In Debt to Daddy

by Aubrey Cara

  I work at not flinching away. This is the Cody I started dating months ago. Sweet. Protective. But I now know his personality is an ever-changing thing. When he keeps touching me, I want to scream at him to get his hands off me. Instead, I give him a bland smile, trying to play nice until this business is over.

  “If you’re going to be high when you come out, I should drive,” I say, holding out my hands for the keys.

  “I won’t be that high. They know me. They may just take the money and send me on my way.”

  I raise a brow, not moving my hand.

  “Fine,” he says, reluctantly handing over the keys. “But just this once.”

  This will be the last time he ever sees me, but I refrain from saying that. Once I have the keys. I hand over the money. A moment of true panic spikes through me the second I place the envelope in his hands. Like it or not, he is my only option.

  Some of my concern must show because he squeezes my arm and says, “I’m not a raving junkie who has to get high all the time. I’m going to pay your brother’s debt and get out of there.”

  I nod, having no other option but to hope he is being honest. “Thank you, Cody.”

  “Anything for my Candi girl.”

  I inwardly wince, but still manage an encouraging smile as he walks across the parking lot. I watch him every step of the way. He has all my hopes and dreams I’m sacrificing for my brother’s life, tucked under his arm. Three grand may be a toss in the bucket to some people, but it is everything to me. A start at a new life. Rent. Food on the table. Security.

  Sitting in the truck, I scan the area. I expected to be driven out to some rundown, secluded location with a warehouse or beat-down trailer in the middle of nowhere. Not some random apartment complex, with decent landscaping and a nice playground out front. A mom with a toddler on his tricycle move past on the sidewalk, and I want to be sick.

  The guys my brother owes money to work for someone bigger. More dangerous. I’m not so naïve I don’t understand that. I should be calling the police. If I were a better person, I’d do just that.

  When Cody comes back out, I’m numb and he’s high, but it’s done. My brother is free from his debt.

  I drive Cody back to his place then get out and walk a mile to the nearest bus stop. Once I’m back in Gibson, I track the four miles back to my house, not caring my feet are now blistered and throbbing in these flimsy flats I slipped on this morning. My stomach wants to turn itself inside out I’m so hungry, but I ignore that, too. I know if I eat anything, I’ll throw it back up.

  With all my savings gone I’m going to have to ask my boss, John, for a loan so I can pay the bills. John has been nothing but kind to me. He was the only one willing to hire me after I’d been fired from three different jobs. Three jobs I lost because of my little brother. I had a decent job at a retail store, but I had to miss a shift to bail my brother out of jail. Then I got a job at another store and he came in drunk and belligerent. My last job, I waited tables at a family restaurant. That time wasn’t his fault. I’m just a really shitty waitress, but it was good money.

  I hate that I’m going to have to ask for such a favor, and possibly explain what’s happened, but I need to be able to cover rent if nothing else. There’s no guarantee my dad will have the money, if he shows up at all. He often doesn’t come home unless he’s flat broke and needs to hide out from those he owes money to.

  When I get home, I head straight to the medicine cabinet and dump my brother’s pain pills in the toilet. Flushing, I numbly watch them swirl away. I want Dylan to feel every aching day of his recovery. Maybe then he’ll think twice before doing something so stupid, ever again.

  Just pulling into the gravel parking lot of Rusty Spur makes me feel a little more like everything is going to work out all right. It may be a rundown old bar, but to me it is the first place I’ve ever really gotten to shine. I caught the big burly owner John straining over numbers one night and realized they were all messed up. If I know anything, it is numbers. I’m one of those people who can memorize long number sequences and tally large sums in my head. Like Rain Man. There’s a lot I don’t understand in the world, but numbers? Numbers I get.

  When I was little, my dad used that to his advantage until I reached fifteen and decided I didn’t want to be a performing monkey, counting cards for my old man, anymore.

