“Well,” Dad chirps, his hand hovering over a third cup. “I don’t suppose there’s any point in making him a coffee, is there?”
I shake my head, faking an apologetic smile. I have nothing to apologize for, but I can’t help it. Dad’s been through enough and I hate piling any more on his plate.
“What are the chances we’ll bury the hatchet?” he asks.
Slim.
Nonexistent, actually.
Carter hates my dad for what he did. I’m not happy about it either. I haven’t fully forgiven him, but I want him in my life. He’s the only parent I have and he’s trying hard to earn my trust. Carter would never say we can’t spend time together, but he makes it a point of honor not to interact with Dad beyond a stiff greeting.
I doubt anything will ever change on that front.
It’s been six months since Dad almost died, Rhett really died, and I had the worst panic attack in the history of all panic attacks.
Though, it wasn’t exactly a panic attack.
My mind simply opened the floodgates and the black hole that imprisoned my memories started spitting out every waking moment from the past two years.
It was like reliving the time I lost on fast-forward. So fast, in fact, that the rush of images still makes my head spin whenever I think about it.
“Your silence speaks volumes,” Dad sighs. “For what it’s worth, I’m glad you have him.”
“Are you now?” I raise a skeptical brow. “He won’t believe me when I tell him.”
Dad chuckles, turning his wheelchair my way. “Don’t get me wrong. I hate that you’re dating a criminal, but I know there isn’t a line Carter won’t cross to keep you safe.”
No there isn’t. As surreal as it is, I truly am the center of Carter’s world. And heismy world.
Dad waves the cup in my face, silently trying to persuade me to join him in another coffee before I leave, but the sound of Carter’s Pontiac cruising down the road seeps into the house.
“He’ll wait,” Dad says. “Won’t he?”
“Any other day, he would,” I admit. “But we have plans tonight. Dante’s coming from Chicago so we can’t be late.”
“Ah... I forgot. It’s the grand opening, isn’t it? What’s the club called again?”
“Scarlett.” My cheeks heat a little.
Dad doesn’t comment. Not because he doesn’t have anything to say, I’m sure he does, but there’s no time. Broadway pulls away from the curb just as Carter parks in the driveway. He kills the engine and exits the car, making my mouth dry out.
I’ve known him almost a year, but the sight of him, immaculately dressed, inked up to his throat, broad-chested, and sinfully hot still makes my heart skip a beat.
Or two.
Fine, a dozen.
Adjusting his rolled-up sleeves, Carter heads for the front door while I gather my things.
“Tell him I saidhi,” Dad teases. “Will I see you next week?”
“Of course. Same time, same place.”
He chuckles, waving me off. The first few times I came he expected a hug goodbye, but after a few awkward situations, he stopped forcing closeness on me. I think he’s hoping that one day I’ll take that step.
Maybe I will. For now, I’m perfectly content rebuilding our relationship one weekly coffee date at a time.
I leave him in the kitchen, busying himself with the dishes, and head out before Carter knocks again.
