It gave me a chill. I hated the news. Any of it. All of it. I had enough drama in my own life. I couldn’t deal with listening to tales of murders and rapes and kidnappings and drug busts. They were all really the same story—pain, pain, pain. I’d had enough pain. I didn’t need more. All it did was make me dwell on my abusive past and on my father who had been released from jail only the week before. I hadn’t seen him, and I didn’t want to. I didn’t even want to think about him.
“Matt, why don’t you go on home?” Then I could turn on something with a beat. Something not depressing. And daydream about JC without anyone in the room to question what I was thinking about while I stared absently into space.
It was what I did with much of my free time lately—relived my nights with JC. It had been six weeks since he’d asked me to keep our agreement going. After that, our relationship had maintained a status quo. He was never again as cold as he had been the night I’d woken to an empty bed and never again as open as the day we’d spent together in the real world. I took it as an acceptable compromise. Really, I didn’t have another choice. I was sure that he felt something for me and I didn’t want to give up on that. Besides, whether he did or didn’t, every night we spent together I fell deeper into love with him. Ending things was no longer an option. I wanted to be with him, whatever his terms.
Still, I dreamed of more. If I’m patient, I’d tell myself, maybe it could be more than just a dream.
A monotone voice reporting the “current speculation that bail will be denied” was not a part of my JC daydreams. Since Matt had yet to answer me about going home, I got up from my desk and went to stand in front of his.
I snapped my fingers in front of his glassy stare. “Hey, Matt. I think you’re dozing over here. Why don’t you go home?”
He blinked a few times then seemed to wake up from his stupor. “I’m sorry. I guess I am in a bit of a daze.” He looked at his watch. “I’ll make it. Paco should be done soon.”
“Exactly. Paco should be done soon, so there’s no reason for us both to hang around.”
He smiled. “You know I can’t leave you here alone.”
We always followed the two manager rule. I didn’t think this one time would be too much of a problem.
“I won’t be alone. I’ll be with Paco. And you and I both know that sweet old man isn’t going to do anything to me. So go on. Get out of here. I don’t usually go to bed until noon so I’m still wide awake.” Or I would be as soon as I could get some Sia playing.
Matt didn’t seem convinced.
“I’ll walk you out, and we can see exactly how much more he has to do. Come on.” I nodded for him to follow as I headed to the door. When he didn’t, I went back to him and grabbed his arm and tugged. “Come on, you stubborn oaf.”
He groaned. But he stood up with a smile. “I’m not agreeing. We’ll check on Paco and then decide.”
“Okay. But bring your things because if he’s almost done, you’re leaving.”
He muttered something about me being bossy and reminding him of someone else he used to know while he grabbed his keys and wallet from the safe where he kept them while he worked. As soon as we walked out of the office, we heard the whir of the wax machine and found Paco just starting on the main level. He always worked top to bottom.
“See? He’s almost done. Out you go.” I walked Matt to the employee entrance to be sure he actually left and to grab a bottle of water from the extra fridge designated for the staff. As I was about to start back to the office, there was a knock on the door.
Protocol was to check the security cameras before letting anyone in, but Matt had just left. It had to be him. “Did you forget something?” I asked, as I pulled the door open.
It wasn’t Matt.
“Daddy,” I stepped back automatically, a reaction from years of training to cower in his presence. It was a mistake. I should have shut the door in his face. Now it was too late because the man who’d threatened me for as long as I could remember was already crossing the threshold.
“Gwenyth.” His grin was lopsided and dark. “Look at you. You grew up all pretty.” He was thinner than when I’d last seen him. More wrinkled. Harder. His eyes had never had any light in them, but somehow they’d now lost their color, leaving two pools of black. His dark hair was peppered with gray. He had scars. There were several on his face and neck, remnants of prison fights, I assumed. There was a particularly angry line under his right eye that extended to his jaw. I couldn’t help but cringe at it, the pain it must have inflicted obvious from its ugliness.
