by Jc Emery
The door to the bathroom flies open, and before my brain fully registers what’s happening, Chase is stalking across the room, his chest is heaving, and the tension rolls off him in waves.
“And where in the hell were you when your daughter decided it was a good fucking idea to hold up a cigar shop? And where the fuck were you when a fucking psychopath was chasing her down? And where the fuck were you when your daughter was stabbed? Huh?” Chase’s screams fill the cabin and ricochet off the walls with violent fervor. He’s standing directly in front of my father now, towering over him.
I should really clear things up, but the way the two men are staring one another down, the violent energy dancing around them, I decide to let the boys fight this one out. For now, that is. Chase is apparently under the impression that my father had a choice in the matter. He seems quite convinced that Daddy failed me somehow. I don’t like his accusatory tone, but the wild look in his eyes is not something I want to take on. And unfortunately, my father is meeting Chase for the first time when Chase is acting like a wild bull ready to gore. I’m not seeing any bonding time on the lake in their future.
“Who the hell are you?” my father says, straightening his back.
He’s a good half foot shorter than Chase, and his aged physique looks worse for wear as he stares his opponent down. My daddy has quite the temper, and given the chance, he’ll lay into someone good and awful. And he does.
What begins as lecturing Chase about respect turns into a full-blown screaming match between the two. My father sets his paper sack down on the side table by the sofa and gets as much in Chase’s space as Chase is getting in his. I let it go on for a good few minutes, letting the steam roll off them, before I realize they’re not calming down.
“Shut up!” I scream as loud as I can. It comes out all throaty and squeaky at the same time. I don’t have long before they go back to ignoring me, so I speak quickly. “Daddy, this is Chase. He saved me. Victor stabbed me, but don’t worry. It’s just a flesh wound. Chase stitched me up and everything. So I’m okay.” I turn my attention toward Chase and give him a look that’s half-pleading, half-warning. “Chase, calm down. My dad’s just worried. I wasn’t where I was supposed to be.”
I look around for my phone, but I think Chase still has it in his cargo shorts, and Lord only knows where those are. A moment after I say the word stabbed, my dad is at my side, observing my bandage. His eyes are narrowed, and his lips form a tight line across the lower half of his face.
“Why in the hell aren’t you at the hospital?”
“Daddy!” I scream.
He knows better, really he does. I can’t just show up at the hospital with a stab wound without them asking questions. Chase and I went over this long before we even got to the cabin. Plus, it was my father’s years of instruction that gifted me the knowledge of how bad it would be to go to the hospital in this kind of situation anyway. The best I can assume is that he’s just plain freaking out.
“I would have taken her to the hospital if she hadn’t presented such an excellent case not to. Look, Mr. Brignac, I’m just trying to help your daughter out of a bad situation. This must be scary for you. I got no doubt if I were in your shoes I would be nervous wreck wondering where she is and if she’s okay, but I still want to know what the hell you were thinking letting her go through with this.”
My dad is speechless, possibly for the first time ever. We’ve always had this way of being around one another where he lets me make my own choices, and I try not to disappoint him. When I told him about what happened with Becca and what I planned to do to make it right, he never once told me not to. Not that I would’ve listened anyway. He just said that I had to be careful and to know what I was doing. Then we formulated a plan.
I want to be mad at Chase for the way he spoke in my father. But there’s something about the way he laid into him. He was defending me. I’ve always been fairly free to live my life and make my own choices. It’s been a long time since my father’s done anything more than sigh if he doesn’t agree. He knows that, regardless of how he feels about it, I’m likely to do it anyway.
But with Chase, I want him to agree with my choices. I want him to understand why I have to do this. But more than that, I don’t want to have to make those choices alone anymore. I’ve mostly been content with the relationship my father and I have. But now I’m wondering if there’s something missing. Chase said if I was his girl, there’d be nothing to stop him from keeping me safe. There’s something in the way he says the words that makes my breath catch in my throat. I like the idea of being his girl, and even if I don’t want to admit it, I like the idea of Chase having a girl one day—being a father and being as protective of her as he already is of me.
