Текст книги "Devil Smoke"
Автор книги: Max Henry
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“It’s never too late to turn it around.”
I ease out of Bronx’s hold, wiping my nose with the hem of my T-shirt. “Such a lady,” I mutter with a laugh.
Bronx smiles, nodding toward my phone. “You better check that. You got a reply while you were cryin’.”
Shit. I stare at the damn thing for an age before I muster up the courage to open the reply. My stomach’s still swimming with acid, but I urge the creeping panic aside and force myself to focus on the words.
What the fuck are you talking about? Why are you in Lincoln?
“What the . . .?” I frown at my phone before it hits me—he’s tracking me through it.
I launch off the stool and tear around to the serving side of the bar, running my hands over the shelves, and ripping drawers open until I find what I need. Bronx is on his feet, confused as hell when I lean over the bar to reach my iPhone, a wrench in my other hand. I’ll question why there’s a damn eight-inch tool in the bar another time, but for now, I’m just grateful the thing’s there.
“What are you doin’?” he asks as I swing it high.
The phone shatters with a dull crunch under the steel head. “Cutting all ties.”
“Bit extreme isn’t it?”
I can barely hear him over the noise I’m making smashing the device into a puddle of plastic and metal. “He asked what I’m doing in Lincoln,” I shout. “I forgot he has the finder app on our phones. I don’t know if he paid attention to where in Lincoln I am, but he won’t be able to look it up again.”
Bronx runs a hand over his head. “You do realize it will still show him the last known location?”
The wrench drops from my hand, narrowly missing my foot. “No.”
He smiles awkwardly at me. “Yeah. It’ll still show him where it is, just that it’s not active.” He fails to hide the concern in his eyes.
“Fuck!” Every time—they always get one up on me. Why can’t I damn well get it right? Anger, pure and hot, surges through my veins: at Gunter for tracking me, at myself for not thinking about the fact he can still find me if my phone’s alive or not, and at the fact I now have a damn expensive pile of trash that I’m still making payments on. Bronx backs up as I reach out in a fit and swipe the pieces off the counter, sending them raining down on the floor.
It dawns on me that the room’s gone quiet, as in, a pin drop would be deafening at this moment. Peering out from under my lashes, I take in the two men beside the pool table, gawking with their cues in hand. A scantily clad woman is frozen mid-stride at the base of some stairs, and even King is hanging out in the door to his office, an amused smile on his face.
Low, reverberating laughter fills the void, breaking the otherwise heavy silence. I stare at King, raising my face fully to frown at the guy as he damn near wets himself where he stands, holding on to the doorframe with one hand.
“Shit, Bronx. That’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen all day.” He sucks in a few breaths, making loud whoops as he does. “Can’t tell you how much of a relief it is to know I’m not the only asshole goin’ crazy over a psychotic bitch.”
Bitch? I open my mouth to say something, but snap it shut when Bronx holds out his hand. “Don’t,” he urges. “It’s not said as an insult around here. Plus, it’s the first time he’s laughed like that in a while—the guy needs it.”
I look at the mess I’ve created, and then at King, sharing his smile and the joke. His face drops at the sound of my laughter, and he points a finger between the two of us.
“Funny as it was, you said something that disturbed the fuck out of me while you were busy smashin’ that up, sweetheart. Both of you better tell me exactly who it is that knows where she is, and I better like it, otherwise you two will be wishin’ you’d kept this little love-fest in Omaha.”
I glance across at Bronx who’s staring up at the ceiling, nostrils flaring. I’ve been here all of half an hour, and I’ve got him in the shit twice. Honestly, if the guy isn’t questioning what he’s got himself in for by now, there has to be something seriously wrong with him.
Or seriously right.
SADDLE UP
Bronx
The look on her face says it all. After King finished tearing us a new one, she bolted across the common room and holed herself up on that sofa, knees tucked into her chest as though she was a frightened child. I guess in some ways she still is. But that look, the vacancy in her eyes—she’s wondering why she’s even alive, what the purpose to all of this pain and heartache is.
