“All right. Let me know when you’re on the road again?”
“Jesus, you’re a worrier, aren’t you?” I teased, not surprised, really, but a little—flattered? I wasn’t sure what I was feeling, but whatever it was made my stomach flip.
“Not usually,” Trevor murmured. “Text me.”
I agreed, then said good-bye as I threw the door open and stepped down. The fast-food place I planned on grabbing our early lunch from was across the street, but it was a quick walk and it only took a few minutes before I was changing Etta in their nasty bathroom.
It probably would have been more sanitary to change her in the truck, but I refused to do it. If there was one thing my dad taught me, it was that I should always be aware of my surroundings. I wasn’t about to leave my back toward the outside as I tried to change my squirmy kid on the truck seat. That was just asking to get mugged or worse.
I’d found that truckers weren’t nearly as bad as people made them out to be; my dad had plenty of friends who took to the road to feed their families, but there were bad apples in every bunch. A woman alone and distracted by a toddler was easy pickings, and I didn’t plan on making myself a target.
“Fwies?” Etta asked as we walked into the restaurant. “Me want fwies.”
“You can totally have french fries,” I replied, glancing around the crowded room. “How about some apples, too?”
“Yoguwt,” she argued, skipping along beside me.
“Yogurt works.” I smiled and gave her hand a small squeeze. “You’re my favorite road-trip partner, you know that?”
“Know dat,” she agreed, nodding.
Half an hour later, we were pulling back on to the freeway. I didn’t text Trevor that we were on our way, choosing to pretend that I’d forgotten. It was nice to know that he cared, but I didn’t want to get into the habit of constantly checking in with him. At least that was what I told myself.
* * *
Dear God, I was tired. After an entire day on the road my ass was numb, my legs were cramping, and I had a tension headache that was quickly turning into a migraine. The only time I’d been happier to see my dad’s place was the day he’d gotten us out of foster care.
“My babies,” my dad called, coming out to greet us as I pulled to a stop. “Finally.”
“I’m not even attempting to park this thing,” I replied, throwing the truck into park and setting the brake. I opened the door and jumped down, waving him toward the driver’s seat. “She’s all yours.”
My dad chuckled, his deep voice instantly soothing me. “I’ll get her parked. Baby sleeping?”
“Yeah, thank God. She started whining about an hour ago, and I couldn’t distract her anymore.”
“Long trip,” he mused in understanding.
I stepped onto his front lawn and lifted my arms in a huge stretch as he climbed into the truck and expertly parallel-parked it along the curb. By the time he climbed down from the cab with Etta in his arms, I felt marginally better.
“You need anything outta here tonight?”
“Just the diaper bag,” I replied, walking tiredly to the passenger side to get it.
“That’s my girl,” Dad said, waiting for me on the sidewalk. “Packing light.”
I glanced at the packed truck and scoffed. “I packed a toothbrush and a spare set of clothes for Etta in the diaper bag, but I’m too tired to go searching for anything else.”
“I’ll get the boys to unload in the morning,” he said, throwing an arm over my shoulder as he led me toward the front door. “You can sleep in if ya want.”
“Beyond the fact that Etta’s going to be up at seven and bouncing off the walls, no way am I letting any of your friends unload my shit without supervising,” I replied, bumping him with my hip. “Sweet offer, though.”
“Such a priss.” He grinned and kissed my forehead. “Good to have you back, sweetheart.”
My dad had changed his sheets in preparation for our arrival, thank God, and his room was all ready for me and Etta to crash in. Our stuff would be unpacked into the spare bedroom the next day, and we’d be able to sleep in our own beds once we’d set them up, but thankfully he’d thought ahead and knew we wouldn’t both fit on the couch for the first night.
The house smelled so familiar that I smiled as I inhaled deeply. The scent was a mixture of wood, grease, and Brut aftershave that I’d always associate with my dad. I wasn’t even sure why he smelled like the Brut—he hadn’t shaved his face for as long as I’d been alive—but he must have worn it like cologne or something. That familiar scent was the first thing I remember noticing the day he’d picked me and Miranda up.