"Hey, Nathan," Marcus grunted with a nod, his stance relaxed despite the alertness I knew simmered underneath.
"Afternoon," Kendrick added, his lips twitching in what could almost pass for a smile on any other man.
"Thanks for doing this," I said, clapping each of them briefly on the shoulder. "It means a lot."
"Ofcourse," Kendrick replied, while Marcus just nodded again, his agreement silent but understood.
Krystal looked up at me, strands of hair escaping the ponytail framing her face. "We'll be back late, but I'll have my phone on me."
"Keep an eye on her," I said, directing my words to Marcus and Kendrick rather than to Krystal, though she caught the caution in my tone and made a crazy face at me.
"Will do, boss," Marcus said, a rare flicker of humor touching his stern features.
As their car pulled away from the curb, I turned back inside and picked up the book I'd been meaning to read for months, its cover creased from where I'd picked it up and put it down too many times to count. Settling onto the couch, I flipped open the first page. But the words might as well have been written in gibberish for all the attention I could muster. Rissa's face kept ghosting across my vision, her quick wit and the flash of surprise when she'd seen me at the school unspooling through my mind.
"Focus, Nathan," I muttered, trying to shake the image of her and concentrate on the printed lines before me. But it was no use; Rissa had gotten undermy skin, and no amount of reading would change that fact tonight.
I was still trying an hour later. The book in my hands might as well have been a decoy, the printed words fading into nothing. But then a shriek cut through the stillness of the house, sharp and urgent. I was on my feet before my mind could catch up, adrenaline spiking through me like a jolt of electricity.
"Elle?" My shout echoed back at me as I took the stairs two at a time, the protective instincts ingrained within me flaring to life. I burst into her doorway, scanning for any sign of danger.
"Go away!" Her cry came from behind her bathroom door, tight with fear.
"What happened?" I rapped on the wood, terrified at what might’ve happened. Did she fall? Was someone in there with her?
"Dad, I swear to God, if you open this door, I willmurderyou." The threat halted me in my tracks. Not hurt then, not physically anyway.
"Sweetheart, talk to me." I waited, each second stretching out longer than the last.
Amuffled groan seeped through the barrier between us, and I shifted, feeling suddenly out of place. "Is this, a, uh, a girl problem?"
"Yes, okay?Geez!"
Oh, thank goodness. No immediate danger, but what now? I stood outside the door, a forty-year-old single alpha dad, clueless about how to help his teenage daughter with the one thing he couldn't fix with strength or vigilance. I hovered, the silence hanging heavy in the air. "Elle, I can go to the store or something. Do you need chocolate or something to drink?" I was as out of my depth as when I’d first held her as a baby, knowing I was responsible for this little life but not quite sure how to manage it.
"Go. Away!" The sharpness was back in her tone, but I could hear the undercurrent of embarrassment.
"Okay, okay, I'm not going anywhere near the door," I assured her, raising my hands even though she couldn't see me. "Just tell me what to do. Do you need anything?"
There was a long pause, and I could almost picture her in there, wrestling with the situation just as much as I was out here. "Just. Call. Krystal." Elle'sresponse came through the door, the words tight with frustration.
"Krystal's at the monster trucks," I replied, my grimace evident even though she couldn't see me. There was a pause, and then her voice came again, softer this time, almost defeated. "Call Rissa."
"Wait. What?" Okay, that one caught me off guard.
"Justdoit, Dad. What is wrong with you?"
With a sigh, I dialed the number, the call connecting quicker than my racing thoughts. "So, I have a situation…"
Chapter 18
Rissa
I staredinto Gavin’s nearly empty fridge and sighed. It looked like we were eating out again. I hated to cook, and so did he. Maybe we could go to Dad’s to see if he and Mom had cooked anything. That was one perk to living so close to our parents. We could drop in and steal stuff, eat, do laundry. Anything we needed. I was twenty-five and Gavin was forty, but it didn’t feel like we’d ever stop doing that.
My phone buzzed on the kitchen table, Nathan's name flashing on the screen. A flutter kicked up in my stomach. We had just agreed to a secret date, why was he calling already? Against my better judgment, I answered. "Hello?"
"So, I have a situation… I, uh, I need help," Nathan said. How odd; he sounded so strained and worried, completely unlike him.
