Page 51 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

chapter eighteen

I’m officially a mess. Thanks to a suggestion from Desmond, I arranged to meet my father at a casual diner in Ruby Grove, an hour outside of Windfall. Thanks to a suggestion from my anxiety, I’m sitting in my parked truck, glued to the seat. I was supposed to meet the Life Wrecker ten minutes ago. Several times, I’ve attempted to open my door and get out. All I’ve managed to do is stare into space, pretending to be a Lennon statue that my brothers will urinate on. If they knew I was here, they would most definitely pee on me.

At a loss, I text Maggie.

Me: SOS

Instead of getting a text back, my phone rings. I answer swiftly. “If I die here, will you move my body so my family doesn’t know what I was doing?”

“Always so dramatic, and Des already knows.”

“I was counting on him to stop me. The asshole didn’t.”

“Lennon.”

“Yeah?”

“You can do this,” she says, her voice gentling.

I rub my eyes until they hurt. “I hate feeling like this.”

“I know, babe.”

Her compassion means everything, as does that last word. “Are we calling each other cute names now?”

“What do you think?” Her snark is a clear no.

“But I have so many for you.”

“Do not,” she warns.

“Come on, Gingersnap. You know you love that one. Or I was thinking Frostbite for when you’re all cold and calculating. Or how about Dollface?”

“I should hang up on you.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” I roll the back of my head side to side along the headrest, wanting to slide to the floor. “Jokes usually calm me.”

“The longer you drag this out, the more stressed you’ll get. Go in and get it over with, then call me after.”

I nod several times, even though she can’t see me. “Thank you. You’re the best. Sugar Beet,” I add and hang up.

I let out a nervous laugh, give my upper body a shake, then open my door.

Once I’m on my feet, I don’t delay. I march toward the diner entrance, arms swinging with purpose, eyes on the prize. My father can’t hurt me now. I’m here for me, not for him, even though I have no clue what I want to say to the guy, or what I’m hoping he’ll say. What I want is to go in there and feel nothing for him. No affection or love. I want this meeting to be over yesterday.

I push the door open, and a bell above me jingles. My heart decides it’s a jackhammer as a hostess walks up to me and smiles. She says something, but her words barely register.

I search the red vinyl booths, sweat gathering everywhere sweat gathers.

Then I spot the Life Wrecker.

Eleven years have added weight to Raymond S. Bower. He’s still handsome, resembling Des the most of us boys, with his square jaw and thickly lashed eyes. But Dad’s face is fuller now, his once-thick hair thinner. Even from here, the strands look dyed, dark through and through, which kind of fits—a fake facade for the world to see.

When he spots me, he stands and wipes his hands down his jeans.

I nod to the hostess, who’s just staring at me now. “I’m meeting someone.”

My asshole father, I don’t add.