Page 75 of Up in Smoke

“Well . . . Not sure, honestly. There’s a guy at the gate asking for you,” Gage says.

“What?” My brows draw together. “Right now? Who is it?”

“If I knew who it was, I wouldn’t be calling you, would I? I couldn’t understand most of what he said. Older guy. Maybe early fifties? He mentioned your full name. Like, yourlegalname.”

Not many people other than Gage know it. He wouldn’t be able to pay me if he didn’t have my social security number and government name. I don’t intentionally keep it a secret from anyone, and if they cared to know, I wouldn’t lie.

But if the guy at the gate isn’t calling me Tripp, I have a gut feeling I know who it might be. I grab my glass of water and move to put it in the dishwasher. I’m too distracted though, and it crashes to the ground in one hundred shards of crystal.

“Shit.”

“You good?” Gage asks.

“Yeah, just—buzz him in, will you? I think it might be my dad.”

“The fuck? Seriously?”

I scratch the top of my head. “Yeah. Long story, okay? Just do it.”

“Alright,” he sighs. “Hit me up if anything shady happens. We’re at the house.”

“I doubt he’s a criminal defense attorney employed by the literal mob.”

“Right,” he laughs. “That’s what they all say.”

I hang up the phone and look at the broken glass on the floor. It takes a minute to clean up the mess because of my shakinghands. When I finally put the broom up, three knocks sound at the door.

Opening it might mean never having to wonder what he’s like anymore. It might mean getting what I’ve always wished for. It could also be someone completely different and not my biological father at all. But Anna, the private investigator who’s been helping me, warned me with a text this afternoon that he’d gotten out of his short stint in rehab. I doubt this is a coincidence.

I stare, unmoving from my spot near the pantry, until three knocks sound once again.

Louder this time. But not yet impatient.

I drag in a breath and move to the door like I’m walking through knee-deep mud. Once I grip the knob and pull, the man greets me with a smile that’s crooked and way too familiar. The musky, faint smell of cigarette smoke greets me. His black leather jacket is entirely too warm for this weather.

“Hey, kid.”

26

TRIPP

I breathethrough the sharp pangs in my chest. For a beat, we both narrow our eyes, like his words didn’t really feel right to either of us. I lean on the door. He places his hands in his pockets.

I’m not sure there’s any need for a formal introduction. I inherited the strong set to my nose and jaw from him like copy and paste, that much is clear. The resemblance makes me light-headed.

“No hotels in Westridge, can you believe that?” He shakes his head and laughs while still wearing a full grin. “Wasn’t sure this was really where you lived. Impressive place.”

He’s smaller than I imagined. Not shorter, just—worn out?

“Wow, just look at you. I always wondered if you took after me.”

So far, he’s filled the awkward gaps three times, and I have yet to say anything. I step to the side, and he takes it as his cue to walk in. The bunkhouse feels quieter now than it ever has as he drops to the recliner and I take a seat on the sectional in the living room.

Even though my heart is pounding, I keep my face neutral. He leans forward, elbows on his knees like we’re just two dudes catching up instead of two strangers linked by blood and a lifetime of radio silence.

“I wasn’t expecting . . .” I trail off with a hand in my hair.

“Thought maybe if I called beforehand, you’d talk yourself out of it. Out of seeing me.”

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