The truth falls like an anvil: he’s here for money, not me.
Chapter Twenty-Five
Stella
* * *
My dad is here. My dad. I can’t believe it. Years and years, I’ve tried to come up with the perfect thing to say to him, the exact way I’d react. The scenarios have varied; sometimes I scream at him, sometimes I cry. During a needy and emotional phase in my life, I’d imagined hugging him and begging him not to leave me again.
Now that he’s actually here, all I can do is sit in numb silence in the back of John’s massive SUV. How we got here is a haze. I know John ushered me and my dad right out of the restaurant. I know I went along, my ears ringing so loudly, I couldn’t hear a thing anyone said.
Now I’m in this car, John sitting in the middle, literally putting a physical block between me and my father. A nice thought, but it doesn’t work.
Dad leans forward. “So—”
“Not one word,” I cut in sharply. “Don’t you say one word to me until we get …” Fuck, where are we even going?
“To my place,” John says for me. His voice is hard, tension riding along his thigh as tight as my own. It comforts me that he’s upset on my behalf, but I still feel disoriented and sick.
“Fair enough,” Dad says with a shrug, like all of this is no big deal.
A tremor works through me, and John leans into my shoulder. He doesn’t move to hold my hand, and I appreciate that he isn’t giving my dad anything to make note of. It’s a nice gesture, but Dear Old Dad will have already sniffed out my weaknesses, and John’s, within the first few seconds of seeing us together.
I remain in my fog until we enter John’s apartment. The cool space holds his scent and comforts me on a visceral level. Not bothering to look at my dad, I march to the fridge and pull out a bottle of iced tea. I can feel him watching me as I turn the cap with a snick and gulp down long pulls of cold, biting tea.
“Nice place you have here,” Dad says.
John’s jaw bunches but doesn’t respond.
“Seems to me,” Dad drawls, “you were being a bit cheap by ignoring my initial offer.”
“Shut up,” John snarls. “Shut your fucking mouth.”
Cold washes over me. “John?”
He glances my way and instantly cringes, guilt stamped all over his face.
My hands begin to shake. “You … He …”
“It was only a bit of insurance, Stella girl,” Dad says, almost sweetly.
John’s nostrils flare, and he looks a second away from exploding. “Leave it be.”
“Why don’t you want her to hear?” Dad asks, glancing at me in sympathy. Does he really think this is all somehow brought on by John? That I would fall for his little act?
I can only stare back, my eyes smarting.
“She is your daughter. Why do you want to hurt her?” John grinds out before looking at me with wide, pained eyes. “Stella …”
“He tried to get money from you,” I cut in, my throat hurting so badly, I can barely get the words out. “Didn’t he?”
John ducks his head, then rolls his shoulders and faces me. “Yeah. And I didn’t tell you. I’m sorry.”
Dully, I nod.
“It was only business, ducks.” The sound of my father’s voice has me hunching. I’ve wanted to hear it for so long, and now it grates against my skin.
“Sure it was,” I say, still dull, still hurting. I can’t quite meet his eyes. “It’s always business. How much did you try to get?”
“A mere ten grand.” He lifts his hands. “A drop in the bucket for the likes of your mark.”
I laugh but there’s no humor in it. “My mark. That’s what you think he is? Of course, you do. Everyone is a mark to you.” Even me.
John takes a step in my direction, his expression twisted with regret. But I hold him off with a glare. If he touches me now, I’ll shatter.
“What was the shakedown?” I ask my dad.
“It was for your protection, really. Thought he should know about your time as an escort.”
At this, John pales, his whole body vibrating like a struck tuning fork. His eyes meet mine, and I see his need to defend me, his absolute outrage.
“You’ve been seen with him enough,” Dad says. “It’s only a matter of time before someone talks. Better if he’s prepared.”
“You miserable fuck.” John stalks toward my dad. “You sleazy shit …”
“John,” I snap loud enough to cut through his fury. He halts and looks at me from over his shoulder. “Please don’t. Hitting him is exactly what he wants you to do.”
“So let me oblige,” John grits out. “I can take the fallout.”
“But I can’t.” I take a deep breath. Then another. “Can you, ah, give us a minute?” I gesture to my dad.