The Promise (The 'Burg #5)(101)

Ben reached out and took my computer bag, then with his free hand, grabbed my hand and started me up the path my father was already taking.

“How’d you find me, Dad?” I called to his back, shifting the handle of my purse to my shoulder.

He stopped, turned, and smiled at me.

In that glance, I saw what I’d known a lifetime: I got a lot of him—dark hair that was shiny and lustrous (even without product); light brown, almond-shaped eyes with lashes I never had to curl because they were naturally curly; good bone structure.

Dad was tall, though, and I wasn’t, not really. And I got Ma’s curves and her light skin.

Looking at him now, well past his prime, he looked better than most men in their prime could ever hope to look. Vital. Strong. Handsome.

“Was it a secret?” he asked on a big smile. Sharing it was all the same to him, if it was or wasn’t. He didn’t give a shit. If I didn’t want to see him, he was coming anyway.

I knew this because he did.

But actually, it was a secret. He was one of the many reasons I escaped Chicago. So it was not great news he found me in Brownsburg.

Before I could answer, he went on, turning back to the door, “Enzo Junior.”

At that moment, I decided that once I found a way to get rid of Dad, calmed Benny down, fed him, and had sex with him, I was heading straight out to the drugstore to buy a big, fat, red Sharpie. I would then go home and use it, crossing my brother’s name off my Christmas list.

“Babe,” Ben said low and with a weird hint, not of anger…of warning.

I didn’t like the idea of what amounted to a further warning, especially when the bad news had already picked me up and shook me not a minute before.

Still, I looked up from watching Dad disappear into my apartment to catch Ben’s eyes.

The instant I did, he said, “Not a lotta time, cara, but brace. He’s not alone, and you get in there, don’t figure you’re gonna be happy.”

What did that mean?

I had no chance to ask.

We were at the door.

Luckily, I braced. Further to that fortune, Ben tightened his hand in mine, and for once, he moved into my house before me.

This gave me a view to what was inside so I had a moment to process it, the kick it dealt to my stomach, and partially recover before I had to face it.

Standing among the calm, muted blue, green, and purple colors of my furniture, and the fêng shui hand I had at decorating that was uncluttered and reflected the subdued tones of my furniture in harmony with my personality (or what I wanted my personality to be, which was far from subdued), stood my father’s woman.

I didn’t remember her name because I’d only met her twice. Once when Dad stopped at my apartment in Chicago when she was with him. He’d dragged her up, but he was only there because, “Baby, your daddy’s seriously gotta pee.” He did his business while she and I made awkward conversation. Then he came out, gave me a kiss, and they took off to wherever Dad preferred to be without him even telling me her name.

The second time, Enzo was in town and we were all together—Nat, Davey, Cat, her husband, Art, Enzo, and the girl he was dating at the time (who he also broke up with during that trip, making the trip home less than enjoyable, freaking Enzo).

Of course, this dissolved into pandemonium when Cat said something that set off Nat. They started fighting, loud and foul-mouthed. Enzo tried to play peacemaker and got sucked in, so he got loud and foul-mouthed. Dad lost his mind because we were “embarrassing” him in front of his woman, and he kicked us all out, even me, and I wasn’t doing anything.

That had been at least a year ago. Maybe two.

But in the end, I’d long since learned not to remember their names. They came, they went. When I was younger, I would latch on, hoping one would have staying power and maybe give me what I didn’t know at the time I’d needed. Most of the time, they were pretty cool and a few of them were very loving, sometimes genuinely, sometimes doing it thinking they could get to Dad’s heart through his kids.

They never stuck, though, and after a little girl gets heartbroken repeatedly at losing woman after woman who drifted through her life, she learned.

I learned.

So I didn’t remember this one’s name.

Dad got older, but his women’s ages stayed the same. The problem was, he had age, experience, and although not much maturity, he had some. His women usually didn’t, at least the last part, so he got bored of them easily.

This one had lasted a lot longer than most.

And I was seeing she was probably going to last even longer (though this was not a guarantee) because she was obviously very pregnant.

My brother had two women who were imminently going to give him children, as well as lawsuits for child support.

And my father’s next child would be aunt or uncle to someone who was their same age.

Now.

Seriously.

What the f**k was up with that?

I didn’t realize I’d frozen just beyond my small foyer until I felt Ben’s hand give mine a squeeze.

When it did, I looked from the woman standing in my living room to my father.

“Tell me this is a f**king joke,” I demanded.

“Frankie,” Ben said softly beside me.

I felt him get close, but I didn’t tear my eyes away from my father.

“Francesca,” Dad clipped, the jovial, nothing-gets-him-down-because-he-wouldn’t-let-it look evaporating and anger replacing it.