“I don’t want you near her, Violet. I mean it.”
I cross my legs. “She is my blood, Dad.”
“Not in this house, she isn’t. She’s not a good egg, trust me on that.”
“What if she’s just trying to be part of our lives?”
He shakes his head. “She isn’t. Need you to believe me and do as I’m asking.”
I exhale, but nod. “Okay.”
More silence.
“We good?”
“You’re my dad, I love you, I’ll always come back to you but I need some time now. Just don’t lie to me anymore. I can handle the things you do in this club, the violence and pain, but I can’t handle being lied to by someone who is meant to be the most honest person in my life.”
He pushes up, walking over and squatting down in front of me so we’re eye to eye. He reaches out, taking my chin in his hand. “I’m sorry, kid,” he murmurs. “For what it’s worth, I truly was trying to protect you.”
“I know,” I whisper. “But I’m old enough to handle this now.”
“Know you are.”
I hug him.
Then, I get up and leave, out into the compound, back to where Travis waits by the bonfire. I feel better, even though the hurt still lingers. I understand why he chose not to tell me yet, I really do, I am just tired of the whole world spinning in lies. I need honesty, and even though I have fixed things with Dad, I feel like a storm is coming. Something I can’t quite put my finger on.
Amber.
Who the hell is Amber?
A wind picks up in the yard, and I watch the smoke from the fire twist and disappear into the sky. When Travis sees me, he stands, walking over and curling his hand behind my neck. “You good now, baby?”
“Yeah,” I say, staring into his eyes. “For now.”
I wonder when the next storm will hit.
I DON’T SLEEP THATnight.
Not at all.
We come home from the bonfire and my brain is racing. So many thoughts of Chief, my mom, Jasmine, all of it. I stare at the wall for so long, praying it will help me drift off, but it doesn’t. Travis is asleep next to me, stretched out, his breath deep and slow. I have this feeling in my chest, this nagging sensation that my world is about to unfold. It lingers like a bad cold, and no matter how much I try and talk my way out of it, it just won’t leave.
When the morning light comes, I climb out of bed, giving up.
After I shower, I shuffle around the kitchen while the coffee brews. I make toast and eggs, butter melting over the crust, but nothing tastes like anything. I take a few sips of coffee, then dump the rest and reload the dishwasher. Travis comes in aboutan hour later, wearing nothing but his jeans, chest and arms bare, hair sticking up from sleep and making him look scarily adorable.
He sees me sitting cross-legged on the couch and grins, that half-crooked, gloriously reckless smile. “Morning, angel,” he murmurs, coming over and kissing me, long and deep.
He tastes of toothpaste and Travis, delightful.
“I gotta go in and give Chief a hand today. You good?”
“I’m good,” I smile.
The silence after he goes is so complete, it’s like the house is holding its breath, waiting for my next disaster.
God, I need to shake this feeling.