A feeling I know too well.
Dawn passed an hour ago, and still no sign of Gunter. Either the skinhead doesn’t fancy leaving his brother behind, or he hasn’t figured out what he’s going to do about Ryan yet. The guy’s pretty thick in the head, but I don’t think he’s enough of an idiot to charge down a whole fucking clubhouse of bikers single-handedly.
Either way, it was the final nail in my coffin. I’ve fucked this up, ruined the whole deal. Might as well buy myself a cabin in the Alaskan wilderness now. I’m kind of surprised King hasn’t taken me out the back for a lesson on biting bullets yet. Maybe tomorrow—maybe he wants her gone first?
My phone chimes in my back pocket, and removing an elbow from where I’m leaning on the bar, I pull it out and open the message. Ty.
Your a fucking moron.
*you’re I send back, smiling like an idiot at the visual I have of him going off his rocker down in Fort Worth.
Kick YOUR ass when I see you.
Of course—it never even crossed my mind that King would call him to help sort this shit out, but it makes sense. Speak of the devil . . .
King jogs down the stairs looking fresher than a fucking daisy. He glances at Ryan sitting on her own, and then across at me, lifting an eyebrow.
I shake my head to let him know not to go there.
“Heard from Tuck,” he says quietly as he comes to a stop beside me. He looks across at Ryan again, tipping his chin her way. “What’s up with her?”
“Not sure. She won’t talk to me. But I’m guessing she’s feelin’ about as much of a walkin’ fuck-up as I am right now.”
“We all screw up, Bronx,” King reassures me. “Just some more monumentally than others.” He gives me a friendly nudge on the arm.
I narrow my gaze at him. “What’s got you so fuckin’ smiley?”
“The alternative,” he says, a shitload more subdued. “Got to wake up with a smile on your face to save cuttin’ yourself a second one on your throat.”
“Fuck, we’re a bunch of miserable assholes, aren’t we?”
“Men have fallen for less, brother.” King pushes off where he’d been resting on the edge of a stool. “Go raid my drawers and get yourself some real clothes, huh?”
I nod, watching Ryan as she rubs her eyes on her knees.
“Take it you know by now Ty’s on his way, too?” he asks.
“Yeah. He messaged me right before you rocked up.”
“We’re goin’ to have to do some serious thinkin’ here, brother. Carlos is just waitin’ on us to fuck up. He catches wind of this, we’re toast.”
“No point tellin’ me what I already know,” I say, rubbing my neck. “I feel shit enough as it is without you remindin’ me why.”
“Can’t change what’s done,” he says. “Only learn from it.”
“You think I would have by now, hey?” I offer him a weak smile.
“You think we would all have,” he responds, shaking his head. “Tuck will be here in thirty. I’ll let you break the news to her.” He gives me a slap on the arm and strides off across the common room to his second home—the office.
I don’t envy the bastard one bit, having to wrangle this circus day in, day out—especially when each sunrise seems to bring the promise of more bullshit to deal with. Wiping my palms over the front of my jeans, I step away from the bar and head toward Ryan. She turns her head as I approach, staring straight through me before those baby blues focus and she breaks a small smile.
“Sorry for acting a bitch,” she says as I take a seat. “It’s just easier to keep to myself and avoid doing anything else that gets you in trouble.”
“Since you’ve shown up, all you’ve done is get me into trouble.” I give her a gentle nudge, forcing her to look up and see my smile.
“Sorry.” She lets out a quiet laugh.
“Don’t worry too much about it. Things will blow over.” Maybe. Only time will tell. No point ruining my day worrying about the consequences until they happen.
“King looks happy,” Ryan says, looking over the back of the sofa at his office door.
“He’s not.”
“Oh.”
“He wants you to know Harris is on his way, though.”
