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Why is this man using words like “please” and “sweetheart?” As odd as it is hearing them from his lips, it’s also comforting that he’s asking me to come stay with him. I haven’t slept under my father’s roof since the night before my high school graduation.
“You need to be around someone who can take care of you.”
“I can take care of myself, Dad. I’ve been doing it for a long time.”
“Don’t get smart. You know what I mean.” His eyebrows furrow together. “You’ve gone through a lot these past few days,” he continues. “You need to be with your family. And I’m your family, not these people.”
“I said no.”
“If you aren’t going to leave with me, then at least go stay at Jackson’s for a few weeks. It’ll do you good to get away from LA.”
“Dad, have you forgotten I have Gabriel to find? I can’t leave LA. I’m not going to leave Los Angeles unless it’s to go after the person who shot me and kidnapped Drago’s son.”
“Have you forgotten you were placed on administrative leave?” He doesn’t give me the chance to speak, continuing before I can open my mouth. “You aren’t allowed to go after anyone. And you damn sure don’t need to put yourself in more danger. Which is exactly what you are doing by being here.”
“I’m not in danger here.” Maybe that isn’t entirely true. Diaz wants Drago, after all.
He raises an eyebrow. “That was a dumb remark coming from you.”
“I’m not leaving LA until Gabe has been found, or unless I have to leave to find him.”
“You’ll get fired!” my father shouts at me.
“I don’t care!” I say equally as loud as him.
“Jesus, Brianna. Just fucking come home with me.”
“Why are you pushing this? It’s not like you.”
He turns away from me, bracing his raised arm against the thick wooden column and looking out toward the ocean. It’s beautiful out here, and I could never imagine living anywhere that wasn’t close to water.
But right here, right now, it’s not the scenery I care to enjoy. I can’t allow myself joy when I don’t know what’s happening to Gabe. I should have taken my duties more seriously. I should have expected something like this to happen when I knew Drago was involved with Diaz.
Even if it’s not of his own doing or free will, he’s still involved to a degree. He may not be pushing his dope or giving Sebastian the means to bring it into the States, but being who he is and the family he was born in, his involvement still exists.
If I’m honest, it probably always will. At least while Vincent is alive.
“Your mother was strong—until she wasn’t.”
His somber words bring me out of my thoughts.
My mother?
What does my mother have to do with the topic of where I sleep at night?
“What are you talking about, Dad?”
“You think I don’t know you.” He turns, facing me, pressing his backside into the railing. “I do. You are my daughter whether you like it or not, and I do know you better than you think. I know you are strong. You are the most strong-willed person I know. You want people to see you as a strong woman, and they do. But unlike your mother, you’re avoiding dealing with your miscarriage when you shouldn’t.”
“Unlike my mother?”
What the hell is he talking about?
“She had three miscarriages.” His statement washes over me, shocking me. “Two between the time you and Jackson were born, and then there was the last one.” He exhales with a heavy sigh. “She avoided the first two. Refused to talk about them and then the last...”
He trails off, turning away from me and looking back out toward the sea. With his house tucked away in the hills, you can see the ocean in the distance and a few of the other homes around here.
“Mom had—” I can’t even finish the sentence. It’s a word I haven’t spoken out loud yet.