  John uses my gift by having me do his bookkeeping and going over what his accountant does for him. But he not only pays me for the extra work, he’s been encouraging me to “go get some learning,” as he calls it, so I can one day be the only accountant he’ll ever really trust with his money. Every time he tells me that, it makes me smile. I hate thinking I might be about to disappoint him. Although if anyone, John will help me out without making me feel bad for it.

  It’s going to be a while before I can see my brother and not be angry at him, but I know this is just a setback. Isn’t there some stupid saying about how if you make plans life happens? Life has certainly happened.

  I park out front, since it is only three on a Wednesday afternoon. The bar won’t be open until four thirty. Looking at the rundown exterior in the light of day makes me shake my head. I’ve told John more than once this place could be awesome if he just makes some changes. With the way Gibson is growing, he could turn this place into a bar and restaurant and it’d be a cash cow.

  Or at least that’s my opinion from watching episodes of Bar Rescue at Cody’s place. Cody has the premium cable package and a high-def TV. I’m going to miss his TV more than him. All I have is the please-don’t-turn-off-the-electricity package on an old beat-up box TV at my place.

  John listened to my business suggestions and then patted me on the head with one of his giant ham hands, muttering things about old dogs and new tricks. It is really too bad. The bar could be so much more than the local dive it currently was.

  Walking in, my eyes have to adjust to the dark interior. There is a soft glow over the bar, but all the other lights are off, casting the corners that hold the pool tables and booths in complete darkness. Not that I need light to know where I’m going. Now that I’m here, I’m anxious to see John and get this over with. I hate to ask him for money, but I remind myself the rent is due and my dad, per usual, is MIA.

  In the back hall, my steps falter as Kat comes out of the office door. This is the first time I’ve seen the petite redhead since learning it was Cody who attacked her two months ago. Her cheek has long since healed, but I can still recall in vivid detail the bruise she sported on her face for over two weeks after.

  “Are you going to stand there staring at me all day, or are you going to move out of my way?” Kat asks with her usual friendly demeanor.

  “Sorry,” I say stepping aside to let her sweep past me. I have no idea why, but from the moment I started working here she’s disliked me, and has had no qualms about letting me know. Now she has just cause to hate me, she just doesn’t know it. I blow out a breath, feeling the weight of guilt crushing down on my chest like a damn elephant.

  For a minute, I entertain the idea of calling the police on Cody despite him saying he’d turn my brother in. He couldn’t really turn in my brother without implicating himself, could he? I shake my head at my own faulty thinking. If he were getting arrested, he may very well not care and start throwing everyone he knows under the bus. I can’t risk Dylan going to prison.

  I try to shake off the guilt riding me and square my shoulders. I love my job, and I love John. It’s been a rough week, but it’s about to turn around, I can feel it. Knocking twice on the slightly ajar office door, I push it open, and stop cold in my tracks. My warm smile withers on my face.

  “What the hell are you doing here?” I ask in outrage. The big redheaded buffoon from last weekend is sitting behind John’s desk. My desk.

  Glancing up from the computer, surprise flickers over his face before he leans back and smiles, linking his hands up behind his head in an arrogantly casual manner. “Well, well, well. Lookie here.
If it isn’t Barbie Princess, in the flesh.”

  Gritting my teeth, I cross my arms over my chest as much out of indignation as to hide the fact my nipples have pebbled at the sight of him. “Where is John, and why the hell are you behind his desk?”

  My desk!

  “My dear old dad went out of town with some woman he met. He’s left me in charge.”

  “D-Dad?” I know John’s been married quite a few times, and has a handful of kids, but I’ve only met his oldest, who is in his forties. My skin crawls just thinking about him. He was much too grabby for my liking. Tall and overweight like his father, but he lacked John’s charm and integrity.

  This one is certainly tall, but I can’t spot an ounce of fat on him. I recall he is a bit handsy, though. And I’m not clear on the integrity. Sure, he spanked me, but he didn’t let me...well I’m not going think about that.

  “That’s right. I’m Hank, John’s youngest.” He holds out his hand to shake.