Serves him right.
He threw the door closed behind him but didn’t use enough force for it to latch.
I took another step back into the kitchen. My heart raced, pounding against my chest so strongly I was sure it was audible to him as well. I told myself not to panic. Not yet. Maybe he just wanted to see me. He’d be stupid to hurt me when he’d just gotten out of jail.
Not that my father had ever been very smart…
Somehow, I found my voice. “What are you doing here?”
“Now is that any way to greet your father?” He put a fist on his hip and looked around the room. “A kitchen, huh? I thought this was some sort of a music club.”
“It’s a nightclub with food service.” I wasn’t sure why I was explaining. I was trembling, my thoughts shaking as much as my body. “You aren’t supposed to be here. It’s employees only. You need to leave.”
My eyes darted everywhere. Over his shoulder at the door not quite closed—could I make it past him if I ran? Over my shoulder toward the room where Paco was—could he hear me over his equipment if I screamed?
This is all learned response, I told myself. He hasn’t threatened you. He won’t threaten you.
“Don’t worry. I won’t stay long. I only came to give you the news.”
He wasn’t the sort of person who could calm me with a “don’t worry.” I swallowed. “What news?”
“I got out!” He threw his hands up in the air in ta da pose. I jumped at the sudden gesture, which only seemed to make him grin wider.
He was playing games. Of course, he’d gotten out. He was standing in front of me, wasn’t he? It was a statement meant to throw me off-guard and make me lose my wits. It did both.
I gaped, not knowing what to say. Not knowing what he wanted me to say.
He squinted one eye and tapped a finger to his chin. “Oh, yeah, that’s right. You knew that. You told my lawyer you didn’t want to have anything to do with me when I was released. I couldn’t believe that when he told me. I had to check it out for myself.”
My gut twisted with the old familiar feeling of being in trouble. “I didn’t say that.” My voice sounded thin and unsure. I took a breath and steadied myself. “Norma just told the lawyer that we didn’t have any place for you to stay. And we don’t. It’s only a two-bedroom apartment.” That was a lie. It was three bedrooms—Ben had stayed in the third room when he’d lived with us. Now it was Norma’s office/storage room.
My father glowered. “I could have stayed on the couch. I can pretty much sleep anywhere after ten years of a prison cot.”
I bit my lip, looking for excuses. “That wouldn’t work. We have odd schedules. You’d never get any sleep out there with us going in and out. Don’t you have to be in a halfway house or something, anyway?”
He shrugged. “Only for a little while. When they let me out of there, I’ll need a place. Surely you could find a spot for me in that posh high-rise of yours.”
“It’s Norma’s apartment, Daddy. She said it wouldn’t work. You’ll have to ask her if you want her to reconsider.” I didn’t feel too bad throwing Norma under the bus. He hadn’t gotten abusive toward us kids until our mother had died, and since Norma was older then, she’d received little of it. She wasn’t under his thumb the way Ben and I were. She’d stand up just fine in a confrontation with him, unlike me.
Problem was, Daddy knew that.
“Cute. I ai
n’t gonna go talk to Norma. She’s never been fond of me. Did you know that bitch didn’t even send me a Christmas card once while I was in jail?”
His last comment was actually a dig at me. I’d sent one the first couple of years, when I still believed I might have love for him. I’d since realized that all I ever had for him was fear. Funny how those emotions could be mixed up so easily when they were nothing alike.
I dug back into my repertoire of ways to calm him. Apologize. He always liked to hear that. “I’m sorry I didn’t contact you more. It seemed like it would be easier—for both of us—to keep our distance.”
“Easier. You really believe that or are you talking shit to protect your ass?”
I wanted to say that I was trying to be nice. That I wasn’t worried about protecting my ass because I hadn’t done anything wrong.
