CHAPTER NINETEEN
Daddy’s Home
FRIDAY. THE DAY OF THE DATE PARTY, THREE DAYS after Abby smiled about the new couch and then minutes later turned to whiskey over my tats.
The girls were gone doing what girls do on the day of date parties, and I was sitting in front of the apartment, on the steps, waiting for Toto to take a dump.
For reasons I couldn’t pinpoint, my nerves were shot. I’d already taken a couple swigs of whiskey to try to settle my ass down, but it was no use.
I stared at my wrist, hoping whatever ominous feeling I had was just a false alarm. As I started to tell Toto to hurry up because it was f*cking cold outside, he hunched over and did his business.
“It’s about time, little man!” I said, scooping him up and walking inside.
“Just called the florist. Well, florists. The first one didn’t have enough,” Shepley said.
I smiled. “The girls are going to shit. Did you make sure they would deliver before they get home?”
“Yeah.”
“What if they come home early?”
“They’ll be here in plenty of time.”
I nodded.
“Hey,” Shepley said with a half smile. “You nervous about tonight?”
“No,” I said, frowning.
“You are, too, you p-ssy! You’re nervous about date night!”
“Don’t be a dick,” I said, retreating to my room.
My black shirt was already pressed and waiting on its hanger. It wasn’t anything special—one of two button-down shirts that I owned.
The date party would be my first, yes, and I was going with my girlfriend for the first time, but the knot in my stomach was from something else. Something I couldn’t quite put my finger on. As if something terrible was lurking in the immediate future.
On edge, I went back into the kitchen and poured another shot of whiskey. The doorbell rang, and I looked up from the counter to see Shepley jogging across the living room from his room, a towel around his waist.
“I could’ve gotten it.”
“Yeah, but then you would have had to stop crying in your Jim Beam,” he grumbled, pulling on the door. A small man carrying two mammoth bouquets bigger than he was stood in the doorway.
“Uh, yeah . . . this way, buddy,” Shepley said, opening the door wider.
Ten minutes later, the apartment was beginning to look the way I’d imagined. The thought of getting Abby flowers before the date party had come to mind, but one bouquet wasn’t enough.
Just as one delivery guy left, another arrived, and then another. Once every surface in the apartment proudly displayed at least two or three ostentatious bouquets of red, pink, yellow, and white roses, Shepley and I were satisfied.
I took a quick shower, shaved, and was slipping on a pair of jeans as the Honda’s engine whirred loudly in the parking lot. A few moments after it shut off, America pushed through the front door, and then Abby. Their reaction to the flowers was immediate, and Shepley and I were grinning like idiots as they squealed in delight.
Shepley looked around the room, standing proud. “We went to buy you two flowers, but neither of us thought just one bouquet would do it.”
Abby wrapped her arms around my neck. “You guys are . . . you’re amazing. Thank you.”
I smacked her ass, letting my palm linger on the gentle curve just above her upper thigh. “Thirty minutes until the party, Pidge.”
The girls dressed in Shepley’s room while we waited. It took me all of five minutes to button up my shirt, find a belt, and slip on socks and shoes. The girls, however, took for f*cking ever.
Shepley, impatient, knocked on the door. The party had started fifteen minutes earlier.
“Time to go, ladies,” Shepley said.
America walked out in a dress that looked like a second skin, and Shepley whistled, sparking an instant smile on her face.
“Where is she?” I asked.
“Abby’s having some trouble with her shoe. She’ll be out in just a sec,” America explained.
“The suspense is killin’ me, Pigeon!” I called.
The door squeaked, and out walked Abby, fidgeting with her short, white dress. Her hair was swept to one side, and even though her tits were carefully hidden, they were accentuated by the tight-fitting fabric.
America elbowed me, and I blinked. “Holy shit.”
“Are you ready to be freaked out?” America asked.
“I’m not freaked out—she looks amazing.”
Abby smiled with mischief in her eyes, and then slowly turned around to show the steep dip of the fabric in the back.
“Okay, now I’m freakin’ out,” I said, walking over to her and turning her away from Shepley’s eyes.
“You don’t like it?” she asked.
“You need a jacket.” I jogged to the rack and hastily draped Abby’s coat over her shoulders.
“She can’t wear that all night, Trav.” America chuckled.
“You look beautiful, Abby,” Shepley said, trying to apologize for my behavior.
“You do,” I said, desperate to be heard and understood without causing a fight. “You look incredible . . . but you can’t wear that. Your skirt is . . . wow, your legs are . . . your skirt is too short and it’s only half a dress! It doesn’t even have a back on it!”
“That’s the way it’s made, Travis.” Abby smiled. At least she wasn’t pissed.
