Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53725 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 269(@200wpm)___ 215(@250wpm)___ 179(@300wpm)
He’s not the problem on the personal side of things.
I am.
And if I don’t remember that, I’m going to come off pathetic, and he will be as embarrassed as I am ashamed. We slept together. We were childhood friends. Both things are over and done with. There is no point in lingering on these things. Besides, he’s leaving. He’s going to Europe and right now, in this moment, is the first time I’ve let myself think about that part of his note.
He’s leaving.
That’s as big a goodbye as a girl can get. I’ll meltdown about that appropriately later. Or not. Maybe I will leave this office and I’ll be free. Or again, not.
For now, though, this all leaves me with only one next move.
I focus on the one part of this equation that he is responsible for—the part where he told me half the story about my father and not the whole story and expected me, of all people, to just let that go. “Tell me about my father.”
He draws in a long, deep breath, his chin lifting slightly before he presses his hands to his hips and levels me in a stare. “I should have known you’d show up here.”
“And yet, you didn’t,” I reply, and it’s hard to keep the bitterness from those words.
His eyes darken and narrow. “I knew, Alana. Why do you think I left a card and no phone number? There is nothing good that comes out of you getting involved in this.”
That does it. I’m triggered. “He’s my father. I can’t be the only one who doesn’t know what is going on with him. And who are you? There was a time when you’d have understood that.”
“I told you—”
“You told me nothing, and the way you told me nothing was not okay. Tell me.”
“Alana,” he says softly, his tone intimate, his hands falling to his sides and reaching for me.
I step backward, out of his reach. “Tell me.”
His jaw flexes and tics before his hands fall to his sides. “He started gambling at the track in Jersey, which limited him.”
“When?”
“Years. I don’t know how far back. The real problem came last year. He decided to go bigger and wider with his habit.”
My stomach drops. My father has always been about bigger and wider, but with too limited a view. “Define bigger and wider,” I urge.
“He got a bookie, and when he lost money, he borrowed money from the bookie. The bookie is associated with what might as well be the modern mafia. If they say you’re dead, you’re dead. If they say you will pay, you will pay, even if it’s with the life of a loved one.”
I swallow hard. “They threatened my mother?”
“Yes,” he replies. “They threatened your mother.”
Now I want to throw up. I hug myself. “How did you find this out?”
“My company and family name allows me the resources to find out about anything I want, when I want.” It’s not an arrogant statement, simply a statement of fact.
Of course, it is, I think. My heartbeat is a stampede of wild horses running through my chest right now. I can’t even think of the when, where, and how he gathers his information. This information. “How much does he owe?”
“He’d accumulated a large debt,” he replies.
“How large?” I push.
“Large enough for those people to make threats and mean them.”
“They sold their house to pay them back,” I argue. “My mother told me that last night, when I was outside, right before you walked up.”
“I know,” he replies. “But it wasn’t enough.”
“The house was paid off. They had a ton of equity in it. Hundreds of thousands of dollars.”
“I know,” is all he replies.
My throat is dry. “Okay. Okay, so they owe money. How did you make this go away?”
“It doesn’t matter. I made it go away, but you have to control him—”
“How, Damion?” I demand and I can feel the twist of anxiety inside me. I know what is coming—I know—but I don’t want it to be so. “How?”
“I paid them off,” he replies tightly.
Confirmation is not sweet, not at all. “How much?” He opens his mouth, and I can tell it’s to blow me off. I point at him. “How much?”
“Five hundred thousand.”
“You paid it?” I ask in utter disbelief. “They still owed—you paid it? All of it?”
“They did and I did. It’s handled, but I can’t do more, not now. You have to keep him out of trouble.”
“Like I would ask you to do more?! I’m back to: do you even know me?” I hold up a hand. “I can’t believe you did this,” I whisper and the anger sets in. “Why would you do this? Why? Is it payment for last night?”
“Are you fucking kidding me, Alana?” he snaps.
“Maybe money was easier than facing me. You sure as heck couldn’t stay and say goodbye.”