Indefinite (Salvation #6)(8)

“Okay, I’m missing something here.” I fall back into the recliner, feeling uneasy. How the hell is this even real, and why didn’t I know about it? My parents talk to my ex-boyfriend, yet I am just finding this out now? I haven’t heard from Quinn in six freaking months. Not a letter, call, email—nothing. But he has time to reach out to my father? “Why do you talk to him?”

Dad leans forward and pats my knee twice. “Because he reaches out to me. I will never turn away a soldier.”

“Sailor,” I correct. If I had to hear that one more time, I might have screamed. Now, it’s apparently ingrained in me.

He laughs. “Right, I forget those squids are particular about their titles. As it seems you are about protecting it.”

“It’s out of habit, not care.”

“Sure it is,” Dad says around a knowing grin.

“Still, you didn’t answer me, why do you talk to Quinn? You do know we’re not together.”

“I’m aware.”

“Okay?”

I feel like this is a mutiny.

“Okay, what? I like the boy and he needs someone. His father took off when he was young. He barely talks to his mother, and I think every man needs another man to have in his corner.”

“I’m your daughter, aren’t you supposed to be in my corner?”

My father seems to ponder that and then shrugs one shoulder. “He’s my brother in arms . . . I side with the SEAL. Besides, you have more people on your side than you can count.”

“Unreal.”

Dad chuckles. “That’s my middle name.”

I know what he’s saying is right. I have so many friends, cousins, and family members that I would be hard-pressed to count them all, but only because he doesn’t have any, it doesn’t mean my father shouldn’t side with me.

“Well, I’m glad that you’re his new biffle since you’re clearly not mine.”

He’s heard that phrase for years since that’s what I’ve called Catherine since grade school. I always found the acronym BFF stupid. I much prefer a word.

Dad scoffs. “Don’t be dramatic.”

I roll my eyes and release a heavy sigh. We could argue for days about this, and it’ll do no good. Dad is even more stubborn than I am when I think I’m right.

Time to change the subject to neutral ground. “So, who did Mom sucker into coming as my possible date today?”

He shakes his head while looking at the ceiling. “I haven’t a clue. The last bozo she brought around was a real winner, huh?”

That was such a disaster. I couldn’t believe she would ever think that Anthony “the Hitman” Desoni would be someone I would date. He’s ridiculous. He thinks women should be home, cooking their man a hot meal so when he gets home he’s satisfied. After dinner, he explained to my cousin why men should be allowed to keep a mistress. Vinny about threw him out of our house after that.

He’s my favorite cousin.

“He needs a therapist.”

“Hopefully, this round will be better.”

“If I weren’t so afraid of her, I would threaten not to come to dinner anymore to get her to stop.”

Dad shrugs. “I’m sure she’d double her efforts or fake an illness to get you here.”

I smile and lean back. “She’s a scary little woman.”

“Between her Irish and Italian, I never know which side is going to come out stronger or which will kill me.”

Considering that my father is full-blooded Italian, he’d probably fall victim to her Irish side.

“She’s only Italian when she’s sweet.”

“She’s Irish when she’s drunk.”

Dad chuckles. “Which is when I love her most.”

I roll my eyes. “You love her always.”

“I do, the Irish, Italian, and everything in between.”

God, they’re so in love it’s almost nauseating.

The doorbell rings, and I sigh. “Do I have to stay?”

“If the guy is that bad, just fake a stomach ache,” he whispers as he gets to his feet. “I’ll side with you then.”

“Gee, thanks for the support, Dad.”

I follow, knowing that delaying the inevitable is worse than getting it over with. Mom’s arms are raised as she embraces a blonde woman around her age who is an inch shorter than she is. Two guys stand behind them, and they glance at each other before sighing. Clearly, they’re as excited as I am about this.

At least they hopefully don’t think this is my idea.

“Phyllis, this is my daughter, Ashton.”

My manners precede my dislike for this night, and I do what is expected. I step forward, extending my hand. “It’s nice to meet you.”

She smiles, taking my hand in both of hers. “You’re just as your mother described. These are my sons, Michael and Paul.”

How biblical. “Nice to meet you both.”

The one nudges his brother, and I could kill my mother. I haven’t gotten a look at the guy in the back, but the one who reaches for my hand is at least ten years younger than I am. I’m not even sure he’s out of college. What the hell is she thinking?

“Nice to meet you. I’m Paul.”