I try not to tense up, but it’s like trying not to blink when someone’s about to poke your eye.
He smells like cigarettes and the cheap aftershave he’s used since forever, mixed with something sour.
“Tomorrow. Come to Hangman. See the place. Meet some of the guys.”
Guys. The word hangs in the air between us, heavy with meaning. Guys like Rex, with their grabby hands and hungry eyes.
“I’m busy tomorrow,” I say, and immediately regret it.
His face darkens. “Busy with what?”
I scramble for a lie and just shrug instead.
“Friday then,” he says finally. “No excuses.”
“Friday,” I agree.
“You don’t answer my texts.” He picks a dead leaf off my plant and flings it to the floor.
Reed’s knife is there.
I lick my lips and don’t look. If I pay attention to it, Papa will too. I find some more things to stuff in the trash. Papa plucks another leaf, and hands it to me, but drops it just before I grasp it. I decide it’s just safer to stand there, hoping he’ll get bored. He wanders around some more, kicking the shoes I left by the door, checking the tiny bathroom, looking at everything like it’s dog shit. There isn’t much to mess with so he gives up.
“Your heat’s coming up soon,” he says, his hand on the knob. “You should be thankful I’m looking out for you.”
My stomach twists, and I wait for another panic attack, but it doesn’t come.
“You’ll give the Hangman a chance. It will be nice to work next to my daughter.”
“Sure, Papa.”
The door closes behind him with a bang that rattles the whole building. I press my ear to the door to listen for the creaks to stop, to make sure he’s really gone. Just as the silence settles back around me, my phone buzzes against the table. I nearly knock over my coffee reaching for it. The screen lights up with Beckett’s name.
Not a text this time. A call.
I glance at the door, half-expecting Papa to burst back in like he can sense what I’m doing. I swipe to answer, my finger trembling slightly.
“Hello?” My voice comes out too high, too breathless.
“Ash? Hey, it’s Beckett.” His voice is all warm and buttery. “I hope this isn’t a bad time.”
“No, it’s fine.” I glance at the door again. “Just surprised to hear your voice. You usually text.”
He laughs. “Yeah. I need you to settle something for me. It’s kind of a bet.”
“A bet?”
“Liam advised me to wait a week before calling you. Said if I don’t, I’m like one of those overbearing alpha types. Pierce said Ishould just wait until you texted me first.” There’s a smile in his voice. “But I couldn’t wait. So, who wins the bet?”
“They both lose,” I say, surprised by how easily the words come. “You should have called yesterday.”
“That’s what I thought. I’ll tell them they both owe me twenty bucks. I hit the jackpot.”
“You’re gambling now? Isn’t that against hockey rules or something?” I twist a strand of hair around my finger, trying to ignore the fluttering in my stomach.
“Only if we bet on games. Betting on my love life is totally fair game.”
Love life. The words hang in the air between us. I bite my lip, unsure how to respond.
