Series: Like Us Series by Krista Ritchie
Total pages in book: 241
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 236417 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1182(@200wpm)___ 946(@250wpm)___ 788(@300wpm)
I rub at the back of my stiff neck.
Lo threads his arms. “More like, I put them back worse than everyone else.”
“Matter of perception.” My dad sizes him up. “No beer then.” He tips his head towards me. “You must be rubbing off on my son. ‘Cause I haven’t seen him turn down a pint in I don’t know how long.” He acts like this is something we do every Saturday together. Bond over a beer and the Phillies.
We don’t.
We never did.
Lo wafts smoke out of his face. He’s being dramatic. The air is barely hazy. “I’m not rubbing off on him enough—or else he would’ve flushed those down the toilet.” He’s glaring at the cigarette between my fingers and the pack on the table.
“And flush twenty bucks?” I chime in.
“My bad, I forgot you’d rather just flush your lungs.”
I start to grin. “You want me to use your toilet? I can clog your pipes as a parting gift.”
“Gee, thanks. I’ll pay someone to gift-wrap your diseased, toilet-water lungs and then give them to my daughter. She would just love that.”
He got me there. “Yeah, don’t do that.”
“Then quit smoking.”
“In time,” I say lightly, but I don’t take another drag.
My dad’s watching me and Lo like a ping-pong match. He takes a smaller sip of Guinness, then asks Lo, “You don’t smoke, don’t drink—what, do you hate tattoos too?”
I laugh hard.
Lo begins to smile down at the table.
“What?” my dad asks me, confusion in his brows.
“Yeah, he hates ‘em,” I say. “He’d probably try to take a Brillo pad to my body if he could.”
“Not a Brillo pad,” Lo says. “I’ve thought about throwing him in a car wash.”
“Spending the big bucks on me,” I grin. “Just make sure you do the wax cycle. It’s my favorite.”
Lo just smiles—a fonder and softer one that I’ve never seen from him. A server brings out the chips and some waters. My dad has gone quiet, but Lo picks up the deadened air and asks him, “You’re planning on staying clean?”
“Yeah, that’s the plan,” my dad says, more tensely. “But it’s not always easy. I don’t have a staff of sober coaches or anything.”
I stiffen again.
Lo seems understanding. “My oldest son created a program called One More Day. It provides aid to those who need addiction rehab. I can get you in—”
“I don’t want your charity,” my dad cuts in. It shocks me, even more so when he says, “That’s not what this is about.”
“That is what this is about,” Lo says more heatedly. “I have four kids. I can’t be the father they need me to be when I’m drinking. You have a son. You can’t be the father he needs you to be when you’re using. And before you say it’s easy for me, it’s not. Every goddamn day, I think about it. Every day, I fight it.” His eyes flash to the Guinness, then away. “If it’s pride—”
“I’m not too proud. I know what I am. I know what you think of me.” He cups his pint, the air thicker and strained. “I just don’t want my son to think I’m using him for connections.”
I frown. “This is the one connection I’d want you to use.”
It washes over his face. Like it’s such a surprise how badly I’d want him to stay clean. That I’d be willing to draw him into the Hales’ sphere for it.
He nods in acceptance. “Alright.” He takes a short drag. “What about your mom? Can we get her in too? When she gets out?”
My throat is dry. “Yeah, sure.” I look to Lo. I dunno why. His sharp cheekbones and cutting glare should be the least comforting place to rest my eyes, but I ease every single time I remember he’s there.
“There’s a spot for her too,” Lo assures. “But we need to talk about Vanessa.”
“Vanessa?” My dad rocks back. “You know who Vanessa is?”
Lo splays a hand at me like tell him.
I exhale a short breath. “She called me.”
“She called you?” His face darkens. “Like hell she did.” His eyes dart to Lo, like he’s still surprised I shared this fun fact with Luna’s dad. “How’d she get your number?”
“Bridget.”
“Your mom?” His voice pitches unnaturally, like I just sunk a knife in his chest. “She’s not talking to Vanessa. She said—”
“I just talked to her yesterday,” I say. “She admitted to giving her my number, and she gave me every excuse as to why. Vanessa’s clean. Vanessa’s only looking out for me and you. Vanessa is gonna help me when I get outta here. You’ll see. It’s the same shit, same story.”
“I’ll talk to her,” he nods. My face falls. He adds deeply, “I’ll talk to her.” He’s distraught. “I’m not giving up on your mom.”
“I’m not trying to either—”
“You’re not giving her a chance!” he shouts, then balls up his fists and leans back again. “She’s your mother.”