“Do you two live to torture each other?” Shepley frowned.
“Do you have a longer dress?” I asked.
Abby looked down. “It’s actually pretty modest in the front. It’s just the back that shows off a lot of skin.”
“Pigeon,” I said, wincing, “I don’t want you to be mad, but I can’t take you to my frat house looking like that. I’ll get in a fight the first five minutes.”
She leaned up and kissed my lips. “I have faith in you.”
“This night is gonna suck,” I groaned.
“This night is going to be fantastic,” America said, offended.
“Just think of how easy it will be to get it off later,” Abby said. She pushed up on the balls of her feet to kiss my neck.
I stared up at the ceiling, trying not to let her lips, sticky from her lip gloss, weaken my case. “That’s the problem. Every other guy there will be thinking the same thing.”
“But you’re the only one that gets to find out,” she lilted. When I didn’t respond, she leaned back to look me in the eyes. “Do you really want me to change?”
I scanned her face, and every other part of her, and then exhaled. “No matter what you wear, you’re gorgeous. I should just get used to it, now, right?” Abby shrugged, and I shook my head. “All right, we’re already late. Let’s go.”
I KEPT MY ARMS AROUND ABBY AS WE WALKED ACROSS the lawn to the Sigma Tau house. Abby was shivering, so I walked quickly and awkwardly with her in tow, trying to get her out of the cold as fast as her high heels would allow. The second we pushed through the thick, double doors, I immediately popped a cigarette in my mouth to add to the typical frat party haze. The bass from the speakers downstairs buzzed like a heartbeat under our feet.
After Shepley and I took care of the girls’ coats, I led Abby to the kitchen, with Shepley and America just behind. We stood there, beers in hand, listening to Jay Gruber and Brad Pierce discuss my last fight. Lexie pawed at Brad’s shirt, clearly bored with the man talk.
“Dude, you got your girl’s name on your wrist? What in the hell possessed you to do that?” Brad said.
I turned over my hand to reveal Abby’s nickname. “I’m crazy about her,” I said, looking down at Abby.
“You barely know her,” Lexie scoffed.
“I know her.”
In my peripheral vision, I saw Shepley pull America toward the stairs, so I took Abby’s hand and followed. Unfortunately, Brad and Lexie did the same. In a line, we descended the stairs to the basement, the music growing louder with each step.
The second my feet hit the last stair, the DJ played a slow song. Without hesitation, I pulled Abby onto the concrete dance floor, lined with furniture that had been pushed to the side for the party.
Abby’s head fit perfectly in the crook of my neck. “I’m glad I never went to one of these things before,” I said in her ear. “It’s right that I’ve only brought you.”
Abby pressed her cheek against my chest, and her fingers pressed into my shoulders.
“Everyone’s staring at you in this dress,” I said. “I guess it’s kinda cool . . . being with the girl everyone wants.”
Abby leaned back to make a show of rolling her eyes. “They don’t want me. They’re curious why you want me. And anyway, I feel sorry for anyone that thinks they have a chance. I am hopelessly and completely in love with you.”
How could she even wonder? “You know why I want you? I didn’t know I was lost until you found me. I didn’t know what alone was until the first night I spent without you in my bed. You’re the one thing I’ve got right. You’re what I’ve been waiting for, Pigeon.”
Abby reached up to take my face between her hands, and I wrapped my arms around her, lifting her off the floor. Our lips pressed together gently, and as she worked her lips against mine, I made sure to silently communicate how much I loved her in that kiss, because I could never get it right with just words.
After a few songs and one hostile, yet entertaining moment between Lexie and America, I decided it was a good time to head upstairs. “C’mon, Pidge. I need a smoke.”
Abby followed me up the stairs. I made sure to grab her coat before continuing to the balcony. The second we stepped outside, I paused, as did Abby, and Parker, and the makeup-spackled girl he was fingering.
The first move was made by Parker, who pulled his hand from underneath the girl’s skirt.
“Abby,” he said, surprised and breathless.
“Hey, Parker,” Abby replied, choking back a laugh.
“How, uh . . . how have you been?”
She smiled politely. “I’ve been great, you?”
“Uh”—he looked at his date—“Abby this is Amber. Amber . . . Abby.”
“Abby Abby?” she asked.
Parker gave one quick, uncomfortable nod. Amber shook Abby’s hand with a disgusted look on her face, and then eyed me as if she had just encountered the enemy. “Nice to meet you . . . I guess.”
“Amber,” Parker warned.
I laughed once, and then opened the doors for them to walk through. Parker grabbed Amber’s hand and retreated into the house.
