Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
A new song started, and I heard stirrings from the back of the house. Guessing who would come out of Dad’s bedroom any given morning was a real crapshoot. I kept fantasizing that he’d bring home someone over the age of thirty, but no joy so far. Knowing my luck, it was yet another chick I’d been in high school with.
I should start carding them to make sure they were legal.
It hadn’t always been this way. When Mom died, my dad went dark on us for a while, an angry lion who prowled around the house and occasionally swatted at things that got in his way. That first year I hadn’t seen him with a woman, not even once.
After that? It’s like a switch went off, and now he screwed around more than Ruger did before Sophie, which was saying something. But I might as well make Dad’s “friend” feel welcome, I told myself piously. After a long, hard night she would be hungry. I started whipping up pancakes, singing loudly as songs cycled through.
By the third song, the griddle was hot and the batter ready.
By the sixth I had a dozen pancakes cooked and ready. I’d also heard some thudding from the back of the house, and a high-pitched squeal. His latest party favor sounded just like a baby pig, I decided uncharitably.
Sure enough, when the girl marched into the kitchen, I recognized her. Yet another one I’d gone to school with. Officially icky. I eyed her as I took a sip of coffee. Then I raised my cup, wordlessly offering her some. She shook her head, wincing from the motion. I took another sip of sweet caffeine, hiding my smirk.
I set the cup down and poured a measuring bowl of whipped eggs into the frying pan. I heard a gagging noise behind me as she took off running for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dad wandered into the kitchen. He wore nothing but flannel pajama pants, leaning against the counter as I passed him a cup of coffee without comment.
He took a sip, then spoke.
“You have plans for today?” he asked.
He didn’t ask about the girl or complain about the loud music.
He never did.
I had a secret theory that he liked how I chased off his women first thing in the morning. Sort of like letting out the dog, or hauling the trash to the curb. It was just one of the many small things I did to make his life more pleasant. In return he made it impossible for me to date and tried to micromanage my life.
Didn’t seem quite fair, something I needed to discuss with him. I took a deep breath, figuring there was no time like the present.
“Actually, I’ve got a project today,” I told him.
“What’s that?” he asked. A loud barfing noise came from the bathroom, and we both winced.
“Classy, Dad.”
A pained look crossed his face.
“Yeah, you got me there. So what’s this project?”
“Well, you know I’ve been looking into getting my aesthetician’s certification? I found a program and they’ve accepted me. You know I love doing nails, but I think this would be a great step forward.”
“That’s nice,” he said, then smiled. “I got no idea what that is, but if it makes you happy, go for it.”
“Here’s the thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “The program’s in Portland.”
I braced myself, expecting him to explode. He didn’t disappoint.
“What the fuck are you thinking?”
“Cookie and I were talking at the wedding,” I said. “She’s got space and could use a little rental income. She’s lonely since Bagger died. She loves Portland, but having a friend around would help.”
“Don’t bullshit me, little girl,” he muttered. “This has to be about Hunter. What the fuck did he do to you? You gotta talk to me.”
I shook my head. He’d been after me to give him details of my time alone with Liam, but I wasn’t ready for that. I might never be ready. It seemed like my feelings changed daily, but I knew one thing for sure.
Dad wasn’t the person I’d be talking to when and if I felt the need.
“No, this is about me,” I told him firmly. “It’s time for me to strike out on my own. I love Portland, I love Cookie, and I need to get out of Coeur d’Alene.”
He looked away, face hardening.
“If it’s not Hunter, is it Painter? You need to get away from him? I know he was all over you last night, but I can make him back the fuck off, baby.”
“No,” I repeated. “That’s part of the problem. Everyone thinks it’s about the men in my life, or the club. It’s not. This is about me. I love you, but I’m almost twenty-three years old. I want my own space—it’s time.”
“I want you to be happy,” he said slowly. “And I can even understand moving out on your own. But Portland is the wrong city.”