Naked Love(83)

Avery coughs on a laugh and shakes her head, keeping her back to me as she follows Ocean.

“Please let me drive you home so we can talk.”

Avery stops in the middle of the parking lot, letting her family continue toward their vehicle. “Home?” She turns around. “I don’t have a home. Or a car. Or a job. I don’t have furniture, a majority of my clothes, pots and pans, forks, knives, spoons. I don’t have a fucking flyswatter! But…” she takes a step toward me and holds up her thumb and index finger a fraction of an inch apart “…I have nothing but a teeny tiny shred of dignity. And I’ll step in front of a speeding train before I let you take it from me.”

“Avery? You coming?” Sydney yells.

“Twenty minutes. Give me twenty minutes.” I can’t mask the desperation in my voice. Hell, I don’t want to mask it.

Avery shakes her head and laughs, the kind that borders on insanity. “Anthony wants dinner. You want twenty minutes. You know what I want?” Her eyebrows inch up her forehead.

I shake my head slowly, afraid to make any sudden movement around her.

“No?” Her head cocks to the side. “Then you don’t deserve twenty minutes.” Avery pivots and clicks her heels to the vehicle.

“Good job, Ave. Way to stand the fuck up for yourself,” I whisper just before blowing out a long, defeated breath.

I pull my phone out of my pocket and text Deedy.

I need a favor.

*

Avery

“You’re up early.” Sydney sits across from me at the kitchen table. “And you already went for coffee.” She nods to the to-go cup fisted in my hand.

I frown, take a sip, and slide the half-empty cup to her. “Not exactly.”

She reads the writing on the side of the cup.

Good morning, my sexy wife. Had to check on a patient, see you at the church. Xo

Sydney tosses me a scowl and peels the lid off. “You drank half of my chai tea latte from my husband? Have you no shame?”

On a big yawn, I stretch my arms above my head. “You’re loud. Embarrassingly loud. Seriously, our father is in the house.”

Sydney snorts and covers her mouth as her face reddens. “Oh god … it was the wine I had with dinner. Wine makes me …”

“Loud. It makes you loud yet oddly distinct—well enunciated in your demands.”

“Ugh!” She covers her face.

“I mean … every woman has a there. What’s yours? Because you were pretty elated when he got there. Do your kids wonder why Mommy screams, ‘Yes! There! Right there! Don’t stop!’?”

“Shh … stop!” She drops her hand-covered face to the table next to the latte that’s a bit too sweet for my taste.

“What does Lautner do when he sees Dad? Like … a high-five for thoroughly nailing his daughter? Dad has some health issues, but I don’t think impaired hearing is one of them.”

Sydney lifts her head to speak then clamps her jaw shut as Deedy walks into the kitchen, tying her robe.

“Good morning.”

We smile at Deedy and return pleasantries.

She pours a cup of coffee and joins us at the table. “Someone had a good night.” Deedy takes a sip of coffee but not before smirking.

“Oh god!” Sydney covers her face again.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I have a feeling Tommy will make me sing later too.”

“NO!” Sydney and I yell at the same time.

I shake my head. “Sorry. You can call him Tommy, Dicky, or Harry, but he’s still our dad. And in our na?ve, little world, our Daddy doesn’t ever go there like Lautner or—” My posture deflates.

Deedy and Sydney stare at me, sympathy pouring from their tiny frowns.

“Jake …” I say his name on a slow sigh. “He was good at going there. Really, really good.”

“And by there you mean—” Deedy bites her lower lip.

“Wherever your there might be.” I cut her off.

Deedy nods slowly. “Oh … my there is—”

“Nope.” I hold up my index finger and wave it side to side. “It was a statement, not a question.”

Sydney snorts, and Deedy grins while nodding. “Fair.”

There’s a knock at the front door. Sydney slides the cup back to me as she stands. “I don’t want your backwash.” She answers the door and returns with an envelope. “Special courier delivery.”

I take the envelope with my name on it and open it.

“Who’s it from?” Sydney asks while taking a seat again at the table.

I shake my head, reading his message. “Anthony,” I mumble as a key drops onto the table. “It’s the address for a storage facility where he’s keeping my stuff.”

“You have a month to empty out your stuff, a grand in your checking account, and a new phone will be delivered tomorrow to your sister’s house. Don’t ever contact me again.”

“Wh—are you serious?” Sydney picks up the key and inspects it. “Did you message him or call him after dinner last night?”

“No.” I set down the letter and stare at it, rereading his words. “Don’t ever contact me again. Sounds like he’s mad. How did he go from begging for dinner to this?”