“That was . . . awkward,” Abby said, shaking her head and folding arms around her. She looked over the edge at the few couples braving the winter wind.
“At least he’s moved on from trying his damndest to get you back,” I said, smiling.
“I don’t think he was trying to get me back so much as trying to keep me away from you.”
“He took one girl home for me once. Now he acts like he’s made a habit of swooping in and saving every freshman I bagged.”
Abby shot me a wry look from the corner of her eye. “Did I ever tell you how much I loathe that word?”
“Sorry,” I said, pulling her into my side. I lit a cigarette and took a deep breath, turning over my hand. The delicate but thick black lines of ink weaved together to form Pigeon. “How weird is it that this tat isn’t just my new favorite, but it makes me feel at ease to know it’s there?”
“Pretty weird,” Abby said. I shot her a look, and she laughed. “I’m kidding. I can’t say I understand it, but it’s sweet . . . in a Travis Maddox sort of way.”
“If it feels this good to have this on my arm, I can’t imagine how it’s going to feel to get a ring on your finger.”
“Travis . . .”
“In four, or maybe five years,” I said, inwardly cringing that I went that far.
Abby took a breath. “We need to slow down. Way, way down.”
“Don’t start this, Pidge.”
“If we keep going at this pace, I’m going to be barefoot and pregnant before I graduate. I’m not ready to move in with you, I’m not ready for a ring, and I’m certainly not ready to settle down.”
I gently cupped her shoulders. “This isn’t the ‘I wanna see other people’ speech, is it? Because I’m not sharing you. No f*cking way.”
“I don’t want anyone else,” she said, exasperated.
I relaxed and released her shoulders, turning to grip the railing. “What are you saying, then?” I asked, terrified of her answer.
“I’m saying we need to slow down. That’s all I’m saying.”
I nodded, unhappy.
Abby reached for my arm. “Don’t be mad.”
“It seems like we take one step forward and two steps back, Pidge. Every time I think we’re on the same page, you put up a wall. I don’t get it . . . most girls are hounding their boyfriends to get serious, to talk about their feelings, to take the next step . . .”
“I thought we established that I’m not most girls?”
I dropped my head, frustrated. “I’m tired of guessing. Where do you see this going, Abby?”
She pressed her lips against my shirt. “When I think about my future, I see you.”
I hugged her to my side, every muscle in my body immediately relaxing with her words. We both watched the night clouds move across the starless, black sky. The laughter and humming of the voices below sparked a smile across Abby’s face. I watched the same partygoers she did, huddling together and rushing into the house from the street.
For the first time that day, the ominous feeling hovering over me began to fade away.
“Abby! There you are! I’ve been looking all over for you!” America said, bursting through the door. She held up her cell phone. “I just got off the phone with my dad. Mick called them last night.”
Abby’s nose wrinkled. “Mick? Why would he call them?”
America raised her eyebrows. “Your mother kept hanging up on him.”
“What did he want?”
America pressed her lips together. “To know where you were.”
“They didn’t tell him, did they?”
America’s face fell. “He’s your father, Abby. Dad felt he had a right to know.”
“He’s going to come here,” Abby said, her voice swelling with panic. “He’s going to come here, Mare!”
“I know! I’m sorry!” America said, trying to comfort her friend. Abby pulled away from her and covered her face with her hands.
I wasn’t sure what the hell was going on, but I touched Abby’s shoulders. “He won’t hurt you, Pigeon,” I said. “I won’t let him.”
“He’ll find a way,” America said, watching Abby with heavy eyes. “He always does.”
“I have to get out of here.” Abby pulled her coat tight, and then pulled at the handles of the French doors. She was too upset to slow down long enough to first push down the handles before pulling the doors. As tears fell down her cheeks, I covered her hands with mine. After helping her open the doors, Abby looked at me. I wasn’t sure if her cheeks were flush with embarrassment or from the cold, but all I wanted was to make it go away.
I took Abby under my arm, and together we went through the house, down the stairs and through the crowd to the front door. Abby moved quickly, desperate to get to the safety of the apartment. I had only heard about Mick Abernathy’s accolades as a poker player from my father. Watching Abby run like a frightened little girl made me hate any time my family wasted being in awe of him.
Midstep, America’s hand shot out and grabbed Abby’s coat. “Abby!” she whispered, pointing to a small group of people.
They were crowded around an older, slovenly man, unshaven and dirty to the point where he looked like he smelled. He was pointing to the house, holding a small picture. The couples were nodding, discussing the photo among themselves.
Abby stormed over to the man and pulled the photo from his hands. “What in the hell are you doing here?”
