He exhales slowly. “It doesn’t matter. They’ll twist it however they want. They always do.”
He means the town. The media. Everyone who fed off the rumor mill back then.
“Madeline is sick over this,” I say, needing them to know that. “She told me as soon as it happened. She’s really sorry, Wes.”
Ford’s jaw ticks. “We’re not letting her family dictate a damn thing. If they come for Wes, they come through us first.”
Wes looks up, and the expression on his face says that the past is right there, clawing at him again. I want to say something—to take some of that weight off him—but Ford beats me to it.
“We survived worse than this growing up,” he says, quieter now. “We’ll handle this too. Together.”
The second I step out of Ford’s office, my phone vibrates in my pocket. I look at the screen to see a text message from my dad’s friend, Andrew. “Friend” may be too strong a word. Andrew is a guy who plays cards and drinks with my dad on the weekends. But he’s not a bad guy, and he knows to call me when shit goes south with my father. My gut churns when I look at the message.
Andrew: Jess, you need to call me. It’s your dad.
Andrew: He’s real bad this time. Drunk out of his mind. He walked out of the grocery store with stuff he didn’t pay for, and the clerk is losing it. He’s going to call the cops unless you get here quick. I told him I’d call you.
Dammit. Of fucking course he’d pull something like this today.
I shove the phone in my pocket and head toward the parking lot, but when I round the corner, I spot Madeline sitting at the worktable. She’s leaning over her laptop, hair tucked behind one ear.
I don’t have time to stop, but my body moves toward her anyway, the pull toward her stronger than anything else.
She looks up the moment I’m close, that soft warmth filling her expression. She’s happy to see me. It kills me that I’ve been lying to her about my dad.
“What’s wrong?” she asks immediately, eyes flicking over my face.
I lean down, close enough that only she can hear me. “I have to go,” I murmur. “Something came up.”
Her brows pinch together. “Now? What happened?”
“Everything’s fine, Mads. I promise. I just have something I need to take care of,” I say. “I’ll call you when I’m done.”
She softens, worry mixing with trust, and fuck, that look almost ruins me.
“Jesse…”
Her hand lifts like she’s going to reach for me, then hesitates, remembering where we are. Her hand falls to her lap. That quiet hesitation makes something in me ache, but I force myself to step away.
“I want to see you tonight,” I say. “I won’t be long.”
I tear out of the parking lot, tires skidding on damp pavement. Traffic is a blur as I speed through town. I leave the windows up, the radio off. All that exists is the pounding in my chest and the awful, sinking certainty that I already know exactly what I’ll find when I get to where I’m headed.
Fifteen minutes later, I whip into the parking lot of the rundown grocery store on the east side of Deep Cove. I notice Andrew’s truck parked out front with hazard lights blinking. I cut the engine and jump out of the car, my eyes adjusting to the one, flickering fluorescent light overhead when I walk through the automatic door.
Inside, the store smells like old bananas and burnt coffee. The place seems empty at first, except for the guy standing behind the till, eyeing me. I scan the aisles, nervous energy pumping through me. And then I see my dad at the front of store.
My dad is slumped against a rack advertising granola bars on sale, his face blotchy with booze. His shirt is wrinkled and stained. His gray hair sticks up like he’s been clawing at it. He’s muttering something under his breath, the words angry and slurred.
Andrew stands beside him, hands raised in pathetic surrender. His shoulders slump in relief when he spots me.
“Jess,” Andrew says in a low, frantic whisper. “Thank God. He’s—just talk to him, okay? He’s been threatening to call thecops.” He nods to the man behind the counter, who has his cell phone in his hand, ready to punch in 911.
I step closer and my dad’s head jerks up. For a moment, recognition flashes in his eyes, and then the fog drops again.
“You got money?” he snaps. “Or you just here to judge me?”
I inhale through my nose, slow and steady. If I let anger lead, this will go south fast.
