I rub my temples and shake my head as I unlock my door and open it. “What do you want?” I snap, not bothering to offer him a hello.
“We need to talk, honey.”
I roll my eyes with a scoff and step to the side, letting him enter. “Don’t honey me, Barron.”
I can see the pain wash all over his face the moment I say his name, but I don’t care. He lost the title of Dad when he was too busy fucking someone else instead of taking care of my mom as she was on her deathbed.
As I close the door, he steps further inside and takes a seat at one of the barstools at my counter. “I understand you’re still upset with me, but this is serious, Arloe.”
I walk to the other side of the counter and cross my arms over my chest as I stare at him. “What happened to you?”
His cheek is split and scabbed over, one eye is slightly puffy and purple, and all around, he just looks a mess. Not the normal poised, clean politician I know.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about.” He looks around my small apartment. “Are we alone?”
“Just get to the point. I have things to do, and none of them include you.” I give him my back and grab a mug from my cabinet so I can at least try to enjoy my coffee as he talks.
“Easton Ciccone, Arloe. Who is he?”
My hand stills, letting the coffee pot hover over the empty cup in my hand. “What?” I place the pot back in its cradle and set my cup on the counter before turning back to him.
“Is he your boyfriend?”
I squint trying to put together where he is going with this. “How do you even know that name?”
“Just tell me.” His voice raises as his fists bang the countertop.
This is so like him, trying to control every aspect of my life. And I’ve spent years trying to break free. All the fights in college happened because of moments like this. Periods of time when he’d waltz in trying to play the game of father and daughter.
As a kid, I didn’t know how to manage my emotions, so I fought anyone who pissed me off. Which resulted in him having to bail me out of trouble. Those were the only times I wanted to see his face, but eventually I grew up, and he lost the right to tell me what to do years ago.
I shake my head. “You will not come into my house and ask questions you have no business asking, and you certainly won’t yell at me. I am not your fucking kid anymore.”
He raises his hands in defense. “I’m sorry. I just—” He rubs the back of his neck and looks down for a moment before bringing his eyes back to mine. “We just need to get out of here. It isn’t safe, Arloe.”
“We? There is no we. You made that clear the day you chose your mistress and career over me and mom.”
“Arloe, listen—”
“No,” I cut him off. “I’m done listening. I want you to leave. Now.”
“Honey, these are dangerous men. I don’t want to leave you here.”
I laugh. “Funny. Cancer is pretty dangerous, too, but you never had a problem leaving mom to deal with it alone.”
He shakes his head, regret swimming to the surface of his eyes. “The stuff between me and your mother was more complicated than you think. You’ve never let me explain my side of the story.”
“There is nothing complicated about what you did. It’s very black and white.”
“Arloe, please.” He clutches his hands together and brings them to his chest.
“Leave.” I point to the door. “This conversation is over.”
He stands and shoves his hands into his pockets. “I’ll be in town for a few days. If you change your mind, give me a call. My number hasn’t changed.”
As he starts toward the door, I do the same. Silence suffocates us as I open it. His eyes catch mine, but I look away. The puppy dog eyes may have worked on my mother for a while, but they won’t work on me. I’m not a child who is easily persuaded to believe everything an adult says anymore. I am an adult and can form my own opinions and conclusions on shit without his influence.
As he crosses the threshold into the hallway, he turns around like he is going to speak again, but I close the door without giving him a chance.