I looked down at the picture in her hand. She couldn’t have been more than fifteen, scrawny, with mousy hair and sunken eyes. She must have been miserable. No wonder she wanted to get away.
The three couples around him backed away. I glanced back at their stunned faces, and then waited for the man to answer. It was Mick f*cking Abernathy. I recognized him by the unmistakable sharp eyes nestled in that dirty face.
Shepley and America stood on each side of Abby. I cupped her shoulders from behind.
Mick looked at Abby’s dress and clicked his tongue in disapproval. “Well, well, Cookie. You can take the girl out of Vegas—”
“Shut up. Shut up, Mick. Just turn around,” she pointed behind him, “and go back to wherever you came from. I don’t want you here.”
“I can’t, Cookie. I need your help.”
“What else is new?” America sneered.
Mick narrowed his eyes at America, and then returned his attention to his daughter. “You look awful pretty. You’ve grown up. I wouldn’t’ve recognized you on the street.”
Abby sighed. “What do you want?”
He held up his hands and shrugged. “I seemed to have gotten myself in a pickle, kiddo. Old Dad needs some money.”
Abby’s entire body tensed. “How much?”
“I was doing good, I really was. I just had to borrow a bit to get ahead and . . . you know.”
“I know,” she snapped. “How much do you need?”
“Twenty-five.”
“Well, shit, Mick, twenty-five hundred? If you’ll get the hell outta here . . . I’ll give that to you now,” I said, pulling out my wallet.
“He means twenty-five thousand,” Abby said, her voice cold.
Mick’s eyes rolled over me, from my face to my shoes. “Who’s this clown?”
My eyebrows shot up from my wallet, and instinctively, I leaned in toward my prey. The only thing stopping me was feeling Abby’s small frame between us, and knowing that this skeevy little man was her father. “I can see, now, why a smart guy like yourself has been reduced to asking your teenage daughter for an allowance.”
Before Mick could speak, Abby pulled out her cell phone. “Who do you owe this time, Mick?”
Mick scratched his greasy, graying hair. “Well, it’s a funny story, Cookie—”
“Who?” Abby shouted.
“Benny.”
Abby leaned into me. “Benny? You owe Benny? What in the hell were you . . .” She paused. “I don’t have that kind of money, Mick.”
He smiled. “Something tells me you do.”
“Well, I don’t! You’ve really done it this time, haven’t you? I knew you wouldn’t stop until you got yourself killed!”
He shifted; the smug grin on his face had vanished. “How much ya got?”
“Eleven thousand. I was saving for a car.”
America’s eyes darted in Abby’s direction. “Where did you get eleven thousand dollars, Abby?”
“Travis’s fights.”
I tugged on her shoulders until she looked at me. “You made eleven thousand off my fights? When were you betting?”
“Adam and I had an understanding,” she said casually.
Mick’s eyes were suddenly animated. “You can double that in a weekend, Cookie. You could get me the twenty-five by Sunday, and Benny won’t send his thugs for me.”
“It’ll clean me out, Mick. I have to pay for school,” Abby said, a tinge of sadness in her voice.
“Oh, you can make it back in no time,” he said, waving his hand dismissively.
“When is your deadline?” Abby asked.
“Monday mornin’. Midnight,” he said, unapologetically.
“You don’t have to give him a f*cking dime, Pigeon,” I said.
Mick grabbed Abby’s wrist. “It’s the least you could do! I wouldn’t be in this mess if it weren’t for you!”
America slapped his hand away and then shoved him. “Don’t you dare start that shit again, Mick! She didn’t make you borrow money from Benny!”
Mick glared at Abby. The light of hatred in his eyes made any connection with her as his daughter disappear. “If it weren’t for her, I woulda had my own money. You took everything from me, Abby. I have nothin’!”
Abby choked back a cry. “I’ll get your money to Benny by Sunday. But when I do, I want you to leave me the hell alone. I won’t do this again, Mick. From now on, you’re on your own, do you hear me? Stay. Away.”
He pressed his lips together and then nodded. “Have it your way, Cookie.”
Abby turned around and headed for the car.
America sighed. “Pack your bags, boys. We’re going to Vegas.” She walked toward the Charger, and Shepley and I stood, frozen.
“Wait. What?” He looked to me. “Like Las Vegas, Vegas? As in Nevada?”
“Looks that way,” I said, shoving my hands in my pockets.
“We’re just going to book a flight to Vegas,” Shepley said, still trying to process the situation.
“Yep.”
Shepley walked over to open America’s door to let her and Abby in on the passenger side, and then slammed it shut, blank faced. “I’ve never been to Vegas.”
An impish grin pulled one side of my mouth to the side. “Looks like it’s time to pop that cherry.”