“I know.” I look down at my feet, at the faded nail polish on my toes. “You want Mom to tell me.”
“Hey.” He brushes my arm with his thumb. “You’ll understand better once she does, okay? I promise. And shewilltell you when she feels the time is right.”
I nod, still not looking up. “Yeah.” My fingers curl, nails digging into my palms.
Don’t cry.
Don’t scream.
It will all work out eventually.
It has to.
I want to have faith in my mom. I trust her with every part of me. The problem is, I thought—or maybe hoped—it’d get easier being here with my dad. In moments like this, though, when I’m forced to see our situation for what it is ... it only gets harder.
“I need you to know, I’m honored to be your father, Bluebell.”
Finally, I look up and meet his focused stare.
Don’t cry.
Don’t scream.
“I mean, I knew from the start I’d love you. I loved you before I met you. But this,”—he gestures to me, and a small light flickers inside my heart where the unwanted darkness crept in—“you, you’re so much more than I expected.” He shakes his head, and his voice cracks when he mutters, “I can’t believe I get to be your father.”
My lips tremble, and a cool tear slips down my cheek.
“I, ah ...” He lifts his chin and scratches his neck. “Can I ask you something?”
I nod.
“I know I’m your father by birth. Like I said, I’m honored. But will you ... will you give me a chance to earn the title of Dad?”
Another tear falls, and before I can wipe it away, another one follows. As they slip down my cheeks, a strange feeling of discomfort runs through me. I always thought I was pretty open with my emotions, but I’m not used to this kind of crying. I don’t like it.
“I understand it’ll take time, and that’s okay. Take as long as you want. I’ll work for it. I just need to know I’ve got a shot.” He glances away. When he looks back, his eyes are wet. “Because I really, really want to be your dad someday.”
I don’t know when my feet started to move, but my arms are suddenly wrapped around his waist, and I’m nodding against his chest, soaking his dress shirt with my tear-streaked cheeks. I feel like I’m five years old, hugging my dad before my first day of school or something, and it’s everything.
Because I’mhuggingmydad.
Hunt
Missed you today, grumpy. Come see me?
My thumb grazes the edge of the Post-it as I read it over again. Shit, even before I spotted her note on my door earlier, I wanted to see her. Saturdays are always the roughest for me, and I sure could’ve used one of her smiles to pick me up. But by then, she was in the middle of dinner with her family, and I had to get going or I wouldn’t make the fight.
Slipping the note back in my pocket, I glance up and scan the gnarly crowd encircling me. They’re getting louder and more impatient by the second, and the adrenaline’s already kicking through my veins, desperate for an outlet. I’d never admit it aloud, but the pent-up parts of me rely on these fights a little too much.
I was called front and center over ten minutes ago, but my opponent still hasn’t shown. If someone doesn’t appear soon, I’m not getting paid. Which means I’ll be screwed on this month’s rent, never mind shit like groceries and gas. I’ve already had to dip into the funds I’m setting aside for college, and I can’t afford to do it again. Especially since Conway’s money stopped showing up.
Fuck—
I grimace, curling forward as the breath’s knocked out of me, a solid punch landing in my side.
Cheers and shouts erupt, beating against my eardrums.
Pain slices through me, but once the wave of surprise fades, I suck it up and whirl around to find the same fucking pair of eyes I bruised in last week’s Pleasant Grove match.Slick. The asswipe who got two of his buddies to throw punches at me from behind when I almost had him down.