“You don’t know shit, son. This girl ain’t never listened to a word I say. Ever since she was small, she had a mind of doing things her own way and never cared much what me or her mama had to say about it. Don’t stand here in my cabin, wearing my clothes, with my daughter, and judge me.”
I cringe, afraid of the way Chase is going to react. I’d really like it if the fighting were to stop. I suddenly gasped out, remembering Mama and I still need to figure out if he has any intel on Becca. But until things calm down, I can’t really get into that stuff.
“Look, you two don’t have to like each other, you two don’t even have to speak to each other, but I need you both in different ways. And if either of you give a rat’s ass about that, you’ll both just lay off. You can bond over my poor choices later. Daddy, you can give Chase the ‘when I was your age’ speech once the dust is settled. Until then, would you two kindly stop trying to size up each other’s pistol?"
I cross my arms over my chest and give both of them my most menacing look. It’s not much, but it must be something at least. Both men relax a little and turn their attention toward me.
Daddy strides across the cabin to the small round kitchen table, grabs the chair, and brings it back to the bedside. He sets the chair down and plops down on it, making a creaking sound. My father is close, his knee touching the side of the bed, and he reaches out to pat my healthy side. The move feels less fatherly in this moment and more territorial. It must be a guy thing, as Chase rounds the bed to the other side. Just when I think he’s going to embarrass me royally by crawling into bed with me, he leans back against the wall. I let out a nervous breath and smile at my father reassuringly.
“How’s Mama?”
“About halfway past crazy, I’d reckon. Her only daughter is a reckless fool who disappeared for well over a day after she’d put herself in a whole heap of danger. How do you think she’s doing?”
I cringe away from his words, not wanting to hear them. We’ve been through this before. I do something stupid and Daddy reminds me of why it’s stupid. He’s never shied away from telling me exactly what he thinks of my poor choices. He’s always the one to give me a stern talking to—it’s my mama who takes a more gentle approach. Sometimes I wonder if there’s anything I can do that will ever disappoint her. She never says I told you so, and she rarely tells me that something is a bad idea. Where my father is all hard for about five minutes, my mother is entirely supportive, even when she probably shouldn’t be.
I cast a look over at Chase and wonder what his parents are like. I know Becca’s parents are more protective over her than mine are of me, not that mine don’t care. It’s just that, the three of us, we have an understanding. It’s taken many years and even more headaches to get to this point, where they no longer yell and scream over every little thing. Chase seems to be equal parts gentle and opinionated. I can’t say he strikes me as the kind of guy who’s inclined to sit back while others make poor choices. At least he hasn’t with me, a girl he didn’t even know, and it was his day off—his first day off—no less.
“I would’ve called you, but our phones are dead, and you’re the one who told Mama we had no reason to get a landline installed in the cabin. Besides, Chase sent you a text.”
&nb
sp; We go on like this for a few more minutes, bantering back and forth. Chase remains silent in the corner. If he’s bothered by the exclusionary nature of our conversation, it doesn’t show. He hasn’t moved the entire time, but his eyes are exactly where they were when he got there—on me. I fight the pull to keep looking in his direction and try to focus on my father, but it’s not easy.
My father pretends to guffaw and waves me off. It’s not worth the impending argument. Chase’s eyes leave mine, for the first time in more than ten minutes, and he looks at my father. The two men stare each other down, but this time it’s less accusation and more curiosity. Daddy isn’t a stupid man. He must sensing that Chase’s and my relationship isn’t strictly business. If he’s noticed we’re both wearing the old pajamas he leaves here, then he hasn’t said anything. It’s something, I guess, to save me the mortification.
My father looks to me and then Chase and says, “Well, now that we’ve determined you’re still alive and in reasonably safe hands, let’s get down to business, shall we?"
