“I don’t want money. I want you to take me somewhere.”
“Where?”
“I want to see my dad.”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“If you don’t take me, I’ll just go there myself.”
“You don’t even know where he is.”
“I can find out. I’m sure someone around here knows. Or maybe I’ll call him.”
“They don’t allow phones. You should know this by now, given how many times he’s been in rehab.”
“Assuming that’s where he is. If he’s not actually there, he’ll pick up.” I get out my phone. “I’ll try him right now.”
Brock watches, a smug grin on his face, as I make the call. It immediately goes to voicemail.
“Are you done making accusations?” he asks.
“It wasn’t an accusation. I wanted to know if that’s really where he is. Someone told me they saw him in town last week.”
Brock laughs, but it’s too exaggerated to be real. “Someone saw your father here? Did this someone happen to be you? In some delusional dream?”
“I’m not making it up. This person saw my dad.”
“Who?”
“I’m not going to tell you.”
“Where did they see him?”
“They didn’t say.”
“So someone you don’t know says they saw your father, but they can’t say where.”
“I know the person.”
“You don’t know anyone. You just moved here.”
“Whatever,” I say, walking away so he’ll stop questioning me. I don’t want to tell him it was Shayla and have him yell at her for it, or even worse, fire her mom over it.
“I’ll pay you for watching Livia. The money will be in your account by tomorrow.” He leaves, slamming the door behind him.
Why won’t he take me to see my dad? I know those places don’t always allow visitors, but Trystan said Brock visited my dad just last week. So why won’t he let me see him, or at least tell me where he is?
At five thirty, I go out to the living room wearing a black dress and heels. I usually love black dresses, but this one makes me feel like I’m going to a funeral. It has a lace panel along the upper part of the chest, and I always associate black lace with funerals. The lace is probably meant to be sexy, showing off some skin. I don’t find it sexy at all, but apparently Jackson does.
Before I left my room, I took a selfie and sent it to Jackson with a text that read,Going to a funeral?
I didn’t think he’d know what I meant, but he texted back,Not at all. I think it’s hot.
His response surprised me, then made me feel guilty because I should’ve sent the photo to Axl. So I did, along with the same message I sent Jackson, but Axl didn’t get what I meant. He called me and asked who died. When I explained it, he got mad at me for taking up his break at work for what he said was a stupid joke.
Things haven’t been going well with Axl and me. He’s been working more hours at the store, so when we finally get to talk at night, he’s tired and cranky. And I’m cranky because I can’t see him.
I miss him so much. I need to get back there, but I don’t know when I’ll have time.
