Page 72 of The Way We Swing Back

Recognition crossed Dad’s face slowly—confusion at first, then something like a smirk—nothing like the one the Quinns always wore.

Gavin spun to see what we were looking at, his body contorting in his seat.

I wiped at my eyes, trying to clear them, trying to process.

“Go to the car, Maissie,” Gavin said. He stood as well, stepping in front of me, with Tanner moving around me to get to his side.

“What? No,” Maissie said.

“Go. Please.”

Maissie looked at me—whatever was on my face—and didn’t ask for clarification. She grabbed Tanner’s keys and blurred by us and out the door.

We should have followed Maissie out the door, never given him a chance. But I was frozen, glued to the tiny booth, the walls of the ice cream parlor pushing and squeezing around me.

He walked within five feet of us, close enough I could smell that he went with the cherry. And that he was drunk. He shook his head. “A restraining order? Really? And these two pussies for your bodyguards?”

I locked eyes with him. Still frozen. I had no words at my disposal.

He turned and walked toward the exit, possibly realizing the consequences if he stuck around. Or possibly afraid of what Tanner and Gavin might do.

The two of them wordlessly walked toward the windows, their eyes never leaving Dad.

I sank lower into my seat, scooping a bite of the Blizzard into my mouth, ignoring the freezing cold on my tongue, hating everything about this. The booth felt too small, the air too loud.

“Easton.” Tanner’s voice wasn’t panicked.

I didn’t look at him.

“Hey.” His voice was softer this time. His hand wrapped around mine on the table.

Gavin slid back into the booth across from us, shoulders tight, his face looking older than he was. “He’s gone,” he said. “I’m going to go sit with Maissie in the car if that’s okay.”

I nodded, the word “gone” ringing in my ears. I swallowed as he left, the red plastic spoon spinning in my fingers. “I thought he wasn’t allowed within five hundred feet of me.”

“He’s not.” Tanner’s fingers squeezed mine once. “I think we can call it in or something.”

The old version of me would've already had the phone out. Would've wanted him in a cell by nightfall, wanted the paperwork, the proof, the distance. I put my spoon down and grabbed the edge of the table.

“Easton?”

“If I call it in," I said slowly, feeling the shape of it as I went, "then the rest of my night is about him. Tomorrow's about him. I spend the next week giving statements, looking over my shoulder, waiting to hear if it stuck." I shook my head. "He shows up for ninety seconds and gets to own the next ninety days."

Tanner didn't say anything. He just kept his hand around mine, listening the way he did—letting me find it.

"My whole life he decided things," I said. "When I could talk. What I could feel. Whether I got to be scared or had to swallow it." The words came easier than I expected, like they'd been waiting. "I'm so tired of him deciding things. And calling it in—I know it's the smart move, I know it's what I'm supposed to do—but it feels like handing him one more. Like I can't go get ice cream without him still controlling me. Like I can’t live my life."

"That's not dumb," Tanner said, before I could call it dumb myself.

"It's a little dumb."

"It's not, even though you won’t believe me,” he said. The corner of his mouth moved, and for the first time since the bell over the door had stopped ringing, I relaxed.

He started again. “We should go live our lives. And by that, I mean we shouldn’t leave Gavin and Maissie alone in the car for too long.”

We stood, my fingertips slowly brushing Tanner’s palm as I pulled away. I wished I had decided sooner not to let my dad control my life. Back when being brave might have meant reaching for Tanner’s hand instead of letting it go.

Chapter 31