CHAPTER 9
December
16 months to Mancuso’s downfall
“Behave yourself,” Holly says as she stands in the middle of the open front door. Dad’s on the other side slowly making his way to the edge of the porch and toward his awaiting bike. He smiles softly—as softly as Dad can, anyway—and gives her a wink. “I’m not kidding.”
On my left, Tracie huffs quietly. Her arms are folded over her chest, and her brows are knit together. I let out a heavy sigh, and my body slinks into the wall beside me that separates the kitchen from the family room.
“Define that,” Dad says and steps closer to Holly. He places his hands on her hips and pulls her flush against him. They’re so in their own world that neither of them sees Tracie and me watching their exchange.
“God, I hope he doesn’t screw this up,” I whisper-shout. Dad normally asks Holly to come with him to the clubhouse parties, but he didn’t this time. It’s put me on edge just waiting for him to ask her to go. She always says no, but that’s not the point. If he’s always asked before, he should ask now.
Tracie’s brown hair is pulled up in a messy bun, just like mine, and her face is makeup free, also just like mine. Sometimes, when we do our hair similarly or wear our makeup a certain way, I swear we look so much alike we could be sisters. Hell, if Tracie had been born in town, with the way Dad used to get around, I wouldn’t have put it out of the realm of possibility. But Tracie wasn’t born here. Her fancy-pants douchebag father lives somewhere south of San Francisco with his new wife and new kids. Tracie’s mom is kind of loose, so they had a paternity test done. Wishful thinking. I guess I’m just sick of being Sterling Grady’s sole focus for torture.
Holly places her hands on Dad’s chest and pushes him back just slightly. “I love you in ways I can’t explain, but if you have to ask me to define cheating, then whatever you’re thinking is okay for you to do isn’t. Got it?”
“It was just a question, babe,” Dad says. “Parties like this can get wild. Bitches walk around naked, they jump into laps. Tits gets shoved in faces. Shit happens. I’m not looking for an out. I’m just asking what’s going to get me into trouble.”
“That’s it,” Holly says in a loud voice. She throws her hands in the air, turns around, and heads for the staircase that leads to her and Dad’s bedroom.
“What the hell?” Dad snaps as he follows her with one grouchy as hell look on his face. I’d never shoot my own father, but suddenly the handgun that’s tucked into the back of my jeans feels heavier, like its presence is more obvious and uncomfortable all of a sudden.
“You want to know what’s going to get you in trouble? Leaving this house without me is going to get you in trouble. Give me five minutes, baby. I’ll be ready!” Holly’s voice trails as she descends to the lower level.
Dad stops at the top of the staircase, peering down, and muttering to himself. “Fuck!” He kicks at the topmost spindle, which makes a cracking sound but remains intact. As his body pivots around, he finds us watching him. I can’t help the smile that takes over my face. He’s so damn pissy over Holly inviting herself to a club party—something I didn’t think she was even allowed to do—that he can barely breathe. His face is beet red, and his hands are clenched at his sides. “You could have decided to come earlier, ya know!” he shouts down the stairs. His eyes slide over to me. “What are you two looking at?”
Tracie’s eyes slide from side to side as she focuses elsewhere. I think I would, too, if I were her. But this is my dad, and if he thinks snapping at me can scare me, he’s so freaking wrong. It’d be like he doesn’t even know me.
“You’re in love,” I say. It doesn’t come out as teasing as I intend for it to. Instead, I sound almost surprised and amazed.
“What tipped you off?” he says with more snark than Tracie and I combined. Yeah, I’d never shoot him, but it’s a tempting thought.
“I’m perceptive,” I say, “like my dad.”
Slowly, his breathing regulates, and he grunts in irritation. Thank God. I hate to fight with him over such little shit. We get into it enough over everything else—attitudes, messy rooms, disrespect. Everything.
“You did good,” I say with a nod. “Letting her go. The old Dad wouldn’t have let her. You’d have just dealt with the breakup like you didn’t care.”