Broken Beautiful Hearts(119)

“Nope. The Senator moved everyone out as soon as he could afford it.” Lex refuses to call her father Dad. Instead, she calls him the Senator because she says he cares more about being the first Puerto Rican–American senator in the United States than about being a father.

“I don’t blame him,” Dad says in his cop tone. “There’s a lot of crime. It’s a tough place for honest people to live. Make sure to keep the car doors locked while you’re driving.”

“We know, Dad.”

He continues issuing instructions. “Remember to leave your purse in the car when you get to the rec center. Just take your phone and some money. And I got you something.” Dad opens the hall closet and fishes around in the pocket of his jacket. He returns with something pink in his hand. A flashlight? And two pieces of orange plastic?

Dad hands me the pink thing.

I take a closer look at the canister. “Pink pepper spray?”

“I think it’s cute,” Lex says.

“Then you can have it.”

“It’s pepper gel,” Dad explains. “The spray can blow back at you, but this stuff shoots wherever you aim the nozzle. And the gel really sticks.”

“I’m not carrying that around.” I try to hand the canister back to him, but he won’t take it. “What if I set it off accidentally? I’m sure there’s a rule against bringing tear-inducing toxins to school.”

“It has a safety, so it won’t go off unless you want it to. Keep it in your bag.” Dad points at the small black shoulder bag that already feels like the wrong choice.

I shove the pepper gel inside. Otherwise, he’ll never leave me alone.

“And you both need one of these.” Dad offers us each an orange piece of plastic.

Lex grabs one.

“It’s a rape whistle,” Dad says proudly.

I saw that coming.

She scrunches up her nose. “Umm … thanks.”

I take mine and toss it in my army-green backpack.

He scratches his head as if he’s forgetting something. “Wait inside the building until Lex gets there to pick you up.”

And I won’t take any candy from strangers.

“I’ll be on time, even if I have to speed,” Lex teases.

Dad misses the joke. “Do you have a clean driving record?”

“Except for a few parking tickets, but everyone has some of those, right?” She flashes him the perfect smile that you only end up with after four years of braces.

“I don’t.” Dad walks over to the sliding glass door that leads to the balcony, and he looks down at the parking lot. “Is your Fiat a stick shift?”

“Automatic,” Lex says. “Frankie is the only person I know who can drive a stick.”

Because my dad suffers from undercover-cop paranoia and he forced me to learn in case of emergency.

“One day you might need to drive a vehicle that isn’t an automatic,” he says.

I know exactly where this conversation is going. “Enough, Dad.”

“What if you’re alone and some lunatic grabs you off the street, and he drives a stick shift?” Dad asks, like it’s a perfectly normal question. “If there’s an opportunity to get away, you won’t be able to take advantage of it.”

Lex stares at my father, dumbfounded. She has heard me recount enough of these stories to know he’s serious. Usually, he saves these questions for me.

“You should learn,” Dad says. “If Frankie’s license wasn’t suspended, she could teach you.”

My shoulders tense. I’m not letting him play his passive-aggressive games with me. “Is there something you want to say, Dad?”

“Just stating a fact.” He stands his ground.

“Why? So I won’t forget how badly I messed up my life?”

Dad sighs. “I’m trying to help you, Frankie.” He isn’t apologizing or admitting he’s wrong.

“I don’t want your help.” I push Lex toward the apartment door. Before I follow her out, I turn back to look him in the eye. “I’m sorry you lost your perfect daughter. But I’m the one you’re stuck with now.”





CHAPTER 3


LOT B


Lex waves at Dad as she pulls out of the parking lot. “I know we’re angry at your father, but can I just say that he is still off-the-charts gorgeous?”

“Are you serious right now?” I scrunch up my nose. “Because you’re one comment away from making me throw up in your car.”

“What are best friends for if they don’t crush on your dad?”

“Actually, I think your dad is pretty—”

She pretends to gag. “Stop. New rule. Referring to the Senator as anything other than old and boring is a violation of BFC.”

I’m surprised at how easily I fall back into my old routines with Lex. There’s something about knowing a person for most of your life that makes it impossible to un-know them. “You can’t pull Best Friend Code when you’re the one who brought up hot dads.”

“Hot dad … singular. As in yours.” She flashes a mischievous smile. “Remind me again why your mom left him?”

“Who knows why my mother does anything?”