Page 192 of Cloudy With a Chance of Bad Decisions

Jesus Christ.

My phone buzzed in my pocket. My hands shook as I pulled it out, disappointed to find it wasn’t a text or call from George—even though I already knew that was impossible. Dad. Dad was calling. Right. I swiped to answer and held my phone up to show my face.

“Hey, kiddo.” Dad’s voice was a balm on my nerves.

“Hey, old man.” I smiled, but even I could tell it was wooden. After losing the watch he’d given me—and losing my Georgie—I was feeling like shit.

“You look worried.” Of course, because he was a fucking mind reader, he immediately clocked my bad mood. Didn’t matter that I was smiling, or how good I’d gotten at masking my true emotions. Dad always knew.

“I…I’m fine.Just. You know. The wedding is so soon. I’m…stressing.” I shrugged, and Dad made an unimpressed sound. “Last minute stuff. You know how it is.”

Dad didn’t buy my bullshit.

Because of course he didn’t.

“What’s really bothering you?”

“I…” I bit my lip. June and I had called him pretty much every day since we’d left him behind in Columbus. It was the only time I took away from George. He hadn’t ever minded—because of course not. He was a family guy. He got it.

Which meant…Dad knew a lot about George.

I blamed June and her big mouth. My soppy grin, I’m sure, didn’t help.

“I…” I almost broke. Almost admitted the thoughts that had been plaguing me. But then I saw the dark circles beneath my dad’s eyes. And I just…couldn’t. “Let’s talk about it later, yeah? My phone’s only got like five percent.”

“You know you can talk to me, right?” Dad frowned. His phone shifted, and I was staring at a very concerned eyebrow. “I know my accident freaked you out…but I’m still here. I’ve still got two perfectly functional ears.”

“I know.” I’d never been good at relying on him. Independent since I was young. His accident had only made that worse. The last thing I wanted to do was burden him with my bullshit.

“I don’t know if youdoknow,” Dad said, tone soft.

I laughed, but the sound wasn’t happy. “Let’s just…let’s get through the wedding, okay? That’s what’s important.”

“Alex.”

“Four percent left?—”

“You’re deflecting.”

“Learned that from you,” I replied with a smirk. Dad chuckled, but I could tell he was still worried. “Enough. Please. Can we focus on June? I’ll be there tomorrow to pick you up like I promised. We can worry about me and my drama later.”

“You carry too much, Alex. Let someone else help. Jesus. You know we all want to.” Dad’s voice was a quiet rumble. And it did help. A bit. I could admit that. “Open up?—”

“Three percent.” I scowled up at the fluffy white clouds drifting above, my heart in my throat. “You better not be working.”

“I’m not.” I could hear Dad’s eye-roll in his voice. “And even if I was?—”

“You better not be.”

“Alright, alright,” he conceded with a snort. “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

“Yep.” When I glanced back at my phone he’d figured out the camera again. My heart ached, my internal frustration uncomfortable beneath my too-tight skin. “Tomorrow.” The next smile I gave him was softer, more genuine.

It wasn’t his fault I was a fuck up. Not that he knew that. I wouldn’t let him.

“Charge your phone and call me if you want to talk,” Dad said, because he was a nosy, lovable bastard.

“Bye, Dad.”

---