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His gaze flicks to mine. “You’re very understanding about this.”
I shrug. “I already told you that my dad does stuff like this all the time. And some of my sisters have, on occasion.”
“I know, but …” He stares at me, and I mean, really stares at me, in a way that makes me twitchy, as if he can actually see through the wall I constantly have around me. “I’m just not used to it—being around someone who’s understanding. I mean, my siblings can be sometimes, but none of my friends have ever been this easy to talk to.”
I squirm, even more uneasy now. “It’s just because I’ve been through similar stuff, so I get it.”
“I know.” He continues to stare at me in that seeing, knowing, can’t-really-breathe-properly way.
Finally, I decide I need a subject change before I end up diving out of the car just to avoid that look.
I rest my elbow on the back of the seat. “So, what do you guys do for work anyway? Because I find it hard as hell to get a job that pays decently and has flexible hours.”
He studies me for a heartbeat longer before he tears his gaze away from me.
I secretly breathe in relief.
“Jax does work around the neighborhood, like mows lawns and stuff—I feel like he’s too young to work more than that,” he tells me. “Alex works at an auto shop. But the only reason he even has the job and hasn’t gotten fired yet is because the owner of the shop is—was a friend of my mom’s.” He scratches his neck, visibly uncomfortable. “I work at the shop, too. Not on the cars, but in the office. Rhyland sometimes works there, but he makes most of his money racing.”
“Wait. What?” That piques my interest. “How the hell does he make money racing?”
“People put up bets, and he makes a percentage.” He glances at me with his brows knit. “Didn’t they do that back in your hometown? I know you raced. Didn’t you get money from doing it?”
I shake my head. “Not really, but I don’t really have a hometown. Maybe if we stayed put in the same place for longer than six months, I would’ve discovered the potential cash flow in something I love.”
He gapes at me. “You move every six months?”
“Give or take a month.”
“Why?”
I hesitate, questioning how much I should divulge. After all, my dad works for his dad, and telling Blaise the truth—that my dad generally tends to screw people over within that timeframe—doesn’t seem like a great idea.
I settle on, “We just like a change of scenery, I guess.”
Skepticism weighs in his eyes, but he drops the subject as we arrive at the outskirts of town and he turns into a gas station.
I check the time and frown. I’m two hours late for school already. Crap.
“Sorry, but the tank’s already red lining,” he apologizes as he notes me frowning at the clock. “I promise I’ll hurry. And I can drop you off at school before I take Alex back to the house.”
“It’s fine. You can go home, and I can just drive myself to school … I don’t want to make you drive to the school with him in the back seat like that”—I nod at Alex—“and risk getting pulled over or something.”
“Are you sure?” he asks as he parks next to a pump.
“Yep, it’s cool. Either way, I won’t make it there until after lunch anyway.”
He silences the engine then gives me a strange look. “Thanks, Hadley. What you did this morning … and agreeing not to say anything …” He clears his throat. “But yeah, thanks. I haven’t felt this grateful in a very long time.”
“No worries. It’s not that big of a deal.”
“Yeah, it really is.” He really stares at me again. “Especially with how crappy I treated you when we first met and almost every time after that. I wish I hadn’t, but … yeah, I’m just sorry.”
“No worries.” As we start to share yet another moment, I bail out of the car. “I’m going to go get some coffee. You want anything?”
“I’m good, but thanks.” His gaze remains glued on me, dissecting me.
“Okay.” I shut the door and hightail it into the gas station, my heart racing in my chest. I don’t know what the fucker’s problem is today, but it needs to chill out. So what if Blaise isn’t nearly as bad as I originally thought? My heart doesn’t need to get all fluttery over it. It should be tougher than that.
I should be tougher than that.
“Remember the rules,” I mutter to myself as I enter the gas station. “We don’t need this getting out …” I trail off as I spot my dad’s truck through the window, parked in the side parking lot. A much nicer truck is parked beside it that has heavily tinted windows.
Curious as to what my dad is doing here in the middle of the day, I start to head back outside to ask, when the door to the nicer truck opens and my dad hops out. I pause, watching as he peers around nervously. Then he collects a large duffel bag from the truck, hurriedly climbs into his own truck, and then peels out of the parking lot, kicking up a cloud of dust.
I grind my teeth as I watch him speed off down the highway. “Another duffel bag, Dad? Really?”
I have a very suspicious and very unnerving feeling that the contents of that bag might be very similar to the bag buried in our backyard.
Just what the hell has my dad gotten mixed up in? And does this have anything to do with his new job?
My gaze floats over to where Blaise is standing next to his SUV. He’s currently swiping his card in the machine, but his eyes are trained on the road, right in the direction my dad drove off in.
Chapter 19
I remain fairly stuck in my own head for most of the remaining drive home, my mind crammed with questions. Questions about my dad. About what he was doing at the gas station with yet another duffel bag. Questions about Blaise. Like, how much he knows about my dad and about Blaise himself. The biggest question: what led him to seek guardianship of his brothers? What line was crossed that he finally decided they were better off without him?
How am I supposed to ask him any of this? I barely know him. He barely knows me. Why would he share his personal story with me? He may very well not, but at this point, I’m becoming desperate enough to ask.
I take a sip of my coffee then flick a quick glance to make sure Alex is still passed out before turning in the seat toward Blaise. He’s hardly said more than a handful of words since we left the gas station, either stuck in his own head, too, or tired of chatting with me.
“I have to ask you a question.”
Breaking the silence makes him jolt.
His gaze skates to me, his expression guarded. “Okay …?”
I finish off my coffee then set the empty cup in the cupholder. “You saw him at the gas station, didn’t you?”
He reluctantly nods. “I saw him drive away.”
“Do you know why he was there?”
“No.”
I can’t read him; can’t tell if he’s lying. “Was he there for his job?”
He shakes his head, sweeping strands of his blond hair out of his eyes. “Probably not.”
“How do you know for sure? I mean, what does he even do for your dad?”
“All sorts of things. And I know for sure he wasn’t working earlier because he only works nights.”
“Nights? But sometimes I see him around the house at night.”
“Late at night,” he clarifies. “I think it’s the eleven o’clock to five o’clock shift.”
None of this makes sense, and with how much Blaise is squirming in his seat, I wonder if he knows more than he’s letting on. But why? Because my dad told him not to tell me? Again, why?
Why? Why? Why?
“But he acts as if he’s going to work during the day,” I point out, observing his reaction closely. “He even packs a lunch.”
Blaise thrums his fingers against the wheel, contemplating something. “Maybe he has two jobs?”
I snort a laugh. “Yeah, and unicorns are real.”
He gives me a curious glance.
“I’m guessing he’s not the sort of guy who would have two jobs?”
“Hell no. He’s not the type to even have one job. Honestly, until you said he was working for your dad, I thought he was just going to the bar with his”—I make air quotes—“ ‘lunchbox.’ ”
He nods understandingly. “I had one of those parents, too. Or, well, I should say stepparent.” He downshifts as we near the turn off to our neighborhood. “Rhyland and Alex’s mom … she’s a real piece of work. And that’s putting it mildly.”
I seize the opportunity to ask, “Was she the reason you got guardianship of your brothers?”
