Don’t gawk, Tate. He’s a dad.
It doesn’t matter how hot the man is. I swore off his type. And he’s also in the middle of a crisis, or maybe it is a meltdown.
Cheryl rushes out of the house, knocking into her son as she runs by him. She’s on her knees in an instant, pulling the girls into her arms. “Oh my God. I was so worried.” She sniffles, squeezing the girls as tightly as she can without hurting them.
“We’re sorry, Granny,” Maddox tells Cheryl, looking more remorseful than she did the entire time at the bar. It’s funny how quickly her teenage attitude disappeared. “Hazel wanted a Shirley Temple, and I thought we’d be back before you got up.”
“Bullshit,” Wylder grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest. “You know better than that, Maddy.”
Oh boy.
Wylder clearly knows the girl likes to pull some shit. I feel an instant kinship to Maddox because I was her many, many years ago.
“Dad,” she whines, no doubt pouting at him because it used to work when she was little, but I don’t think it’s going to get her out of this jam.
“Zip it,” he says, sounding very much like Maddy when she said the same thing to Hazel at the bar. “You’re too old to be pulling shit like this, Maddy. And to take your sister and put her in danger too is totally irresponsible.”
“Don’t be so hard on them,” Cheryl says to her son as she straightens and wipes at her tearstained cheeks. “You did some boneheaded things when you were their age too. And that’s another dollar for the swear jar because of your potty mouth.”
My lips twitch at Cheryl’s words.
Wylder scrubs a hand across the scruff lining his face. “Can I help you?” he asks me, and any hint of a smile that was forming on my lips dies.
I touch my chest, wishing I had taken a few steps back so I could wander away without being noticed. “I walked them home to make sure they made it safely.”
“And you are?” He eyes me suspiciously as if somehow I’m the scarier one of the two of us.
Cheryl smacks her son’s chest with the back of her hand. “That’s Tate from the Hook and Hustle.” Cheryl gives me a faint smile. “Thanks for bringing the girls back. I appreciate it, sweetheart.”
“You’re welcome, Cheryl. They’re good girls.”
“I know they are. Thanks, Tate,” Cheryl replies.
I don’t dare steal a glance at Wylder. I can feel his eyes on me without looking directly at him. He’s mad. Not at me, but that doesn’t stop me from being a little scared.
“Girls, tell Tate thank you.”
“Thanks for the Shirley Temple, Tate,” Hazel says, toying with her braid again. “It was the best.”
I give the little girl a reassuring smile. “You’re welcome.”
“Thanks,” Maddox says, but there’s no sweetness in her tone like there was from Hazel.
I give her a head dip, figuring her statement wasn’t sincere and doesn’t require a verbal response.
“I appreciate you bringing my kids back.” Wylder takes a few steps forward, coming way too close to me. “They’re going to be grounded for a long time.”
“Dad,” they cry in unison.
He lifts a hand, and the girls fall silent. “I don’t want to hear it. You nearly gave your grandmother a heart attack.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Cheryl tells the girls, giving them another squeeze. “He’ll calm down.”
Hazel’s sad eyes meet mine, and the heartache I felt for them earlier comes roaring back. Although their situation is different because their mother is alive, I know how they feel—abandoned, lost, and unsure of everything in the future.
“I’ve got to get back to the bar, Cheryl. Stop in sometime this week and say hi,” I say before spinning around on my heel and hustling down the walkway to the sidewalk.
When Cheryl does stop in, I’ll ask her about the girls. Hopefully Wylder will cool off and realize the girls are acting out. I’m sure that will be the case. It’s hard to see the problem when you fear for the lives of those you love.
