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“You help me all the time.”

“You know what I mean.”

“I really don’t. I’m not too bright, remember?” I do know I do some things right with Ella. But when I come in from my dirty illegal job and see Mike being a good father to her? Those old insecurities open right back up.

Almost everyone used to tell me I’m dumb. I’ve heard it my entire life. Even from my daddy.

As if the thought of him summoned it, my phone buzzes with a text. This one is not as nice as the ones he’s sent before.

Daddy: Stop avoiding me, kid.

Squeezing my eyes shut for a second, I shove the phone into the pocket of my pajama pants. When I was a kid his threats worked. I’d have jumped in fear of a beer can whizzing past my head. But that was a long time ago now.

I haven’t been good for much to my father in a while. Not since I was playing basketball. I wasn’t even great at it compared to some, but I was decent enough to get a scholarship, and he was always after me to give him inside information on the team.

At first, I ‌had been stupid, mistaking his interest for him actually giving a damn. But no, it all went back to his gambling addiction. He wanted to know about the team so he had an edge when betting on the games.

The final straw was when he tried to get me to throw a game. As if I alone even had that power.

When Billie called a few weeks later to tell me she was pregnant, I was almost relieved to have a reason to quit. Until reality set in.

It’s been over a year since I last heard from him, so I have to assume he needs money. I’ve given him some here and there, and maybe that was a mistake. But what am I supposed to do when my father calls to tell me he can’t afford food or he has an angry bookie ready to break his legs?

Still, it can’t continue. Especially as Ella gets older. My money needs to be saved for her.

Michael flicks his eyes to my phone. “Your father again?”

My eyes feel gritty and tired. I try to rub at them and immediately regret it, wincing when something scratches at my eyeball.

“What does he want? Money?”

I pretend to find the shadows across the room really interesting. “Probably. He’s usually asking for money. It’s nothing new.”

“And are you going to give it to him?”

“No.” This time I meet Mike’s gaze. He knows I’ve caved in the past. He needs to know I mean it this time. We both do.

Michael doesn’t look as if he believes me, but it doesn’t matter because out in the kitchen, Ella is calling for us.

“Please go see what she needs.” I hold up a ratty old shirt that says “Gopher Ball” on the front. “I’ll be out in a second.”

He nods, reaching forward. Before I can figure out his aim, he hooks a finger in my waistband and pulls it back, making it snap against my skin. “Stop it, Dean. I’m serious. You’re not allowed to make yourself bleed.”

“You’re not actually in charge of me, Mike.” Did that sound as childish to him as it did to me?

He lifts his eyebrows. “You want to bet?”

Before I can answer, Ella calls for us again, and he turns to leave. Which is good, because I’m at a loss here. I’ve worked hard to resist the urge to harm myself in recent years. In truth, it’s only partly because Ella might find out.

I shouldn’t want Mike’s approval. Shouldn’t crave it like I do.

But is he in charge?

Maybe I want him to be.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

Michael