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How a man who was born and raised in upstate New York and never so much as traveled to the Jersey shore, never mind across the pond, picked up that term, I’d never know. It was one of many mysteries I’d long since stopped trying to figure out about my only parent.
“Not so kindly, I take it?”
“Eh,” he said. “Screw ’em.”
Seemed it was true Grunt Ink was causing a bit of a dustup in town. But on this one, I reluctantly agreed with my father. Screw ’em, inasmuch as I also didn’t need to alienate potential customers. But Owen was helping me out on that front.
“When you openin’?” Dad began to hiccup.
“Hopefully next week. I was in there tonight,” I said and then stopped. Dad was piss drunk. Why exactly was I attempting to carry on a conversation with him?
“In there tonight,” he prompted. “And?”
Forgetting what I had planned to say, I instead thought of my surprise visitor. Charlee had taken me so off-guard, I never even had time to mentally prepare myself for the attack. Because that’s exactly what it had felt like. An all-out attack on my senses, and I’d almost lost the battle.
Charlee hadn’t hidden the fact she wanted to talk. Did she want more? It seemed like a strong possibility. But I didn’t, and would do well to remember that.
“And nothing.”
“Come on,” he said, with the loudest hiccup yet. “And what?”
Christ, you’d think I’d be used to this. How had he not killed himself while I was away?
“Charlee came in tonight,” I said, not meaning to, but Charlee had been on the brain. “Said the place looks good.”
When my dad said nothing, I assumed he’d passed out.
“That girl’s in love with you, son.”
As I pulled up to the house—a small two-story in need of a good painting, though presently it matched the other houses on the block—I gave my father my full attention. “Excuse me?”
“In love.” He said it more slowly and almost articulately. “With you.”
That was rich. “Yep,” I said. “Exactly why she broke up with me.”
When he didn’t respond, I looked over at my dad. Passed out. His snoring replaced the hiccups.
What the hell had he been talking about? In love with me? How could he possibly have any sort of judgment about that?
Shoving the question aside, I got out of the truck, hoping my father was coherent enough to walk into the house. I relished carrying him about as much as I did the town meeting Owen thought I should attend.
Go home, Nate had said.
My spotter and best friend had no idea what “home” entailed. I’d told him, but no one could truly know a place like Kitchi Falls unless they lived here.
Dad. Charlee. Citizens against fucking tattoos.
Great idea, Nate, you bastard. Stay safe, man.
He was still in a combat zone, but in some ways, so was I. But this one I had run toward instead of away from.
What the hell had I been thinking?
CHAPTER NINE
charlee
What a week.