CHAPTER 15
Chase
You and me, we’re going to figure this out.
WHAT A DICK. I’d like to know what kind of fucking man, or father for that matter, lets his kid—his fucking daughter no less—deal with this kind of shit? I don’t give a fuck if she’s the one who brought this shit on. A real man doesn’t let his daughter walk into this kind of situation.
But I can’t tell Shelby that, not if I’d like to get her naked again.
She keeps giving me this look like she knows what I’m thinking. I can tell she’s listening to her dad by the way she nods her head in all the right places and how she throws in her own comments here and there. It’s mostly shit I don’t really care about. He’s explaining to her all of the crap that doesn’t matter, like where Becca is not and what Victor did but left no trail behind after he’d done it. I don’t know how useful Shelby considers any of this, but she’s listening with the utmost patience.
As I watch them, I see how well they work together as a unit. I don’t like the guy, and I’ve got no doubt he doesn’t much care for me, but I can see in this moment that however fucked up I think he is as a father, Shelby clearly loves and respects him. No wonder she accepts whatever fucked-up circumstances she gets herself into with a man. It looks like dear old Dad taught her long ago to deal with shit and accept shit in return. If he weren’t her father and I didn’t want her to keep me around, I’d give him a piece of my mind.
“So where is she, Dad?” Shelby has clearly run out of patience, her voice whining but clipped. I focus my attention back on Shelby and start paying better attention.
“My guy in IA says he’s got a guy who says that bastard Abraham is holed up in the Quarter. Says he’s got the girl with him.”
This news makes Shelby nervous. Her good leg jumps up and down on the bed.
“It’s smart,” she says, nodding her head. “The Quarter is always busy. Too many people coming and going, and with all the festivals going on this month? Extra detail.”
She shakes her head as if to clear it, and she laughs mirthlessly. She lets out a deep breath and looks at the side table, where she picks up a ceramic figurine. Tossing it in the air a few times, she keeps that slow, quiet laugh going, and then in a flash, she’s thrown the figurine across the room and is screaming at the top of her lungs. The anger and frustration waft off of her, blanketing the room. Her father leans forward to comfort her, telling her it’ll be okay, but she just pushes him away and screams louder.
“No, it won’t be okay! Nothing is ever going to be okay!”
The louder she screams, the more her father tries to calm her down. He’s gentle in the way he reaches for her and the kind words he’s saying, but it’s doing no good. With every soft word and every gesture, she thrashes about more. I’ve only got speculation on my side, but if I were to guess, I’d say this is a song and dance they’ve been playing for years. Shelby gets loud, freaking out, and poor papa doesn’t know what to do about it.
“Stop it!” I yell, but it doesn’t faze her. She just keeps going on as though I never said a word.
Before I take a minute to rethink what I’m doing, I’ve crawled over the bed and I’m crouched over her. I grab her by her upper arms and turn her torso just enough so that she faces me. Her screaming slows. I pull her in close, keeping our eyes connected, and force her to look at me.
“I said stop it!” I say louder and meaner than she can.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her dad jump an inch. At the boom of my voice, she stops. Her body has gone rigid, and for the first time I realize how traumatized she likely is from this whole thing. Her eyes are wide, jaw slack, and her bottom lip is quivering. I might be wrong, but I don’t think she looks sad. This is a look of fear, sheer terror.
A tightness swells in my chest—an intense desire to protect her. But right now I’m the thing that’s scaring her. I loosen my grip and rub her arms. Her head dips, but I want to keep her eyes.
I say, “Hey,” as quietly as I can. Her head picks up. “You and me, we’re going to figure this out. But we need to be clear about what we’re doing here, and we can’t do that if you’re throwing a goddamn tantrum.”
