m half of her. Does that make me prone to leaving? Does it make me somehow damaged for relationships? I don’t know whether I want to find out I’m the one built for leaving.