Her legs shoot out, and she twists toward me. “What? When?”
“Half an hour.”
“Shit!” Her hands go to her mussed up hair and run over her tired face. “I need a shower. Oh my God, can I have a shower here?”
“Despite what people say about dirty bikers, yeah, they do have a shower here,” I tease. She watches me as I stand, offering her my hand. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to somebody who’ll make gettin’ to know where things are around here lot easier for you.”
She takes my hand, and hoists herself up. I give her a little tug, pulling her body against mine. She just stares up at me, those crystal clear eyes unsure and apprehensive as I look her over and sigh. “You’re worth the trouble, okay?” She nods. “Whatever happens, whatever anyone says, you’re worth it.”
Her small hands pat my chest. “I hope you’re right.”
“There ain’t no other option, darlin’.”
Twenty-five minutes later, and Sonya leads Ryan down the stairs after helping her out with where to shower and finding what she needed. Knowing the woman, she probably stood guard at the bathroom door while Ryan cleaned up, just to make her feel at ease.
Sonya steps aside, a face-splitting grin on her mug, and watches for my reaction as Ryan walks over to where I’m leaning on the wall beside the pool table, waiting on my shot. I shift between my feet and try not to give away how affected I am seeing her like she is.
Her hair’s washed and pulled up into a high ponytail, showing off her long neck and the ink that adorns her skin. Sonya’s found her some clothes that fit her and instead of her usual all-black attire, she’s wearing a pair of dark denim jeans and a loose white T-shirt that shows the faint outline of her bra underneath. Fuck me. Her face has none of the usual smoky makeup, or the cherry red lips. Instead, she’s fresh-faced and her. Until now I’ve only seen her behind the tough façade she puts up for everybody’s benefit but her own. But like this? She’s just Ryan.
And Ryan’s beautiful.
“You look so different,” I blurt when she comes to a stop beside me.
Her eyes go to Callum, who’s watching us patiently, waiting on me to take my shot. He can keep waiting.
“I feel naked,” she whispers, moving her focus back to me. “I’ve never left the house without makeup before.”
“You look amazin’,” I tell her, leaning in and giving her a kiss on the cheek.
Her face is flushed when I pull back, and her eyes dart nervously to Callum who’s not even watching anymore.
“She looks great in white, doesn’t she?” Sonya asks, giving me a wink behind Ryan’s back. “Had to wrestle the black sweatshirt out of her hands.”
Ryan turns and gives Sonya a smile. “Time for a fresh start, huh?”
Sonya laughs and steps over to pull Ryan in for a hug. She squeezes the life out of her, and then pulls back to hold her with both hands on her shoulders. “You remind me of myself a long, long time ago, which may or may not be a good thing, depending on how you like it.” She smiles and, letting go of Ryan, she heads toward the kitchen, calling over her shoulder, “I’m prepping lunch for you lot if anyone wants to find me.”
“She’s lovely,” Ryan says, watching Sonya leave. “She made me tear up a couple of times.”
I look down, surprised. Sonya’s not usually the sort to upset people.
“In a good way,” she reassures. “She made me feel a lot better about my decision to do this. I told her how I felt about getting you in the shit, screwing everything up and that. She told me a few stories about things she’d done and that her ex-husband did, which made me feel better. I guess this kind of conflict isn’t out of the ordinary for you guys.”
I shrug, reaching out and running my finger along her exposed collarbone. “No, it’s not. But there’s a lot of variables that complicate this.”
“Like what?” she asks, turning her head to rest her cheek on my hand when my fingers creep closer to her neck.
“For starters, we’re talkin’ about me, a non-member, messin’ shit up for the club. It’s a bit different than when Sonya and her old man screwed up; they’re part of the place. Secondly, we need to work out how else we’re goin’ to achieve what I was there for, given I’ve kind of fucked the original plan up.” She closes her eyes briefly, wincing at my last point. “And third, now that King’s callin’ in Tuck, I can only guess that’s goin’ to put a fuckin’ huge spanner in things, mixin’ up two clubs who obviously don’t get along.”
