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She has a light, seductive touch. “Will you show me your art sometime?”
I never think of it as ‘my art’. I draw because my brain and my fingers get restless when I don’t. But what comes out are bleak, sharp images that populate the most furious corners of my mind.
She’d probably be disappointed. Or scared.
I wrap my arms around her and evade the question. “You want to go to my place now?”
She smiles and snuggles closer. “Yes. Can I take a shower there?”
“Only if I get to join you.”
“Naturally.” She kisses my neck.
Tess is ready to leave but I can’t stop holding her, keeping her right where she is.
We’ll go soon. I just don’t want to release her yet, not even for a minute.
Chapter13
Tess
The bad news: Shit has hit the fan.
The worse news: I’m internet famous today.
The viral social media clip is grainy and only ten seconds long but there’s no denying it’s me swinging on a stripper pole. I don’t know who filmed me and it doesn’t matter.
I’m not even naked and this shouldn’t be newsworthy, but I’m not just the daughter of Stuart Ballerini. I’m also his campaign manager. And now the whole world has seen me getting freaky in an east side strip club.
My father isn’t speaking to me.
Inconvenient, since we live in the same house and I’m still overseeing his campaign. Unless he fires me, which he might.
I wince at the trill of an incoming call, but luckily it’s from one of the only two people I would like to hear from right now.
“Any better?” Dani asks. This is the sixth time she’s checked up on me today.
“Jury’s still out.” I roll over on my bed. “My dad cancelled his appearances today. I’m still hiding in my room to avoid being glared at with shame-inducing disgust. My uncle’s coming over in a little while to try and talk him down.”
Her tone hardens. “Your father is being absolutely fucking ridiculous.”
I pick at a thread in my quilt. “I’ve humiliated him a few weeks before the biggest election of his life.”
“Oh Tessie, no you didn’t. Let me come and rescue you. We’ll eat cookie dough ice cream and watch vintage horror movies until your father recovers from his tantrum. And if he doesn’t, just stay here with us.”
I would love to go smother my angst in junk food on Dani’s couch. But this is my mess and I need to handle it.
“I’ll call you later,” I say.
“All right. Chin up. You are Tess Fucking Ballerini. You don’t back down to anyone.”
Dani’s pep talk is appreciated. But when I flop back on my bed and gaze up at the ceiling I’ve stared at since infancy, my self confidence leaks away. I’ve always been known for clapping back, for refusing to cower. Anyone who challenges me can expect an argument.
Almostanyone.
My father has always been larger than life in my mind. I’ve never overcome the terror of displeasing him. We don’t have honest conversations. That’s partially my fault and it’s long past time that I took steps to fix it.
When I sit up, my gaze lands on the dent in the wall, a recent addition, courtesy of Micah’s fist during a climactic moment. A crack splits the paint down the center. I run my finger over the defect and imagine being enclosed in the safety of his strong arms.
