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“Hart… I wouldn’t be here if it wasn’t important.”

“You’re not sick, are you?” I asked, beginning to pull on my earring.

A whisper of a smile ghosted his lips. “No. I ain’t sick, but it’s good to know you care.”

I pulled my phone from my pocket and violently tapped the screen.

“What are you doing?”

“Finding you the first flight out.”

He sighed. “You don’t have to do that. I have a bus ticket that will take me back in a few days.”

I paused. “Do Thorne and Rat know you’re here?”

He shook his head, and it was the first time I felt relief since his arrival. “Hawthorne ain’t talked to me since I wrecked his truck, and Radcliff’s been too busy doing his racing shit and tending the farm to make time for his old man.”

“You’d have more time with your sons if you stayed your ass out of jail.”

“To be fair, that stop was unconstitutional.”

“You were drunk driving like the selfish asshole you are. You were probably swervin’ all over the damn place.”

“There’s no footage,” he replied with a coy smile.

“Oh, yeah. Laugh it the fuck up, Dad,” I said, starting to walk toward the parking garage. He grabbed his duffel bag and trailed behind me.

“Where are we going?”

“That depends. Did you book yourself a room?”

“No. I was kind of hoping I could crash with you.”

I shook my head and harshly shoved the exit door.

“Sorry to dash your hopes and dreams, but you’re not staying with me. I found you a flight that leaves at 10:15 in the morning. I’ll put you up for the night and have a car come pick you up and take you to the airport.”

I’d expected pushback because I’d known the man for 29 years, and arguing and twisting your arm until he got his way was always his M.O. Instead, he nodded and rounded to the passenger side of the Bronco.

We climbed in, and I started the engine, immediately shutting off the radio when Obsydian Trip blared through the speakers. I couldn’t listen to the song my girlfriend wrote while dealing with the world’s oldest problem child.

“I still can’t believe you kept this old thing.”

“Watch your mouth,” I growled, whipping the Bronco out of the parking spot.

“Makes me happy that you cherish it—reminds me that I did a few things right.”

My fingers tightened around the steering wheel, and the knot of anger that had found refuge in my chest loosened slightly. I didn’t hate my dad—most of the time I didn’t. I just had such a hard time accepting that he was a piece of shit by nature. I wanted to grab him by the shoulders and shake some sense into him. At his age, he could be someone’s grandfather, yet he was running around acting like a delinquent.

“Your girlfriend’s beautiful,” he said, making polite conversation as I weaved through traffic.

“I’m not in the mood for small talk, and I’m definitely not in the mood to discuss Vera.”

“That’s an old-school name. There was a girl in my 5th grade class named Vera—Vera Livingston.”

I didn’t bother responding and let him talk to himself until we reached the hotel. I checked him in and was prepared to walk off without a single goodbye when he stopped me.

“Hart. Don’t leave. Not yet. I have to talk to you about something.”