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“Where were you guys anyway?” Kyle asked, noticing the shift in his mood. “I’ve been trying to reach you all day.” Glancing at Luke’s bruised knuckles again, he frowned. “Please don’t tell me y’all were delivering a beatdown while I was delivering a baby.”
“Okay,” Dylan said with a shrug. “We won’t.”
Kyle sighed. “Spill it, Kahele.”
“Andy’s psycho ex-coworker broke into her apartment and killed her bird.”
“What the fuck!” Kyle’s gaze swung to Luke. “She okay?”
“Yeah,” Luke said, though he wasn’t entirely sure this was the case. Physically, Andy was fine. Emotionally, was a whole different story.
Jesus. She needed him too.
Andy needed him, and he’d bailed on her. Worried about some grime on his hands and taking a damn shower.
“You okay?” Kyle asked, drawing his gaze.
“I need to get back to Andy.”
“Of, course, brother. I’ll take you.”
Luke said his goodbyes to Dylan outside the hospital before slipping into Kyle’s daily driver — a Porsche Cayenne Hybrid tricked out with a roof rack for his boards. Kyle started up the SUV, then glanced over at him. “This ex-coworker of Andy’s? How’d he end up?”
Luke tossed him a smirk. “Definitely not okay.”
“Good,” Kyle said before tearing from the lot.
It was nearly ten when they arrived back at Andy’s. “Should I wait?” Kyle asked, his Porsche still humming in the lot.
“Yeah, that would be cool.” As much as Luke wanted to curl up in bed with Andy, if she’d managed to fall asleep after the day she had, he wasn’t going to disturb her.
Luke pulled out his phone as he took the walkway up to Unit 9. Gray would know if the girls were still up. He started to text him when the door suddenly opened in front of him.
Luke paused a few strides from Andy’s front patio as a man emerged from her apartment. Not Gray. This guy looked to be in his mid-fifties, had short dark hair with hints of silver to match his trimmed beard, and a frown that very much resembled Andy’s. Considering the rumpled state of his slacks and polo shirt, Luke was guessing he was staring at a man who’d just flown ten hours to comfort his daughter.
“Timothy Whittenbalm?” Andy’s father gave a short nod. “I’m Luke MacCallum.” He held out his hand before he could think why he shouldn’t.
“I know who you are.” Whittenbalm’s gaze shifted from Luke’s dirty, bruised hand to the chaos of ink tatted up his arm. “You’re here to see Andalise.”
More accurately, Luke was here to climb into bed with her. By the way her father’s eyes narrowed on the bag slung over his shoulder, Luke could tell he’d sorted this out.
“It’s late,” Whittenbalm clipped out as Luke’s hand fell back to his side. “My daughter’s asleep. The slumber party will have to wait.”
The clear disdain in his tone was provoking. Luke knew what it looked like. Knew he probably resembled some thug rolling up for a booty call, but fuck if he was gonna put up with this shit right now. “Look, I get that you’ve just had a long flight, and you’re hella protective of your daughter, but you don’t know me, man, if you think I’m just here to hook—”
“Oh, but I do know you,” Whittenbalm cut in. “You see, when my daughter told me she was takingprivatesurf lessons with one of her male coworkers, I ran a background check. Because, yes” — he snorted — “that’s what a father who ishellaprotective of his daughter would do. And do you know what I found out?”
Luke’s jaw tightened. Because, yes, he knew.
“You are Lucas MacCallum. Son to disgraced police officer Douglas Atherton.” Whittenbalm’s pointed stare found Luke’s bruised hand again as he continued. “Your father was kicked off the force for one too many excessive force violations. The last of which involved the beating of a young Mexican immigrant.”
Shame flushed Luke’s cheeks. Shame and anger at the reminder of his father’s brutality. His bigotry. The man's reputation had been so ugly and awful that none of them had wanted to keep his name. Not long after his death, Luke’s mother had legally changed all their surnames to MacCallum, her maiden name.
“Douglas Atherton was a shitty cop, and he was never any father to me,” Luke bit out.
Whittenbalm cocked his head as he continued. “I also know your mother Francesca MacCallum spent some time in jail for fatally stabbing her husband.”
Luke sucked in a breath, gaze falling to the welcome mat under Whittenbalm’s black leather Oxfords. Bits and pieces of the nights he’d spent in protective custody with Mary lurked in the recesses of his mind. A blur of painful memories this man was poking at. “You don’t know shi—”