“What does it mean for you though? They must be livid with you for getting me involved in this.”
“Yeah, they are.” I turn away and fidget with a cue on the wall rack. “And to tell you the truth, I don’t know what they’ll do. I messed up huge this time.”
“I don’t care what their fucking rules are around here,” she says, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’ve got a few things to say if they take this out on you unfairly. They can damn well listen, too.”
“Darlin’, it’s cute that you want to stand up for me, but I’ll take whatever they feel is fair punishment.”
“Puppies are cute, too . . . until the little fuckers are hanging off your pinkie finger with those sharp teeth.” She pouts, and it’s all I can do not to laugh at her.
“You’re fuckin’ adorable like a puppy, too.” I lean in and tuck a hand under her chin while I steal a kiss.
Callum clears his throat from the far side of the table. “A man could die old waitin’ for his next shot.”
“And a man could die young in our game, brother, so I’m takin’ what I can get while I can.”
Ryan smiles and backs away to lean on the wall and watch us play. She’s got mere minutes before her uncle arrives, and he’ll more than likely wipe that smile from her face. So I relish it, tickling her between shots and soaking up every damn musical note that comes out of her mouth when she laughs.
Because this right here? This is what it feels like to belong with someone.
I just hope she feels it, too.
CONFIRMATION
Ryan
The moment’s nice, as fleeting as it is. For a few brief minutes I feel like the woman I could have been. Watching the men circle the table taking shots, it’s easy to imagine that this is what my teenage years could have been.
If I hadn’t been too busy running from myself.
Bronx and the other guy, whose name I’ve since learnt is Callum, are down to the last two balls each before somebody has to sink the eight. Bronx leans over the table, his arm extended out along the cue, and I’d be stupid not to use the moment to admire his trim form. Well, trim isn’t quite the word for it. He’s built, and he clearly works out, but the width of his shoulders, the bulk under his T-shirt, and the narrow taper of his waist before his thighs fill out the denim he’s wearing tell me he’s serious about his sport. Working out isn’t just a hobby for him, or a necessity—it’s a passion.
It makes me wonder if he has room for anything else in his life. He says he does, but I guess we’ll only know for sure when this blows over . . . if it ever does.
His arm pulls back, and the sharp crack of the pool balls follows. His number four collides with the corner of the pocket, and bounces off the cushion as he rears back, snarling at the failed shot. “You sink this next one,” he tells Callum, “and I’m bringing in a distraction.”
The blond guy chuckles, rounding the table as he decides which ball he’ll take on first. “She ain’t here today, brother, so you’re out of luck.”
We never find out who wins. King breaks the moment, barreling out of his office and marching toward the entrance hall. “Eyes up. We have company.”
A young guy in a prospect vest runs across the common room, making ground to catch up to King as he disappears out the front of the building. I’m consumed with the activity that’s broken out around the place. Men snap to attention, their earlier relaxed demeanor replaced with keen focus as they move to clear the women and kids from the room. Within seconds it’s me, the only female left, and a handful of leather-clad men all standing with their heads high and chests pushed out.
“Are you ready?” Bronx asks close to my ear, his hand wrapped gently around my upper arm. “This is it.”
“I can’t believe he’s here,” I near whisper. “Twelve years and this is where I’ll get to see him. What if I don’t like what he has to say?”
“You deal, that’s what.” Bronx wraps his arm around my shoulder, pulling me around so I’m tucked into his side with my face against his T-shirt. “You say thanks to the guy for frontin’ up, and you deal.”
“I wonder if he looks the same?” My fingers find their way to my mouth, a habit I’ve had since I was a little girl in times where I need comfort.
The door at the front of the clubhouse is wrenched open, sunlight flooding the hallway that leads to where we stand in the common room. I stiffen as several deep, rumbling voices mix with one another, the echo of boots on the concrete floor in sync with my pounding heart.
