Page 173 of Split You Open

“Between you and Ledger,” he explains.

I think about how to answer his question but after a minute or two, I’m still floundering. With a huff, I admit, “It’s complicated.”

Dad shoots me a dark look. “Did he take liberties with you when you were a child?”

“Take liberties?” I repeat then snort. “Way to show your age, Dad.”

He doesn’t crack a smile at my teasing.

Sighing, I shake my head. “No, this is newish… I guess.”

“Elaborate.”

I really don’t want to but Dad’s going to hound me about this until he gets his story so… “I’ve had a crush on Ledger since forever, Dad.”

His nostrils flares. “What?”

“Yup,” I admit. “I think since the first day I laid eyes on him. Fast forward to my college graduation day when I got the SOS that you two needed back up. I grabbed my diploma, ran off stage, and right into a gunfight. I found Ledger but then we were surrounded. I thought it was the end so I, ah, kissed him.”

“You what?” Dad’s grip on the steering wheel tightens. “In the middle of a job?”

I laugh but the sound is strained. “You’ll be glad to hear that he pushed me away and told me to knock it off.”

Dad doesn’t look glad.

In fact, despite his ability to remain calm under most stressful situations, right now he looks murderous.

“That’s when Ledger said his feelings started,” I continue slowly. “Look, the rest of it is a bit murky but, ah, yeah… it started with that kiss and now we’re here.”

Dad doesn’t yell at me.

He doesn’t scold me.

He simply focuses straight ahead on the road. Though he says nothing, I can feel his disapproval. It fills the car and suffocates me. It’s almost worse than if he yelled—which he never would since he doesn’t allow himself to spiral into emotional outbursts. It’s a little hard to defend Ledger since he put a hit out on both of us in order for his plans to come together, but I don’t hate the outcome. Once this Dixie is out of the picture, things could be good.

More than good.

Life could be fucking great.

When Dad takes the turn onto Main Street in Caddawalk, we both reach down and grab a baseball cap we borrowed from the others. We put them on, covering our faces from any cameras. He turns off Main Street a few minutes later.

I frown as he takes a few more turns and the area becomes vaguely familiar.

“Blair…” he starts suddenly.

“Hm?”

“Do you think this is Stockholm Syndrome?”

His response is the most absurd thing I’ve ever heard him say. Throwing my head back, I laugh. The sound fills the car but Dad doesn’t join in. As my amusement dies down, I can’t help but tease him. “God, if Stockholm Syndrome leads to the kind of sex I’m having—don’t pull me out of my psychosis.”

“Blair!” Dad snaps. “Do you really not understand the situation you’re in right now? These men know your identity. They could be on your side right now, but what happens six months from now when they find another woman? Or when one of my enemies comes snooping around, not with bullets but with cash. Cash talks, you know that. Or⁠—”

“You know,” I interrupt with a drawl. “This outburst is a bit… emotional of you, don’t you think?”

It’s a low blow to call him out like this.

Yet, if the roles were reversed, he wouldn’t hesitate to remind me that my emotions are getting in the way.