But I was scared, and I was protecting my ass. “I did believe it, Daddy. I do believe it. Anyway, you’re out now. So everything’s good.” Just like when I was younger, I didn’t know what to say or how to say it. It felt like playing Russian roulette with words. Which one would please him? Which one would set him off?
“Yes. Everything’s good. Except now I have to get some income. The more money I make, the sooner I’m out of that place. Do you know how hard it is to find a decent job with a criminal record?”
I shook my head, afraid to speak, praying that Paco would finish up and come find me soon.
“Well, I got something.”
“Good! Congratulations!” I was too eager. My smile was too bright.
He didn’t say anything. He studied me with cold eyes.
A chill ran down my spine as I suddenly realized something. Norma hadn’t bought her condo until after he’d gone to jail. He was well aware of her address since it was the one on file for all of his next-of-kin paperwork. He must have scoped it out after his release. Or else he was guessing because of her location that it was posh, as he’d said.
But there wasn’t anything on file saying where I worked. Norma had always been very good about making sure both Ben and I remained sheltered from him, even when he was behind bars. It was to make us feel safer, she’d said. Now I realized she’d been planning ahead. Been planning for this very situation.
It was never good to question him, but I needed to know. “How did you find me anyway? Who told you I was working here?”
“My lawyer did. A while back. He happened to come in here one night and saw you working. Kudos, Gwen. Managing a big club in the city. Pretty big stuff for a poor Anders kid from Jersey. I didn’t think you had it in ya like your sister. I sure as hell know your faggot brother doesn’t have it in him.”
My jaw clenched at the mention of Ben, and for the first time since he’d moved across the country, I was glad. There wasn’t any way our father could get to him.
“Anyway.” He scratched at the collar of his button-down. “I was taking a chance when I came by today. I’m guessing you usually work at night but I can only be out in the world during daytime hours. Lucky break that I found you.”
“Yeah, lucky.” At a time of day that I was almost never at the club, on an occasion that I was the only employee in the building, on the one fucking time I didn’t look at the cameras before opening the doors. Real lucky.
“Look,” I said, feigning control, “I have to get back to my work. My boss is going to come looking for me soon. So you need to go.”
He ignored my bluff, either not believing me or not caring. “It’s not gonna cut it, Gwen. My job. It will take a long time to get out of that house and into a place of my own with the kind of wage they offered. And I can’t stay there that long. You don’t know what that place is like.”
“I can’t let you stay at our place, Daddy. I told you, it’s—”
“Up to Norma,” he finished with me. “Then let’s see. If that’s not going to work, maybe we can discuss some other ways you can help me.” With eyes half closed, he rubbed his neck, his long hair shaking as he did, reminding me of a dog scratching at an itch. “How about you just give me the cash directly?”
Yes. He was a total dog.
“H-how much?” I stuttered as my fear neared its threshold. He was setting me up to have to say no to him, and I tried never to say no to him.
“Hmm.” He looked at the clothes I was wearing, my shoes. They weren’t Bergdorf Goodman quality, but with Norma paying most of my bills, I was able to splurge on a few nice things. I felt guilty now as I remembered the kind of life we’d had growing up. My shoes could have paid for groceries for a month.
So I shouldn’t have been surprised when he named his amount. “Twenty-five thousand ought to do it.”
“I don’t have that kind of money.” My words came out breathy and thin. He hated any response to a request that wasn’t yes, sir.
“Come on. With that pretty building you girls are living in? I’m betting twenty-five k doesn’t even cover half a year’s rent in that place. You can’t spare six month’s rent to help your old man get out of the hellhole he shares with a bunch of filthy addicts?”
“It’s not me who has the money. I told you. It’s Norma. I barely make enough to contribute to the utilities.” More lies. More pointing at Norma. She’d take care of him, though. She’d know what to say to make him back down, while I…just…didn’t.
He made a clicking sound in the back of his throat that was more menacing than it should have been. “You can get it. I know you can.”
I shook my head fervently. “I can’t.”
