Anything for You (Blue Heron #5)(54)

“Get in the car. Now,” she ordered.

“But it’s Dad! He came back for us!”

“Get in the car, Davey! Right now!” Right now was their code for emergency, and Davey’s eyes widened. He did as he was told, shoulders bent, and Jess felt two inches tall.

Their father was running down the street to catch up. “Jessica, honey, I know I have a lot to make up to you—”

“Shut up.” She turned to her father, her fingernails digging into her palms, her fists were clenched so hard. “You don’t get to do this,” she hissed. “You don’t just pop in and start hugging. You stay away from my brother or I will kill you.”

She hadn’t meant to say that. It felt true, nonetheless. And it felt evil and powerful and good.

“You have every right to be mad,” he said. “I accept that, and I take full responsibility.”

“So what?” She got into the car, shoved the key in the ignition and peeled away from the curb.

“Jess?” Davey’s voice was small. “Aren’t you happy to see Dad?”

“No, sweetheart. I’m not.” Her voice was odd, and she ran the stop sign. Shit. She took her foot off the gas and slowed down.

“I love Daddy.”

Jess glanced in the rearview. His eyes were wider than usual. He was scared.

She had scared him.

The lump in her throat was strangling her. “Let’s talk about this later, okay?”

“Will Dad come live with us?”

“Later, Davey.”

“I want Dad to come live with us.”

She tried to relax her choke hold on the steering wheel. “He’s not.”

“Well, I want him to!”

“That’s too bad, Davey. He’s probably only in town for a day or two. To go to the casino, not see us.”

“He said he missed me! He said he loves me!”

He doesn’t.

The words practically tore her chest apart trying to get out.

The next day, she’d found a note taped to the front door. Keith—he didn’t deserve the title of Dad—wanted to talk. He’d been sober for a thousand days. He wanted to make amends and try to rebuild his relationship with his children.

The only thing missing from the note were kitten stickers, a drawing of a rainbow and the winning Powerball ticket.

But he was in Manningsport, and Jess couldn’t see a way around talking to him, because if she knew her father, he’d take the path of least resistance. And that was through Davey.

So she called the number he’d left and tersely agreed to meet him at Hugo’s, because O’Rourke’s would be too busy and full of people she knew. Hugo’s catered more to the out-of-towners.

And Connor didn’t work there.

When he offered to get rid of her father for her, she almost cried. Wanted so, so much to find herself in his arms and let him take care of her, and yes, let him beat the shit out of her father, and scare him so bad he’d never come back.

But if she started to let stuff like that come out, who the hell knew when it would stop?

She could deal with Keith Dunn on her own. She had to deal with him on her own. And she would. No one else could do it.

“Hello, Miss Beautiful,” Hugo said as she came in. “I have the corner reserved for you.”

Good old Hugo. He knew about her history with her father.

Keith Dunn had been a pretty high-functioning alcoholic. Better than Mom, who truly was addicted, who once drank hand sanitizer at the hospital when she was desperate, who tried over and over and over to quit, failing each time.

No, Keith was a beer man—Pabst Blue Ribbon, a twelve-pack a day even when they were on food stamps. Though he was skinny, he looked bloated, as if beer would leak out of his pores if you brushed against him.

But he never seemed drunk the way Mom did. It made it worse somehow; like he made the conscious decision to let everything fall to Jessica, and he’d just pop another beer and watch TV.

The corner table was as private as Hugo’s had, often reserved for marriage proposals. Today, the interaction that took place here wouldn’t be so pretty. Jess sat down and straightened the butter knife.

She hadn’t gone home to change first, wanting to look as professional as possible. Gray pencil skirt, white blouse, black pumps with a strap across the ankle, hair in a plain French twist.

“You look hot,” said Felicia, who, like Jess, had been here for years. She handed over a menu. “The whole corporate thing...you look like a porno about to start. Just let down your hair and start flipping it around.”

“Not really the look I was going for.”

“I’d take it in a heartbeat. Don’t tell me you have a date.”

“My father.”

Felicia winced. “Shit.”

“Don’t take our order, okay? We won’t be long.”

Felicia put her hand on Jess’s shoulder. “Gotcha.”

“Wait, Felicia. Um...bring me a glass of wine, okay? No, a beer. It doesn’t matter what kind.”

Because a beer was his drink. It would be a challenge, would weaken her father, distract him and remind him.

She twisted her thumb ring. Man, she didn’t want to be here! The urge to bolt back home and lock the door shimmered like a mirage. Davey playing with his Avengers figures, a big bowl of pasta with garlic and olive oil for dinner, HGTV or Robert Downey, Jr. on the TV.