  Hank. That’s the name of the mystery man I hoped never to see again. It isn’t a common name for men under fifty, but it seems to suit him. Sturdy, but a bit arrogant and proud. I stare at his outstretched hand for a second before reluctantly giving it a shake. His grip is strong, warm, his palm callused and rough against mine. And the spark I feel shiver through me at his touch…not worth analyzing.

  I pull back and wipe my palm on my jeans like that will somehow erase the feeling.

  He catches the move and smirks, but I can tell he’s slightly annoyed. “What can I do for you?” he asks.

  “Nothing.” Absolutely nothing. The litany of “just one thing” starts playing through my head again. I’d like for just one damn thing to go my way. “I really needed to talk to John.”

  I have five hundred left in my savings and a grand total of thirty-six dollars and eighteen cents in my checking account. I can clean that out, but it still isn’t enough to cover rent, let alone rent and utilities. Feeling like someone just ran over my dog, I plop down in the rickety chair across from the old scarred-up desk and contemplate my lack of options.

  I could go to Cody, but just the thought makes my stomach churn with nausea. It’s bad enough I’m not turning him in to the police.

  “Huh,” the buffoon son says, his brow creased in a contemplative frown. “You’re not pregnant with his kid or something, are you?”

  “What?” That certainly brakes my train of thought. “Eww, no, gross. John is like a father to me.” Realizing how true it is the second I say it. Besides, the man is an old, overweight alcoholic.

  He holds his hands up in mock surrender. “Sorry. I had to ask. You seem upset and said you had to talk to John...wait. Are you Candice? Candice Dawson? You work here?”

  “That’s me.”

  “Oh, well, I have the schedule ready for the next two weeks, if that’s what you were concerned about. I’ll warn you, if you need off to go to some stupid party with your winning boyfriend, make sure to find someone to cover your shift.”

  Ignoring the snide remark, I say, “I need to ask your dad for a favor. Do you know when he’ll be back?”

  “What kind of favor?”

  Choking back my pride I spit out, “I need a loan. Just a small one, so I can make my rent.”

  “What’s the matter, princess? You spend all your money on frivolous things you weren’t supposed to?”

  “Something like that.” I refuse to explain my circumstances to this self-important jackass. He already knows more about me than I’m comfortable with. Just thinking about the intimate things he’s done to me makes my cheeks heat, and I hate him for it.

  I hate the way he calls me princess in that condescending tone, like I’m some flighty spoiled brat, too stupid to take care of myself. I’m sure that’s what this situation looks like from the outside, but damned if I’m about to enlighten him. And most of all, right now, I hate him for making me feel uncomfortable in the one place I’ve always felt safe, secure, and free to be myself.

  The smug bastard has his eyes narrowed on me like a bug he’s not sure if he wants to squish or let live. I stare back like I don’t care, but inside I’m seething. I can’t believe the ridiculousness of this situation. Of course, John wouldn’t be here. Of course, the arrogant dickhead from the party would be his son. Of. Freaking. Course. I’d have to sit here and take his shit.

  If I know anything, it is the universe loves to take cosmic dumps directly on me.

  Sudden, laughter is bubbling up out of me, and I can’t stop it. It’s not happy, normal laughter, but that of a crazy person. High-pitched and a tad hysterical. The second it starts tapering off, I’m helpless to stop the tears that stream down my face.

  This is great. Just great.

  “Forget it,” I say, getting up to leave. “Forget I said anything.”

  “Wait,” he huffs, right as I walk through the door.

  I’m not sure why I stop. I should just keep on walking. I must be a glutton for punishment because for some reason I turn around. “What?”

  4

  HANK

  Barbie Princess turns around, tears still slowly tracking down her beautiful, absolutely crestfallen face. Today she’s wearing jeans, a T-shirt, and no makeup, making her look like the average girl next door. Well, that’s if your average girl next door is a centerfold. I can’t believe what I’m about to say, but I can’t let her leave here so broken. “How much do you need?”

