Tucker’s gaze shot to mine and I smiled, the dark cloud lifting as the seconds passed in silence.
“I know,” Tucker finally said with a bereft sigh. “Sometimes I can’t stand myself. Remember the time when you were like ten and I was bossing around the television crew and you said, ‘Dad, Jesus wants you to stop being a dick?’”
I remembered well. The whole crew clapped for me. Tucker and I had a good laugh at the memory. It had been so long since we’d connected on a personal level, I’d forgotten he was an actual human being under all the expensive clothing.
“Will you come back with me?” he asked. “I’ve got a jet waiting.”
“Not tonight.” I clapped him on the back. “But I’ll be there tomorrow.”
“Will Breeze be coming too?”
Breeze…
I frowned at the thought of her at the family reunion with her ex. “No.”
Tucker’s brows shot up, but he didn’t press for details. Instead, he blew out a breath and sat back in his chair, lacing his fingers behind his head.
“Well, I guess I’ll have to find myself a new client to suck the life out of.”
“That’s the spirit.” I laughed. “Just because you won’t be suffocating me anymore doesn’t mean you can’t find scores of other young hopefuls who’d jump at the chance to be throttled and deprived of oxygen by the one and only Tucker Beckett.”
Smiling, he pointed a finger in my direction and winked. Were my eyes deceiving me or had Tucker just tagged himself out of the game? Maybe my presumed death had actually been the wake-up call he needed to finally unfurl his fist and let me go. It gave me hope that, in the near future, we could come out of it as father and son.
23
Bodhi: My Own Eddie
“Are you sure this is the place you want to be dropped off?” the driver asked, craning his neck to get a better look out the windshield. I followed his gaze to the duplex, taking in the slanted garage door, the patch of dirt in the front where grass may once have grown, and the barred windows and doors.
Well shit.
Breeze and I exchanged identical disconcerted expressions before I confirmed to the driver we were indeed in the right place. I realized rents were high in the Bay Area, but my father was paying Marni five thousand dollars a month, and this drug den was the best she could do?
It was just that kind of day. Not only did I have showdowns with both my parents, but I also had to say goodbye to Betsy and Terrance, the pets, and one very bruised and battered Range Rover.
And then there was the matter of the growing herd of miniature humans grazing outside on Breeze’s front lawn. Now that the Where’s Waldo of the boy band world had officially been spotted, a migration of sorts began. An ever-growing influx ofDayersflooded in, with more on the way as scores of metal-mouthed adolescents hopped in the back of their moms’ minivans and began their pilgrimage.
Touted as the new pop music mecca, Breeze’s outdated family home had gone viral and was unexpectedly thrust into the twenty-first century. Suddenly, the 1960’s eyesore had an Instagram account, and also a GoFundMe campaign. Stories flourished on the Internet, everything from Breeze’s trending hairstyle to mysupposedlife-threatening burns—which I illogically chose to have treated in the Brady Bunch home instead of the sterile environment of a hospital. No one said fake news had to make sense.
Staying at the Cassidy-Bening house was no longer an option for me, at least not without an army of security personnel stationed around the perimeter.
And that’s where Tucker came in. Even though I’d fired him, he continued to work his magic. Watching as things seamlessly fell into place made me appreciate my father’s special brand of over-parenting. Flights were booked, hotels were reserved, security was strategically put into place, and a black SUV appeared in the driveway ready to take Breeze and I here, to theBreaking Baddrug shack.
Tank, our bodyguard for the night, hopped out first and took a look around before ushering us out of the car and up the cement slab that served as a porch.
Marni swung the door open before we even knocked, then took an immediate step back when she spotted the bodyguard.
“Is this… is he a cop?” Her eyes darted back and forth in a way that indicated her home was absolutelynotpolice-proofed.
“He’s security.”
“Security?” Marni scoffed. “You need security to visit your own mother?”
Before I could answer, Tank interjected, “No, Madam, he needs security because he’s Bodhi Beckett fromAnyDayNow.”
Oh yeah, that was unnecessary. I was pretty sure Marni didn’t need to be reminded of who I was. Way to make me sound like a cataclysmic asshole, Tank. It went without saying that my bodyguard was a few tacos short of a fiesta platter. However, as evidenced by his nickname, he did win the contest for most massive and that was all that was required for his position. I grabbed his arm and pushed him back.
“It was Tucker’s idea,” I explained. “Not mine. The big guy will wait outside.”
