My chest hitches. Then everything goes quiet.
CHAPTER
TWO
JONAH
I should’ve ignoredthe call the second I saw his name flash across my screen. But he said he needed me. So like the loser I am, I came. Now he’s standing by my front door like he never left.
“Jonah.” He steps out of the shadow as if he has a right to be here. He doesn’t. He’s ten years too late, and still, I can’t say no.
“Dad.” I stop on the gravel. My keys are still clenched in my hand. He stands a few feet away, hands shoved into his jacket. “You said you needed me. What is it?”
He rubs his neck. His eyes flick past my shoulder, down the drive, then back again. “I need you to come with me.”
“Come with you? Where to?” I stare at him. A strand of blond hair falls forward and I shove it back behind my ear. I haven’t cut it in months. “Right now?”
“It’s only a short ride.”
I shift my weight. My feet are throbbing inside my shoes. “Where to? I just came off a twelve-hour shift at the hospital.” As if to prove the point, my scrubs cling to my legs, damp and stiff with the smell of the ER. I want them off my skin.
“We’ll be quick. I need you, son.”
My chest tightens. I hate that his voice still sounds familiar, and I hate that I’ve missed him. I cross my arms, my nails biting into the cheap fabric of my sleeves. “What does that mean? Are you in trouble?”
His gaze flicks over the worn steps, the busted railing, and the trash scattered across the drive. His mouth thins into a hard line when he glances at his watch. “No. But I will be if we’re late. You were always difficult.”
My jaw locks. “Is that why you left?”
Irritation flashes across his face. “And dramatic.” He turns toward the driveway. “I don’t have time for this. Come on. We’ll talk on the way.”
“I’m not?—”
“Jonah.” The word lands like it always did.
You’re the biggest mistake of my life.
I swallow hard. “Can I at least change? Maybe shower? I smell like antiseptic.”
He doesn’t respond. When I glance back, he’s already walking toward the car idling at the curb. I should turn around. I should tell him to fuck himself and crash in bed, remembering his silence for the past ten years. But I don’t. I follow him because a part of me is still that kid waiting by the window for a man who never came home.
From up close, the car is worse. Old coffee cups and fast-food bags crowd the floor. It smells like stale smoke and cheap air freshener. Dad drives without looking at me. The trailer park slides past, then the dark strip of road lined with closed shops and crappy bars.
I shouldn’t be in a car with the man who kicked me out the day Mom was buried, her clothes still in the closet. He didn’t even say goodbye.
Dad clears his throat. “I told you a long time ago you should get yourself a proper job. One that pays decently.”
“Like your job, you mean?” I stare at the glove compartment. “As strange as it might sound to you, I love what I do.”
He wrinkles his nose.
“So, you disappear for ten years, and now you call. Tell me why you needed me.”
His jaw tightens. He keeps his eyes on the road. “I told you I needed you to come with me.”
“Where?”
He doesn’t answer right away. “It’s not far.”