I search her eyes for understanding. I just don’t deal well with women throwing tantrums. I never know how to react. Should I be gentle, or should I put my foot down? In my experience, it can go bad either way. Either the woman gets even crazier, flipping out, and going psycho on my ass, or she just completely shuts down. Judging from the slow nodding of her head and the steadiness of her lower lip, Shelby responds well to strength and will run right over gentle. Good. I’m not a fan of gentle anyway. I pull back, creating a group atmosphere once again. Her father looks away and then clears his throat.
“Okay,” she says.
I look over to her father who is eyeing me like I’m some kind of super villain, and I guess in his eyes, I am.
“So, uh, I have a few leads about where Abraham might be holing up in the Quarter. When I find out, I’ll let you know,” Shelby’s father says to her. He’s steadfastly avoiding eye contact with me all together. “Once we have an idea, we can formulate a new plan to get the diamond in exchange for Becca.”
“Whoa,” I say. They can’t possibly be thinking about going through with this. The last time these two cooked up a plan, my girl got herself stabbed and became a felon. “Nobody is doing anything. I got a guy who’s working some intel for us. He’s a cop, but he’s clean. Nobody’s going off playing hero around here, okay?”
I fix a hard stare at both Brignacs, not that it does any good. Shelby’s father, whose first name I still don’t know, is giving me nothing. He’s completely void of emotion where I’m concerned. I look to Shelby, but she looks impassive, like I’m a kid who keeps asking for ice cream and not a fucking officer of the law who is telling her to let the professionals take care of a very tough situation.
“Son, I’m sure you mean well, but that girl is like my own daughter. I’m not going to let her hang on the line long. You need to get that.” Mr. Brignac’s stare is ice cold, but something about the way he rises from the chair and moves around it with a slight bobble tells me he’s less sure of himself than he’s putting off.
“Mr. Brignac, let’s get a few things clear. Your daughter got hurt on your watch. She held up a damn cigar shop, stole a diamond necklace, nearly shot off my damn head, got stabbed, and had to be stitched up by a guy who had less than a week’s EMT training. So really, sir, I’m sure you mean well, but she’s my girl now, and I’m not going to let you get her hurt.” I fold my arms over my chest to emphasize my point. I’m not backing down on this, and I’m sure as hell not going to let anybody, even her father, put her in any more danger.
The old man grunts and pushes past me. I bite back the instinct to charge at him and show him what thirty fewer years on a man can do for his right hook, but with the way this girl has her claws in me, I’m thinking he and I are going to be
around each other for a while. No need to make shit worse than it already is.
The front door flies open, and his heavy footfalls sound down the front steps. He swings open the door to his pickup and leans in. Pulling away from the cab of the truck, he produces two brown paper bags and stalks back inside. Standing right in front of me, he shoves both bags into my arms. I’m forced to abandon my “badass” stance and hold the bags lest their contents scatter around the worn wooden floor.
“You’ve got forty-eight hours, son. Then I’m taking my daughter home with me and we’re doing this my way. Are we clear on that?”
I’ve won, and the old man knows it. He’s just too damn stubborn to say so aloud. I nod my head and give him a cocky smirk.
“Sure thing, Dad,” I say.
I wait for my comment to be fully realized in his eyes. It takes longer than I expect, but eventually it is there. He makes a sound low in his throat and turns around, waving his hand over his shoulder.
“Can’t stand this one,” he mumbles. “Sure he’s going to be around awhile. Damn girl’s going to give me a heart attack, I reckon.” And then he disappears into the early evening.
CHAPTER 16
Chase
Just calm down, baby.
I WAIT UNTIL he disappears, and then I bring the bags into the kitchenette where I set them down on the counter. I need a minute before talking to Shelby in order to process everything that’s just happened. Having decided I’m not a particularly big fan of her father but not wanting to get into a fight about it, I will need to choose my words carefully. Unfortunately I can still feel the lasting irritation in my muscles. I would have argued with her father about his bullshit self-imposed, forty-eight-hour deadline, but I’m smart enough to know it would do no good. His giving me the deadline is just a formality, I’d venture to guess.
I’ve no doubt that he’s not stopping his investigation just because I asked him to.