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“I’m busy tomorrow too.”
“Balor, come to the house. Tomorrow,” he barked and ended the call. I didn’t get the chance to tell him to fuck off like I wanted to. Instead I texted Ty.
You heard from your father?
No, why?
He just called. Asked me to come by the house tomorrow.
Fuck him.
My thoughts exactly.
You going?
Yeah.
You want me to come?
No, I’ll deal with him.
The dots danced then went away. Ty wouldn’t respond again. I hated our father but tolerated him. Ty hated him anddidn’ttolerate him. Their relationship was even more complicated.
I locked my phone and shrugged out of my jacket, tossing on one end of the sofa and settling onto the other side. Slouching low, I lifted the remote and turned on the TV, flipping to SportsCenter to get caught up on what I’d missed. Once I was done, I would shower and fall into bed. After a week of chasing Jordan I was annoyed. His bond was one hundred twenty-five thousand and at twenty-five percent I would clear a little over thirty grand for two weeks’ work. That meant I could take a couple easy jobs or take time off completely.
I rarely ever did. Work kept me distracted and distracted meant not dealing with how empty my life felt at times. Not that I was going to do anything about it. I never did.
&
The next day I pulled up at our father’s place, staring at the door once I shut off my bike. I had no idea what he needed but hoped this would be quick. He had a way of demolishing my mood but it was better for me to deal with him than Ty having to do it. Our father hadn’t worked in years. After an accident on a job site, he drew disability. Ty and I paid off the house so his check was enough to cover his expenses.
I occasionally left him additional money because he had a bad habit of blowing his on women. At least he wasn’t an alcoholic or drug addict but women could be just as addictive and hit your pockets just as hard.
Our father was handsome and, although he had a few back issues, in fairly decent shape which meant the twenty somethings he liked to entertain found him alluring. Older, distinguished, and a good time, but they didn’t know him. He was kind to them. Fucked them and bought them things which made them see the good in Donald. To his sons, he was a gotdamn ice house, void of emotions.
After taking a minute to wrap my brain around being here, I yanked off my helmet, lifted off my bike, and headed to the door with my helmet tucked under my arm. I let myself in and headed straight for the living room where my father spent most of his time. As soon as he laid eyes on me, he scowled like he didn’t want me here as if he wasn’t the one who’d demanded I come.
“Your brother’s not with you.”
“He’s busy.”
He glared at me like I was lying. “So are you but you’re here.”
“What do you need, Pop?” I wasn’t doing this with him.
“You can’t have a conversation with me?”
I exhaled my frustration, raking a hand down my face. “Do you really want to talk to me? If so you could have just said whatever when you called instead of demanding to see me then acting like my presence annoys you.”
He glared again then lifted from the armchair that had a permanent dent from his body. His place was nicely furnished mostly, thanks to me. Aside from that chair and his bed, which he shared with the women he rotated in and out of the house, most of the space inside remained untouched. This armchair and the TV was how he spent his time at home.
I followed him to the kitchen. After lifting a stack of papers from a drawer he moved my way again, shoving them at my chest.
“I need you to figure that out.”
My very thin patience was close to snapping.
“What’s this?”
