Gypsy King (Tin Gypsy, #1)(48)

To her in the sunshine, walking up to me at the garage.

“How long have you been fucking her?” Dad asked.

“Not long.” Am I that obvious? “How’d you know?”

“I didn’t. But I do now. Is that smart?”

“Probably not,” I admitted.

It would be much safer to keep my hookups with easy women who stopped into The Betsy searching for a one-night distraction. Bryce was not easy by any stretch. She was tough. She made me laugh with her wit and sass. She challenged me. And when she wasn’t pissing me off, she was turning me on.

“Truth. She caught my eye and I’m having a hard time turning away.”

“Your mom was like that,” Dad said quietly. A small smile tugged at his cheek. “We were little kids when we met in grade school. I didn’t think anything of her. She was just another girl on the playground. But then she walked into high school her first day of freshman year. She was smiling and wearing this yellow dress—she loved yellow. Wore it all the time.”

“I remember.”

“One look at her and I never looked away.” The smile faded. “Should have let her go. Let her find someone worthy.”

I put my hand on his shoulder. “If Mom were here, she’d kick your ass for saying that.”

Dad huffed a laugh. “She had so much fire. I forget that sometimes. God, I miss her. Every day. I miss fighting with her. I miss her telling me to put my socks in the hamper. I miss those chocolate chip cookies she made every Sunday. I miss the yellow.”

“Me too.”

Dad’s face got hard as he swallowed. Behind his sunglasses, he blinked furiously to clear away the emotion. This was more from him than I’d seen in years. He didn’t talk all that often about Mom.

More since Amina Daylee.

“I found a picture in her senior yearbook.” I reached for my wallet and pulled out the page I’d folded and shoved in next to a stack of twenties.

This picture was something I’d been keeping from Bryce. I’d nearly told her about it when we’d been talking the other night, but I’d kept it in my pocket. Soon, I’d tell her and keep my promise to share. But this one was too close to home. Before I handed it to Bryce, I had to get some answers from Dad.

Maybe he wouldn’t shut me out this time around.

“Here.” I handed over the picture. If he was surprised, he didn’t show it. “Mom and Amina. They were friends?”

“Best friends,” he corrected. “You could barely separate the two.”

“Did they have a falling out?”

“Amina moved away after high school.” He shrugged. “I guess they lost touch.”

“You guess?” Even if they’d lost touch, you’d think Amina would have at least come to Mom’s funeral.

“Yep.” Dad folded up the page and handed it back, that topic over.

Seriously? He was infuriating. Dad had fucked this woman. He had to have some kind of feelings for her. As far as I knew, Amina had been the only woman he’d been with since Mom. I could badger him for more, but it was pointless.

He was already on to the next topic.

“Called a couple of guys around town to see if they’ve heard word of anyone who’d want to set me up. No one has a clue. Their first guess was the Warriors too.”

“What about the Travelers?” Saying that club’s name soured my stomach. The hatred I had for them would last a lifetime.

“They’re all dead.”

“Are you sure?”

Dad slid the sunglasses off his nose and into his hair. His brown eyes met mine to reinforce his declaration. “They are dead. All of them. I made sure of it.”

“All right.” I believed him. “Who else?”

“No damn clue. I think all we can do now is wait. Hope someone starts talking.”

“That’s it?” I couldn’t believe I was hearing this. “You’re giving up that easily? This is your life we’re talking about, Dad. Your freedom.”

“Maybe this is for the best. Maybe my sins have finally caught up with me and it’s time to pay. We both know I deserve a lifetime behind bars. If it happens, I’m not fighting it.”

Who was this man? This was not the same man who’d vowed revenge against the Travelers after they’d killed my mother. This was not the man who’d taken his vengeance with horrific violence. This was not the man who refused to quit.

“You’re serious?”

“Dead.” He was done fighting.

I shook my head, waving him off as I walked to my bike. Dad might be giving up, but I wasn’t.

The trip to Clifton Forge was fast. I let the roar of the engine, the wind whipping my face and the tires beating on the pavement soak up some of my frustration with Dad. When I hit Central Avenue, I didn’t turn to go home or to the garage. I kept on straight, making my way into the quiet neighborhood where Bryce lived.

She had a way of looking at things with fresh eyes—a different perspective—and I wanted her take on my meeting with the Warriors.

When I pulled up, she was in the kitchen. I spotted her through the large window over the sink. I rang the doorbell, raking a hand through my hair as her footsteps came my way.

There was no surprise on her face as she opened the door. “You again? Is this going to become a regular thing?”