King emerges first through the doorway, and his head swings about, searching me out. I slam a palm over my mouth and swallow back the vile acid that rises to the back of my throat. Please don’t make a fool of yourself, woman. Bronx gives my shoulder a squeeze as King heads our way, two men I don’t recognize emerging from the hallway as he does.
King’s eyes are gentle as he stops before me, bending his knees slightly so he’s my height. “You want to go somewhere private, like my office, or will you be better in an open room?” My heart swells for the guy. Here I am, the reason for a club he doesn’t get along with to be on his turf, and he’s still concerned about my feelings.
“In the open would be great,” I answer, pulling away from Bronx. I need to stand tall, to do this myself.
King turns back to the two men and points to the sofas. “Well get settled over there.” The men spin around, showing their Devil’s Breed patches, and head across to the seating.
I take a few steps toward them, still staying away from the entrance hall, and watch with interest as they rifle through the cushions, lift the ends of the sofas, and run their hands under the tables. Satisfied there’s no threat, one of them walks briskly toward where they came in and gives a hand signal to somebody down the hall.
King moves to my right, Bronx to my left, both standing by my side as I wait for him. The blood rushing through my body is an ocean swell in my ears, drowning out each heavy breath I’m sucking in through my nose and blowing out through my mouth. I’ve dreamt of this moment and I’ve imagined our conversation, but I know without a shadow of a doubt that this won’t be anything like that. Nothing could have prepared me for this—facing the truth, and closing the door on the last decade of my life.
Warm fingers search out mine, and I cling to Bronx as though he’s the only solid thing holding me on the ground, saving me from floating away. He anchors me, and through that connection I find the last bit of courage I need to do this.
Harris’s head is down, his eyes on the floor, but I remember that messy shock of brown hair like it was only yesterday that he was there before me, telling me to run. His lips are moving; he’s talking to himself, and a smile quirks one side of his lips up. He’s just as nervous as I am.
King steps forward, blocking me from view. Harris lifts his head to greet him, extending a large hand. King connects his, and the two men shake vigorously before breaking.
“How was your ride?” King asks.
Harris draws in a heavy breath, his huge chest rising. “Full of idiots, but what’s new?”
His voice—it’s exactly the same; exactly how it sounds in my head every time I’ve dreamt of our talks. My fingers throb with each beat of my heart, and I’m squeezing Bronx’s hand so hard.
“Thank you for coming.” King steps back, crossing his arms over his chest. “Wasn’t sure if you’d accept the invite.”
Harris’s eyes narrow, and a frown pulls his eyebrows in. “You send me a message like that, I’d climb out of fuckin’ hell to get here.” He rubs his left hand over his face, and I note the thick leather cuff on his wrist. Something twinges in my chest, the memories of playing with that cuff as a child awakening inside of me. Seeing it again, on him, right in front of me, proves how real this is. “Can I see her?” he asks.
King steps aside, revealing where I stand. With a bit of wiggling, Bronx manages to break his hold from mine, and urges me forward with a gentle hand between my shoulders. I’m unsure, still deciding what to say when Harris breaks the hugest smile, his weathered lips splitting to reveal his gold-capped tooth. The familiar sight is the last thing I need to spur me on, and I take bold steps toward him.
“Harris.”
“Hey, baby girl.” He reaches for me, and I shy away. As much as I’ve missed him, mourned him, I’m not ready to be held yet. There’s too much yet to be answered.
“It’s been a long time since you told me to start running,” I say. The men around us stand in silence, respectfully watching our exchange.
“It has.” Harris’ smile fades, but the welcome is still warm.
I’m not sure how I feel. “Why?” I glance at the two men who arrived with him; their cold and indifferent stares send a chill the length of my back. I move my gaze back to Harris. “Why did you kill them?” My question ends as a whisper, as though people might actually be shocked if they overhead my admission.
