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“It’ll probably be tomorrow now,” he says. “We’ve got an early training session. Then some drills. I wish I could spend the whole night with you and hold you, but…”
“I understand,” I tell him. “We’re more than boyfriend and girlfriend, remember? We can make this work.”
After we say goodbye, I pull into the driveway, climbing from the car. It’s the family sedan. The door’s still dented from a couple of weeks ago when Logan smashed the masked man against it. Dad’s not usually the type to leave the car busted for so long, but he’s been busy with work lately.
I walk into the house. It’s after seven. Mom is sitting on the couch, her legs tucked up, watching TV with a magazine on her lap. Eric sits on the other chair, playing his Nintendo Switch with his headphones.
“Evening, hon,” Mom says. “There’s lasagna in the oven.”
“Okay. Thanks.”
However, I have to make a stop first. I can’t let myself go one more second without telling Dad the truth. I can’t allow any more sneaking around, any more cowardice. It’s time to do the right thing, just like Logan is, even if it hurts him to be away from me and the baby. He’s playing his game, focusing on thenow. That’s how I’ll have to do this, one step at a time.
I approach his office and knock.
“Wait a second,” he snaps, his tone uncharacteristically taut.
I step back, breathing slowly. Maybe it’s a work call. My mind flits to those dangerous-looking men, but Mom won’t tell me anything about them. When I asked Dad, he told me they were work friends. That’s what he called them—work friends.
Finally, the door opens. Dad’s eyes are bloodshot. He doesn’t look good at all. “I’m busy,” he says bluntly.
“Dad, I—”
He shuts the door hard. He doesn’tslamit. I wouldn’t go that far, but he closes it more forcefully than expected. I hear his footsteps pounding across the office.
Turning, I go into the kitchen and dish up some lasagna. I don’t even want to eat, which is unusual for me. Logan is always encouraging me to keep the baby healthy. He’s right. I have to put the baby first.
Afterward, I go upstairs, shut the door, and wonder what the heck is going on with Dad. Maybe it’s those men. Maybe something bad is happening. I’ve never seen his eyes so bloodshot and with that panicked look. No, notnever. That day on the porch, I saw it.
I’m so tired from not sleeping last night that I pass out in my clothes. Like the norm these days, I wake up a few hours later at one a.m. At least I’m getting plenty of practice for when the baby arrives.
I need the bathroom. I walk into the hallway and push on the door. It’s locked. “Occupied,” Eric says.
I groan. “How long?”
“Don’t blame me. Blame the curry Jack’s mom made us for lunch.”
“Ew, Eric.”
I walk down the stairs. I’ll use thedownstairs bathroom instead. I hear Dad’s voice from his office when I reach the bottom step. He’s still in there?
I creep—that’s right,creep, this is so wrong—toward the office. The door is slightly open, a triangle of lamplight coming from inside. The closer I get, the louder Dad’s voice becomes, though it’s still low, a secret hiss. He probably doesn’t think anybody will be awake or, at least, downstairs at this hour, hence the open door.
“That’s not what I’m saying, Logan.”
What. The.Fuck? Dad is talking with Logan? Since when?
I crouch down next to the door. If somebody somewhere is keeping a list of all my daughterly infractions, they can definitely addeavesdroppingto the list.
“No, I know. Iknow, Logan.” Dad sounds pissed. Has Logan already told him about us? I don’t get it. “We can’t solve this by arguing.”
Crap. A floorboard just creaked. Dad trails off. I hear his footsteps, quieter but still angry as earlier, walking toward the door. I hurry into the hallway. Dad leaves the office and looks up and down, clearly hiding something. I peep through the gap in the stair rail.
Dad frowns, turns, and goes back inside. I want to hear the rest of the conversation but can’t risk getting caught.
We can’t solve this by arguing…
Logan wouldn’t have told him, would he? Not without warning me?
