Games of the Heart (The 'Burg #4)(44)

Dusty Holliday had called her honey in a real way that felt nice. Dusty Holliday had said “you take care, you hear?” and Clarisse thought the way she said that in her really pretty voice was cool. Dusty Holliday had a cool name that was way cooler even than No’s nickname.

And Dusty Holliday loved her Dad from when she was even younger than Clarisse.

So Clarisse couldn’t wait to meet Dusty Holliday.

Dusty Holliday, Clarisse knew, would get her.

And Dusty Holliday, Clarisse knew, would make her Dad happy.

Finally.

No, she couldn’t wait to meet the woman with the cool name of Dusty.

She could…not…wait.

*

The morning after she finished Dusty Holliday’s journals, Clarisse was heading downstairs to breakfast and stopped dead two down when she heard her father say, “No, Merry, I haven’t heard from Dusty. It’s done.”

Weirdly it felt like someone had punched her in the gut.

How could that be?

She didn’t know when it started but she was guessing it hadn’t been going on that long and when she heard her Dad talking on the phone with Dusty, his voice was all soft and nice. And Dusty loved her Dad, like, bunches. Everyone who knew him did. And Clarisse hadn’t even met her yet! How could it be done?

She stayed still and listened as her Dad went on, “I’m not goin’ over this.” There was a pause then, “Man, seriously, do not talk to me about this shit when you haven’t sorted yours with Mia.” Another pause then more annoyed, “I told you, I was a dick to her, three times. The first I was totally out-of-line, the last I don’t even wanna think about. She’s made it clear she’s done. I’ve called her three times. No returns. So it’s done. She’s already got some ass**le makin’ her life a misery right after her brother died. She does not need two.”

Her Dad was a dick to Dusty? That couldn’t be possible. Her Dad wasn’t a dick, not even to her Mom and she deserved it.

And Dusty had some ass**le making her life a misery?

Clarisse didn’t like that.

She refocused when her Dad continued, “Yeah, I told you she was The One. Problem is I made it so I wasn’t The One for her. And unfortunately, I live in The ‘Burg, she lives in Texas. I got two kids to look after and I don’t have the cake to fly down there and throw myself on my sword. And she doesn’t need that shit anyway. She was here, I could make that effort and maybe break through. She’s not here.”

She lived in Texas, that’s why they never met her and Dad was talking to her on the phone.

And if she was here, Dad could win her back.

He’d break through, Clarisse knew it.

Clarisse had to get Dusty back to The ‘Burg.

“It’s done, man, let it go. And if you quit yappin’ about it, maybe I can find some way to let it go too,” her Dad finished and he didn’t sound happy. In fact, he sounded less happy than he’d been all last week.

Therefore, Clarisse knew why he was sad and she knew that he was mad at himself. She also knew the why about that too (partly).

And before Clarisse even knew what she was doing, she turned around, ran back up the two steps and to her room. Then she pulled Dusty’s diaries from between her mattress and box springs. Then she shoved them in her book bag.

Then she took in a deep breath and ran back downstairs, this time calling out, “Hey Dad!” so he’d know she was coming.

*

Finley Holliday stood at the bottom of the stairs and stared down the back hall at his Ma who was standing at the sink in the kitchen. She wasn’t moving. Just looking out the back window and he knew she was seeing nothing. He knew this because she’d been doing this a lot. He’d scared her like he was sneaking up on her tons of times the last few weeks.

She was totally losing it.

This didn’t surprise him.

“Your Ma, she’s special,” his Dad had told him so many times he lost count. “That’s why God gave her a bunch of men, me and you and your brother. Special girls like your Ma, they need a bunch of men to look out for them. That’s our job, all of us, to look after your Ma.”

Dad didn’t mind this. Fin knew Dad thought his Ma being “special” was cute. He knew it because when she got goofy or she dropped something like she did all the time and acted like the world was going to end or she said something stupid or she got all shy around company and tripped over her words, his Dad always burst out laughing. Then he’d grab her and kiss her. She’d stop blushing or looking scared and grin at him.

Without Dad, she totally couldn’t deal.

Totally.

And Gram and Gramps, Dad’s folks, and Gramma and Paps, Ma’s folks weren’t helping. Hovering around her like she was a wounded bird or something. You found a wounded bird, you broke its neck and got on with shit. He’d seen his Dad do that twice in his life.

“Kindness,” Dad, his deep voice gentle, had told him the first time he saw him kill a wounded bird, “comes in a number of forms.”

Fin didn’t tell anyone he saw his Dad do that. People would think it was whacked.

But Fin got it. Then again, he got a lot of what his Dad said.

But you couldn’t break a woman’s neck when she was in pain and wounded in a way that no one could ever fix. And it didn’t help, fluttering around her and acting prepared to grab a pillow or something to throw on the floor in case she went down so you could cushion the fall.