Remember where you are, Ryan.
“It’s not a quick answer.” His beard has flecks of grey, his eyes framed with crow’s feet. Time hasn’t been kind to him, but to me he’s still the same man I loved with all my heart.
“You didn’t come back. You never came to get me like you said you would.” I sound every bit the petulant child I was when he saw me last. I could stomp my foot and not look the slightest bit out of place.
“I couldn’t find you,” he explains. “I thought when you ran, sweetheart, you’d be picked up by the cops, that your face would be splashed all over the papers and all I’d have to do is follow the trail.” He shakes his head, dropping his chin to his chest. “Where’d you go, Ryanna?”
One word, my full name, and I’m done. A tear trickles from the corner of one eye and I let it run, proud of what it shows him. He betrayed me—he showed a child what it is to have somebody you trust take away your safety. He ruined the girl I was, and I want him to see that.
“Shit, baby girl.” He runs a hand down his beard. “Don’t cry.”
“I didn’t, for years. I held this shit inside and it ate away at all the good in there. I think it’s about time I let some of that pain out, don’t you?” More tears follow the first, cresting my cheeks and running down to my neck.
The men around us fidget with their hands, or screw a boot into the floor, looking for a distraction from what must be getting awkward for them. I look over my shoulder to Bronx, and find him watching, stern, yet keeping his distance. He nods tightly, telling me in a single action that I’m doing fine.
“How about we take a load off?” King says, placing a hand in the middle of my back. “Get comfortable, huh?”
I nod at his intervention and let him guide me over to the sofas. Harris takes up a spot to the left of the U-shaped configuration, and I choose the middle seats, tucking my legs up to my chest for a little added comfort. Bronx drops in beside me, placing an arm protectively along the back of my cushion. I look at his face as he stares at Harris, and I realize he’s also placed his arm behind me as a threat; a silent way of telling Harris that if he hurts me, then Bronx is going to have something to say about it.
“Drink?” King asks the group as Harris’s men take up spots behind my uncle’s sofa.
“Same as always, Kingy-boy,” Harris answers, crossing his left ankle to his right knee, and gripping it with both hands.
King snaps his fingers at Dog, sending him over to the bar to collect. “Same as I drink, Dog. You like anything, Ryan?”
“Just a water, thanks.”
“Bronx?” King asks.
“No, I’m fine.”
“You two?” King looks to Harris’ men.
They both shake their heads.
“Catch all that, Dog?” King calls over his shoulder.
“Yeah. Got it.”
Harris taps his fingers in a steady rhythm, eyeing Bronx’s proximity to me. I lean into the warm body at my side, letting my uncle know that this man is what I need. Harris rubs a hand the length of his shin, and his eyes drop to the floor before him as he speaks. “I guess if we’re goin’ to get the ball rollin’ we might as well start with the important stuff.” He fusses in his seat, stalling. “You want to know why your parents died, baby girl, and I want to tell you. But if you’re goin’ to understand the ‘how’, you need to know the ‘what’. You need to know my reason for bein’ at your house that night.”
My finger picks at a hole in the sofa, worrying the threads loose. “I’m guessing you had business to discuss with Mom and Dad.”
“I did. But that business started a long time before that night—eleven years before, to be exact.” The eyes that I always felt of as home watch me intently, gauging every reaction I have to what he’s telling me.
I know what he’s referring to, and common sense tells me what’s coming next, but I’m in denial. I don’t know if the answer is going to make me feel better, or worse. “I think I know what you’re going to say.” My fingertips twist a loose thread, my eyes fixed to the task at hand. “I know you loved my Mom, more than a friend should.”
“I did,” he confirms. “Still haven’t loved anyone like that since.”
“I don’t think anyone could compare,” I whisper. “She was an amazing woman.”
“She was.” He swallows hard, his eyes fixed to a dent in the table before him as Dog sets our drinks down.
