“You dare,” he finally said, voice low and sharpened to a blade, “to stand on my property with my naked daughter draped across you and presume to tell me how to speak?”
Scott didn’t flinch.
The vein at my father’s temple pulsed once.
“If you have any shred of decency,” he said, “you will leave this property immediately. And if you care so much about Michelle’s well-being, you will stay away from her. Permanently.”
Scott’s fists curled, and his jaw set. A storm was gathering.
I laid a hand on his back. “It’s okay. Just go. I’ll be fine.”
Scott turned to me, eyes searching mine. I silently begged him not to make this worse. Not to fight him. Just… not. And whatever protest had been building inside him quelled. He bent, gathered the rest of his things, and walked away.
“Put your clothes on,” my father snapped, already turning his back to me.
I scrambled to dress, fingers shaking. I’d barely gotten my clothes on before his hand closed like a cuff around my arm.
“To the car. Before you embarrass yourself—and this family—any further.”
I didn’t argue. What was there to say? I’d known this confrontation was coming. In some twisted way, it was almost a relief. The sneaking around and the lies had all been borrowed time. My parents never noticed my life until they did, and this time they’d regret it. Because Scott wasn’t some dock rat they could hose off the pier. He was the man I think I loved… and suddenly everything I’d been taught to want felt wrong.
Through the window, as we pulled away, Scott stood on the sidewalk, barefoot, shoes dangling from one hand. With the other, he lifted his two fingers in the peace sign—the one he always gave me.
Later, Babe.
14
SCOTT: RISKY BUSINESS
The morning air felt colder than it should have, as I stood there alone on the sidewalk watching her drive away. I couldn’t shake the image of Michelle’s face behind the glass. She looked so small and boxed in. And I had no doubt that’s exactly where her father intended to keep her. My instinct had been to chase the car down, bang on the hood, pull my girl out. But then what? I’d only be delaying the inevitable. The showdown with her father was coming no matter what. I just wish he hadn’t caught me half-naked and fully screwed.
With my truck still parked at the bar, it made more sense to head home and have one of my buddies drive me back to the Strip later to get it. I stuck my thumb out and started walking. A dozen cars blew past before an old blue sedan finally slowed. The driver leaned across the front seat, grinning through nicotine-stained teeth. “Need a lift?”
He looked harmless enough—mid-forties, baseball cap, gas-station coffee in the cup holder.
“I’m headed to Venice Beach,” I said.
“Then you’re in luck. Hop in.”
“Appreciate it,” I said, sliding into the passenger seat. The heater was on, blasting stale air that smelled like cigarettes and artificial vanilla, a losing battle of scents. The guy merged into the morning traffic, which was still light due to the early hour.
He shot me a glance. “Rough night?”
I wasn’t in the mood to talk, but I didn’t want to be rude either. “You could say that.”
He nodded, drumming his fingers on the wheel to a beat only he could hear. But the small talk was… off. The questions were coming in too sharp, and the laughs a second too slow. His smile didn’t reach his eyes. I answered like I didn’t notice, even as the hairs on the back of my neck stood up. A few miles in, his questions turned personal. Where I lived. What I did. If I had family nearby. Something inside me went still. I didn’t panic. Just watched the road. Watched and waited.
When the car slowed at a red light, I smiled back, casual as ever. “This is close enough,” I said, reaching for the handle.
Before he could respond, I was out the door and moving fast. He called something after me, but I didn’t look back. I told myself he was just weird, that it was probably nothing, but I picked up the pace anyway. We’d all heard the stories of hitchhikers going missing, their bodies turning up on the side of freeways.
Instead of hitching another ride, I walked the six-plus miles home, cutting through side streets and neighborhoods just in case. I knew he wasn’t following me. I checked a dozen times. Still, I couldn’t shake the uneasiness in my gut.
I’d just rounded the corner and was halfway down my street nearly two hours later when their voices reached me. April and Ron were in a full-blown fight, and I knew my shitty morning was about to get shittier.
“Don’t tell me I imagined it, Ron. She can’t stand me. Everytime I open my mouth, she makes a snide comment or corrects me.”
“She doesn’t hate you,” he sighed, sounding wrung out. “She’s cautious. She wants what’s best for me, that’s all.”
