Trouble (Dogwood Lane #3)(52)

“It doesn’t matter,” I say.

He takes his hat off and runs his hand through his hair. “Well, my mom tried to do the right thing. My dad just made it impossible.”

“What is he like?”

“These days, I don’t know.”

He puts his hat back on again. There’s a sourness to his face that makes me regret asking about his father. I remember bits and pieces that he mentioned ten years ago, but I have no idea what happened after that. I’m not sure how much I remember is truth and how much has been skewed by time, anyway.

“He and my mom didn’t really get along. Dad tried to drive a wedge between me and her. When I was a little kid, I didn’t understand that. I just thought his presents were the best thing ever.”

His tone is full of sorrow. It hurts my heart to watch him struggle with thinking about his dad.

“Things were basically okay until I was sixteen. On my sixteenth birthday, he tried to recruit me into a biker gang.”

“A what?” I bark.

I’m sure I misheard him. I had to have. A biker gang? What? But one look at his face tells me all I need to know.

“Yeah. A biker gang.” Penn heaves a deep breath that’s laced with years’ worth of stress. “He got me up in the middle of the night and said he needed my help.” His eyes glass over as his pace slows. “I was all about my dad, you know, so getting to help him was a huge thing. Until I realized what he needed help with, and I balked.”

His eyes stay fixed on something in front of us. It doesn’t hide his pain. The war passing across his face is as plain as the day is long. I had no idea he was carrying around something so . . . tragic. The way he seems to struggle with hearing the words out loud makes me think he doesn’t share this information often.

My spirits sink.

My hand goes to his arm without thought. He looks down at it, and some of the glassiness goes away, but not all. “I don’t know what to say, other than no kid should be put in that position. Hell, no person should, and I’m sorry you were.”

“Yeah, well, shit happens, I guess. I just couldn’t . . . do those things.” He gulps. “And I took a lot of ass whippings for my failure to step up.”

We walk a little farther, and he points out Haley’s flower shop but doesn’t say anything. I wish I could lay my head on his shoulder or at least wrap my arm around his waist, but I can’t. And not being able to hurts.

I squeeze his biceps in my hand, hoping he feels a little support. “I’m sorry I brought it up,” I say.

“It’s okay. How would you know? Besides, he’s in prison now for a bunch of stupid shit, and Mom is dead. I can do whatever I want without fear of repercussions.”

He stops so abruptly I almost trip. The trees above us whisper in the wind as he holds his arm out.

“See this?” He points to a jellyfish on his arm like it’s the most important thing in the world. Whether it really is or its importance lies in changing the subject, I don’t know, but I’ll go along with it.

I peer at the design on his skin. The tentacles are blasts of color that are breathtaking. My heart leaps in my throat when I see it’s wound around dice.

“I see it,” I say.

“I got the jellyfish after Dad went to prison. They survive using instinct and adapt as the currents take them into new places.” He stares at the ink. “Every time I look at this, I remember to follow my instincts and that no matter where I end up, I can survive.” He takes a deep breath and smiles faintly. “Gotta roll with it.”

His words bring tears to my eyes. I flutter my lashes in the hope that it dissipates the droplets before they fall down my cheeks.

“You’re one of a kind,” I say through the lump in my throat.

He gives me a tight smile. “I don’t like to talk about this. I think I’ve just talked about it more with you than I ever have with anyone.”

“I’m honored.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be. I’m just using you for cheap therapy.” He winks before raising his eyes and looking around. The fogginess in his beautiful blues is gone as he inhales a lungful of air. “I don’t think there’s much else to show you.”

You’ve shown me more than I ever imagined.

I’m unable to make sense of all the sides there are of Penn Etling. Who would’ve thought the guy whom I was sure could speak only in innuendos could be so thoughtful? Smart? Inspiring?

I must be losing my mind.

Turning to ask him where we’re headed now, I catch him staring at me. My cheeks flush. “What?” I ask.

“Am I doing a good job of being your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Because I’m not sure what that really looks like. I’m just doing my best.”

“You’re friends with Claire and Alexis, right?”

I hold my breath because I’m not sure what to expect his reaction to be. I’m not even sure what his friendship with either of them really is . . . and I might not want to know. Although given Claire said I was the only person she’s ever seen shoot Penn down, perhaps that’s my answer. And I really don’t want to know.

Penn grins and drops his chin. “Yeah. Totally the same thing.”

He laughs quietly before raising his head again. His eyes swim with an emotion I can’t quite name, but it makes me smile.