  My mother was a helpless mess like Candice. A part of me always wondered what would have happened if someone had given her some structure, and a hand up, not a handout. Not that handouts were given free and clear. She’d had to earn them the old-fashioned way, on her back and knees.

  “Seven hundred, and I can pay John back a little each week.”

  “You wouldn’t be paying John. You’d be paying me.”

  “You’re going to give me a loan?” She sounds like it’s the most absurd suggestion she’s ever heard.

  Yeah, I can’t believe it, either.

  My eyes rake over this irresponsible girl in front of me, and again think of my mother. I’ve seen pictures of my mom when she was younger and knockout beautiful. Too bad she didn’t have a lick of sense. What would I have wanted someone to tell her? Do for her? John, my dad married her and immediately got someone else pregnant before knocking up his new bride with me. When my mother found out about the affair, she packed us up and headed to Chicago, and as they say, everything went downhill from there.

  Guidance and discipline are what this girl is obviously lacking. Those I can give her, but first I have to make sure the money she needs isn’t to bail her dumbass boyfriend out of jail, or something equally asinine.

  “What do you need the money for?”

  My little Barbie girl takes a step inside the office with her arms crossed over her chest. This time it isn’t in defiance as much as a protective stance. As if she’s reminding herself to pull her shit together. Since she’s stopped crying, maybe she is.

  “Rent and utilities.” She scruff a toe on the floor, avoiding my gaze.

  “Look at me,” I say, instantly regretting it when she turns those deep pools of fathomless blue on me. Her fire and ire, I can take. When she came all over my fucking lap, part confused, irritated, and passion-glazed…hell yeah. Makes my dick snap awake just thinking about it. But this...shit. She appears lost and abandoned. Ready to give up. And so fucking vulnerable.

  I don’t like it one bit.

  I feel the urge to shake her and ask her where the hell all her fight has gone. It makes my voice come out much harsher than I intend. “I’m going to give you the money, free and clear. But there’ll be stipulations. I’ll write the rent check directly to your landlord and gas company, or whoever you still owe. That way I know you’re not pissing it away on something stupid like clothes or drugs.”

  When I say the last, she gives a humorless chuckle bordering on the hysterical laugh she had before she lost her shit earlier, so I quickly continue. “No more smoking, p
artying, or buying shit you don’t need. If you can’t pay your bills, you can’t afford to party.”

  Her head snaps up. Oh, there’s the spark. The fire. If looks could kill, I’d be smoldering ashes right now.

  “Fuck you,” she says, blue flames practically shooting from her eyes.

  I try to bite back my smile, but I know I’m failing when my little princess makes an angry growly noise in the back of her throat. Shit that is hot. Just remembering the other little noises she made at the back of her throat when she came the other night is enough to give me a semi.

  “Swearing is another no-no. You’re a lady, and—”

  “The hell I am! That’s some sexist bullshit. Don’t think I haven’t noticed your mouth is as foul as mine. If I’m not swearing, you’re not swearing, either.”

  I stare her down, but she just notches her chin higher. “Fine,” I say.

  She raises a pretty blonde brow, hands on her hips, feet braced on the floor. I think she’d look magnificent rocking a Wonder Woman costume. Maybe Supergirl. With her stance, I can picture it right now.

  It’s damn distracting.

  All my blood is traveling south fast. What were we discussing again?

  “What the hell do you mean, fine?”

  Oh, that’s right. I’m teaching little girl a lesson. “I mean I’m expunging the more colorful words from my vocabulary.” And it will be well worth the sacrifice just to be able to upend her over my lap the next time she curses me out, which will most likely be happening in about two seconds judging by the shade of red she is turning.

  “You arrogant asssskhole. You’re going to quit motherfuffffgher swearing just so you can lord it over me? What’s the point to that?”

  “Careful there. You don’t want to slip up and say anything crass.” I shoot her a shit-eating grin. It can’t be helped. I can almost feel her ass under my hand.

  “Why are you looking at me like that? Stop. Get that smirk off your face. I’m not taking your money.”