Page 198 of Lost in Love

“Yes.” He smacks my shoulder and I jerk the wheel slightly at the impact. “You do.”

“No, I don’t,” I point out. “I could open the door and jump out.”

He laughs and shakes his head. “Well then, make sure you tuck and roll better than Kennedy did.”

“I will.” And then I remember I’m driving and that really wouldn’t work very well. My luck I’d run over myself with my own truck.

I sigh dramatically after two minutes. I want to know what Nathalie said, damn it.

“What did she say?”

He sighs, too. “She said Madison’s crying all the time.”

I saw Madison yesterday when I stopped by to tuck the boys into bed. I try to recall her face and the expression on it. At the time I thought maybe she was frustrated I kept showing up every night, but it wasn’t that. It was one of sadness. And then I thought, okay, well, I’m sad, so she’s probably sad too. You don’t spend eight years of your life with someone and just stop caring. I knew that much.

“Did she say anything else?”

“That Madison is probably going to come talk to you about it.” He gives me a sincere look. “I don’t think she wants it to be over.”

His words make my stomach dip and my heart pound in my ears. Part of me is angry by what he’s saying because if she didn’t want it, why’d she file for divorce? Why was nothing I did good enough these last two months?

THE DRIVETO my dad’s house in Boulder City takes us about five hours. He owns a hotel in Vegas. Not one of the nice casinos. Think like the Pink Flamingo with trashy women and disease-infested pools. That’s not really the case, but whatever. He has a big-ass mansion in the hills, and I intend on crashing it for a couple days to clear my head.

I’m assuming by now you know my father and I don’t have the greatest relationship. And your assessment would be spot on. Now, before you meet my father, his interpretation of our relationship and mine are completely different. Like Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde. Only I’m not entirely sure who’s who because we change roles a lot.

Do you see the man who looks like he’s spent the last twenty years tanning every day? Not the woman with the leather skin beside him hacking up a lung, look to the left, around her, though their skin is fairly similar. He’s the one with a white button-down shirt with his thick chest hair sticking out. He’s also smoking a cigar and wearing board shorts. Classy huh?

That’s Mike Cooper. My father. Looks can be deceiving but in this case, what you’re thinking about him is probably pretty spot on. A man who’s spent too much time beside the pool might possibly have an STD and thinks highly of himself. If you’re thinking that, then you’d be correct.

Did you ever see the movieWeekend at Bernies? My dad is exactly like Bernie Lomax.

The woman beside him disappears inside the house and he smiles when Brantley and I make it to the door, my bag on my shoulder. “I’m glad you came. Why didn’t you bring Madison and the boys?”

“They’re at home. Callan has school.”

Brantley snorts beside me. “Uh, hello? What about me?”

“I saw you last month.”

I turn to look at Brantley. “You saw him last month?”

He shrugs, appearing guilty. “I was in town?”

“Bullshit.”

“Well, I’m glad you decided to come see your old man,” my dad says, attempting to change the subject. I’m really not surprised Brantley comes to see my dad. He’s like his hero and I’ll never understand why. Probably because they both think they’re Hugh Heffner. “It’s been too long since we’ve had guy time.”

His idea and my idea of “guy time” are completely different. Believe me.

When we’re inside, he grabs his gun from the safe. “Come on, boys. Let’s go hunt some pigs.”

See what I mean? We just got here after driving five hours, and he wants us to go hunt pigs.

“Who’s that woman?” I point to Leather Lady in the kitchen.

Dad shrugs. “My housekeeper.”

More like maid he fucks on the side. My dad has never ever been faithful to one woman. I think it’s impossible for him to remain monogamous.

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