“Ask Norma for it.” He came toward me as he spoke. “She’ll give it to you. Do it for your dear old dad. To make up for all that time you didn’t do shit for him.” With each step he took, I took one backwards until I was up against the stainless steel worktable with nowhere else to go.
I braced my hands on the hard surface behind me and quickly tried to plan my next move. If I told him that I’d get it, would he go? And then what? Would I have to give him the money? Would I have to go into hiding? He couldn’t be charged with anything. Growing up, we’d had home visits from the cops and social services a couple of times, and my father had made sure we showed them what he wanted them to see—food on the table, toys in the house. He was always able to cover up his crimes. Especially when half of them were merely mental games. Games that didn’t leave marks or bruises.
This was that type of game. If I didn’t give him the money, he’d hurt me. I had no doubt of that. It would be nice to believe he’d changed over the years—I had—but prison never softened anyone. If anything, he was probably harder. I wondered if he hit harder too. If he hit me, if he physically touched me, the law would step in. It was too much to hope it would be enough to put him back behind bars, but was getting smacked around worth it to get a restraining order?
It was. But I didn’t think I could provoke him like that on purpose. It went against a lifetime of training. I obeyed. I tried not to get hit.
Except…
Something triggered in me. Something besides fear. Rage. Because how dare he? How dare he come into my work, my life, and demand compensation for the time he spent in jail because he’d beaten his children? How dare he have beaten us in the first place? It had taken years to let go of the constant ball of worry in my stomach and even longer to gain any sort of confidence. How dare he take it from me now?
“Well?” He took another step toward me. We were less than an arm’s length away now.
Gathering every bit of strength I could muster—more than I knew I had—I straightened my back and said, “No.”
“What did you say?”
“I said no. I’m not going to get you the money. Not because I don’t think Norma will give it to me, but because I don’t want to. It’s not yours. We don’t owe it to you. I don’t owe you anything.”
Smack. The back of his hand across my cheek. I heard the distinct sound of it before I registered the burn, the shrieking pain. I’d half expected it and yet, as his knuckles made contact with my bone,
it stunned me, stole my breath, sent green specks across my field of vision.
I gasped, raising my palm to my face, as if that could stop my skin from stinging. As if it could protect me from another strike.
“You fucking bitch. You’ve always been so fucking ungrateful.” He lifted his hand again, and I closed my eyes, bracing myself for the next one.
It never came.
“Don’t you fucking lay a hand on her!”
At the sound of JC’s voice, my eyes flew open. He must have come in the unlatched door. Now he was behind my father and gripping his forearms, pulling him away from me. They were similar in height, but where JC was fit and trim, my father was bulky and buff. It wasn’t a fair fight. My father could crush him.
“What the—?” Dad was as surprised as I was to find we had a guest. “Get your hands off me,” he said, shrugging out of JC’s grasp.
JC rushed to me. “Gwen, are you all right?”
“I think so.” Now that you’re here, yes.
He wrapped an arm around me but didn’t pull me too close, tilting my chin up to examine my face. I could tell by the way he cringed that I was already bruising.
“Jesus, did he do that?” JC’s eyes grew dark and hard even before I nodded. He turned back to my father, his arm pulled back to punch.
That’s when I saw the knife.
“No!” I grabbed JC’s arm, stopping him before he hit. “He has a knife.”
He followed my glance to see the knife in my father’s hand. It was a rusty old pocketknife. Something he’d probably bought on the street. I doubted he was allowed to have weapons in his house. It would just be another thing I’d report to the police later.
JC stepped forward, blocking me. Protecting me. “What do you want from her?” I clutched onto the back of his shirt, and he wrapped an arm behind him to pull me in closer. It made me feel exactly the way I’d always thought a parent should make you feel—the way my father never made me feel. Warm, fiercely guarded, defiantly loved.
The man who’d donated his DNA to my existence looked past JC, his eyes landing directly on mine. “Gwen knows what I want.”
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