“And she’s been told not to give you her keys, so don’t think about being sneaky, either.”
“Guess you two had a nice chat.”
“Don’t get your boxers in a wad. She tried covering for you and downplaying the situation at first. She cares about you.” He coughs and mutters, “Fuck knows why.”
Can’t argue with him there.
He reaches for the door, then stops himself. “I’m not having this conversation with you again, Russell. Next time, I shoot you in the leg.”
“Super. Great parenting.”
“You’re twenty-fucking-two.” He pokes a finger into my chest. “I shouldn’t need to parent you. For fuck’s sake, you had more sense when you were twelve.”
Burning with humiliation, and let’s face it, anger at myself, I stand there staring at him. It takes a while for the correct words to roll off my tongue. “I’m sorry.”
“Do better.”
I nod once.
He opens the door and grunts at me to follow him. It’s a weeknight, so the clubhouse is pretty quiet. Not a lot of people around to insert themselves into our business. Honestly, I’d welcome the distraction. Anything to divert my father’s attention.
Outside, he leads me over to the garage and stops at a small sedan. “This is what I got her.”
“It’s nice.”
“Thought she was gonna hug me for a minute.” Old man never did deal well with affection of any sort. “Took her to visit Record Town.”
The corners of my mouth lift. Spent plenty of time there as a kid. Lots of good memories.
“Told her to get what she wanted,” he continues.
“You used to make me spend my allowance money.”
He tilts his head. “You need to have a cry about it?”
“Nope. Just sayin’.”
“Whole big store of shit to choose from. She comes back with a fuckin’ Kickstart tape.”
I stop breathing for a moment.
“Get your head on straight.” He slaps my cheek a few times. “Stop being a dick.”
Our attention’s drawn to a Ford that’s seen better days rattling down the driveway, mercifully interrupting our conversation.
Tally parks and jogs around the truck to open the passenger door. Offers his hand to Mallory to help her out of the cab.
My father’s arm slams into my chest as I take a step forward. “Don’t you fuckin’ dare start any shit,” he warns under his breath. “I asked him to do me a favor.”
“Not cool to send a brother out with another brother’s old lady.”
“Guess you better start treating her like your old lady, then.”
“Fuck off,” I growl, shaking loose.
He chuckles and follows me across the parking lot.
My eyes lock on Mallory. The sweet way she stares up at Tally and thanks him. The ways she’s laughing and smiling, something she hasn’t done much of lately. None of it sits well.
“How’d you do, sweetheart?” Dad calls to Mallory.
“Okay.” Her voice falters when she notices me, and she looks away. Shit, that hurts.
Tally hands a neat stack of paperwork to my dad. “All the receipts are there.” He lifts his chin at me. “How you been, brother?”
“All right,” I grind out.
“I didn’t go too crazy,” Mallory says to my father, still not looking at me. “I wasn’t sure how much stuff you wanted.”
“Whatever will make you two comfortable. You know where the store is if you want to go back?” he asks.
My, aren’t we generous.
“I think so.”
“Prospects are painting through the night,” Tally says. “Wanted them to get it done before the carpet’s installed. Furniture will be delivered Friday.”
My father slaps my back. “Good. You’ll be all moved in by the weekend.”
If I make it that long.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
Mallory
Whatever Chaser and his father talked about seems to have worked. Chaser hasn’t disappeared on me again. Not that he could go anywhere. Stump took his truck away and warned me again that Chaser wasn’t allowed to drive my car.
The club helped us move into the house.
Without the drugs, Chaser spends most of the day sleeping. Which is a relief. When he’s awake, he’s irritable. Instead of being stuck inside the clubhouse bedroom, we now have an entire house to ourselves, so we can avoid each other.
The car has been a blessing. And I’ve thanked Stump for it more than once.
Fed up, today I decided to locate the nearest library and spend the afternoon reading about addiction and withdrawal.
The fatigue and irritability seem to be normal. I still wonder if Stump’s do-it-yourself approach is right for Chaser. Maybe he needs a doctor or a counselor. A professional of some sort.
I jot down a few notes and use the phone book to compile a list of doctors.
Chaser’s still sleeping when I return to the house. That’s a good sign, right? His body needs the rest. I watch him for a few seconds and push his hair off his sweaty forehead. He moans in his sleep and turns over.
Downstairs, I’m about to flick the television on when someone knocks on the door. Worried the noise will wake Chaser, I hurry to answer.