“But you’re happy now, right?” I can’t help but ask. I don’t particularly like my stepmother, but that doesn’t mean I don’t want my dad to be happy.
“Yeah, yeah,” he says just a little too quickly. “Well, it’s Wednesday, so I’m sure you’re off to see your mom.”
“Yeah,” I reply quietly.
“Well then, I better let you get to it. I’ll get PR on a retraction and a correction. Adrienne Malone isnevergoing to be done with professional racing or DHR. It’s in her blood.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“And if I see Bobby outside of the track, I’ll knock his fucking teeth in,” he mutters.
“No!” I shout, but he already disconnected.
“I take it perfect pretty boy Bobby is a dickhead,” King says, and I turn back to face him and sigh.
“Kind of, but I’m not convinced that’s all he is,” I answer. “The boy I grew up with is in there somewhere.”
“Adrienne—” he starts, but I don’t let him finish whatever it was he was going to say. I can’t. I just can’t. Whatever he was going to say to punch another whole in my life parachute, I just can’t take it right now.
“I have to believe it,” I tell him. “I just do. Now, I’ll be late to meet my mom if I don’t leave now.”
He seems to watch me for a moment, and then he says softly, “Then let’s get you to your mom’s.”
I don’t say anything. There really isn’t anything to say, so I follow him out to his SUV. My plans to run away on my own and get some much-needed distance and clarity are dashed, but still, I can handle it. This morning was enlightening, to say the least: Bobby was full of it, King could be gentle when he wanted to be, and my dad believed in me after all. Or at least I hope he does, but he does not sound like I’m the disappointment Bobby said I was. And last but not least by a longshot, the threats against me are very much real and a scenario I do not want to play out. Ever.
King once again pulls open the door for me, and after I climb in, before he closes the door on me, I put out a hand to stop it. “Why do you do that?”
“Do what?” he asks me. A look of confusion crosses his face.
“Open the door for me,” I blurt out and realize I shouldn’t have when surprise registers across his face and then a scowl settles in.
“The answer is two parts,” he replies. “One, if I open and close the door in a tense situation, you can be covered. It’s my job to protect you no matter what.”
“And the second part?”
“Because you deserve to be treated like that,” he says, and I’m so stunned that I draw my hand back as if I’ve been burned. He uses the opportunity to shut the door and walk around the hood to climb into the driver seat.
We don’t speak the rest of the drive to my mother’s house. I don’t have to give him directions, because like everything else in my life, he already knows all the gory details.
“There’s my darling girl,” my mom calls out before I even have both feet on the ground when we park in her driveway. She’s standing on the front porch with her arms wide and a huge smile on her face.
I shut the door behind me and walk straight into her arms, which settle around me. I might be grown, but every time she embraces me like this, I know I am home.
“Hi, Mom,” I say with a smile when I pull back to look at her beautiful face.
She’s still tall and slim, mainly because she believes in mostly healthy eating and long walks on the beach with her golden retriever, Hugo. Her long hair is more silver than blonde now, and she does not dye it. There are faint lines around her eyes that tell the story of how her life has been filled with smiles and laughter, but not too deep, because she also believes in a serious skin regime. Everyone always says I look just like her, but my hair is dark, a black like my dad’s, and hers is the lightest blonde, now platinum.
“It’s so good to see you,” she says. “Lunch is out on the patio.”
“What did you make?” I ask, because I might be a passable cook, but my mom is the best.
“Curry chicken salad sandwiches, fruit salad, ham and swiss on rolls, and Grandma’s sheet cake,” she says, listing off enough food to feed an army. “Oh! And her lemon bars too.”
“Mom, we may never eat again.” I laugh, and she looks over my shoulder to who I know must be King standing behind me. Her lips part, and she executes the most attractive gasp.
“You must be Mr. King,” she says.
“Just King, ma’am,” he replies, and I swear the deep tone of his voice has her in an almost regency novel swoon.