I watch the prospect’s hand sweep in a lazy figure eight as he wipes up the spilled drops of water, focusing on the different shades of gray in his platinum ring.
One of Harris’ men coughs, and I break from my trance, remembering why we’re here. “Am I right?” I ask. “Are you my . . . my . . .” I can’t even say the word out loud.
“Father?” Harris teases.
“Yeah, that’s the word.” I smile briefly. “Are you?”
The room is poised for the answer. Even Dog hesitates halfway to the bar to listen to what Harris says.
My uncle—or at least the man who was my uncle, nods.
Bronx curls his hand off the back of the seat to squeeze my shoulder. “Wow.”
“Yep,” I agree, staring at the hole I’ve picked in the sofa with wide eyes. “Wow about sums it up.”
“Your mom was engaged to your dad when she found out,” Harris explains. “They weren’t an item when you were conceived—they got together a few months after.”
“Why did she leave you?” I ask. “Or was I some sort of a one-night stand gone wrong?”
“Never, baby girl. Mistake, yeah—initially, but no one-nighter. I was a prospect for this bunch,” he says, waving his hand around to gesture at King’s club. “Apex had a rule about unpatched members, basically stating their old ladies couldn’t hang around. Said he had enough trouble keepin’ the men in line with the whores without draggin’ in a bunch of women who were spoken for.” He chuckles. “Always thought the old bastard was pullin’ one on me, bein’ an asshole. But it made sense when I learnt the rules.” He leans forward in his seat, bracing his elbows on his knees. “See, a patched member has ownership over a prospect, and basically, if any of those dirty fuckers had wanted a piece of your mother, I couldn’t have done diddly-squat. The old bastard was protectin’ not only us prospects from unnecessary trouble, but women like your mother from situations they didn’t need to face.” He tips his head to one shoulder. “Anyway, she didn’t want to wait for me to do my time and be the woman in the wings, so to speak. Can’t blame her, really.”
“But weren’t you and Dad close?” I ask. “You must have been mad that she moved on to your best friend?”
“Yeah,”—he lifts an eyebrow—“I was. Didn’t talk to them for six whole months. Right until your old man argued his way in here and dragged my ass out of bed so I could go see my newborn daughter.”
Nerves swell thick in my throat. What did he think when he saw me? Did he regret it? “Why did you hide it from me? Why not tell me from the start?”
“Sugar, if you’d seen your sweet little face when your daddy came home from work each day, you wouldn’t have told you either. We always thought we would, but how do you tell a baby? A toddler? By the time you were old enough to understand, your daddy was your hero. We couldn’t ruin that for somethin’ that didn’t really matter. I was still in your life, so I didn’t see the point in rockin’ the boat.”
I suck in a long breath, processing everything he’s told me. The two men standing behind Harris look bored, disinterested in what’s going on, and I suppose they are. To them it’s another tale of a dysfunctional family, but to me it puts all the broken pieces of my past together, forming a colorful mosaic out of the fragments that previously didn’t fit.
No wonder he was always around. Knowing this explains why he came to every milestone event of my childhood: birthdays, Christmas, school plays. I guess he didn’t want to miss out on his daughter growing up.
“If Dad knew, then why were you all arguing?” I ask. “It still doesn’t explain why things went so wrong.”
Harris drops his head between his shoulders, burying his thick fingers adorned with skull rings into his messy, gray-streaked hair. “Your mom and dad, they argued a lot. The usual stuff—money, you. Every married couple does. But the fights got worse, and you dad raised his hand at your momma one night.” He sighs, dropping his hands to hang between his legs. “He never hit her, but it scared her. She left for a couple of days and came to stay with me.”
“She said she went to visit an old college friend. I remember that. Dad didn’t want her to go, and I couldn’t understand why he was so upset with her seeing a friend.”
“I don’t think he knew for sure where your mom went, but your father wasn’t simple—he would have figured it out.”
