Page 46 of Backed By You
The waitress, a woman in her fifties with kind eyes and greying hair pulled back in a low ponytail, scribbles on her notepad. “And for you, honey?”
I glance at the menu one more time, though I haven’t been reading it. My mind keeps drifting to the way Beau reacted when I called him my landlord, the deliberate distance he put between us afterward. “I’ll have the same, please.”
“Two lumberjacks coming right up.” She collects our menus with practiced efficiency. “Coffee’s fresh if you want a refill.”
“Please,” Dad says, sliding his mug toward the edge of the table.
She tops off our cups and heads toward the kitchen, leaving us alone in the corner booth of Murphy’s Diner. The morning rush has died down, and only a few patrons occupy the scattered tables. Somewhere behind the counter, bacon sizzles on the grill, mingling with the scent of coffee and maple syrup.
I wrap my hands around my mug, using the warmth to steady myself. Dad studies me across the table, taking in details I wish he wouldn’t. Like the fact I clearly wasn’t expecting company this morning. And how Beau was there.
“Hulk seems to be handling his injury well,” he says, dumping another cream into his coffee.
“The pain meds are helping.”
Dad nods. “And you? I notice there isn’t any swelling around your stitches and you’re faring well enough with the walking boot.”
Is that why he’s here?“I appreciate your concern, but you didn’t need to come all the way out here to check on me. I’m fine, Dad.”
He takes a sip of his coffee, eyeing me over the rim. “I’m glad to see it for myself,” he says. “Though I admit, I was also interested to finally see this town you ran off to.”
There it is. The subtle dig about me ‘running away’ from California when things got too hard. I bite back my knee-jerk response and force myself to stay calm. “I didn’t run off anywhere. I made a choice.”
He doesn’t argue, but his demeanor speaks volumes. “Well, regardless of why you’re here, you seem healthy. Relaxed.”
The waitress appears with our plates, setting down heaping portions of breakfast staples. The pancakes are the size of dinner plates, stacked three high, with eggs, bacon, and sausage crowding the rest of the space. Hash browns spill over onto a separate plate.
“Anything else I can get you folks?” she asks.
A doggy bag, for sure.
“We’re set. Thank you,” Dad says, reaching for the syrup.
We eat in relative silence for a while, the comfortable kind that comes from years of shared meals. Dad eats with methodical efficiency while I pick at mine.
When he’s about halfway through, he sets his fork down. “So, about the premiere.”
My stomach drops. “What about it?”
“Well, with Hulk being laid up and all, I’ve arranged for someone to escort you,” he says casually, like we’re discussing the weather.
“You’ve arranged…” I set down my fork and sigh. “Dad, I don’t need an escort.” I do, but it certainly won’t be anyone my father chooses. Or god forbid, works with.
“You’re not fooling anyone, Cal. You can’t go alone. And I understand how important this premiere is to you. Not that I’ve ever understood the draw of horror films, what with the everyday horrors one can simply witness on the street.” He takes another bite of pancakes as if he didn’t just insult my career path. It wouldn’t be the first time. “Deputy White is a good choice. Nice boy who can handle any security concerns.”
Justin White. Of course, it’s him. The overeager deputy who my father’s become ‘buddy-buddy’ with that he’s been sending out to ‘check in’ on me whenever he deems necessary. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
“He’s responsible, respectful. He can protect you if needed.” Dad’s voice takes on that no-nonsense tone I remember from childhood. “And let’s face it, Cal. Hulk isn’t going to be around forever.”
The casual way he says it hits me like a slap. I gape at him. “How can you say that?”
“It’s the truth. Hulk’s getting older—”
“He’sfive.”
“—you can’t rely on him for everything.” He leans back in the booth, crossing his arms. “It’s time you started thinking about finding someone who can be there for you long-term.”
I stare at him, appalled. “Are youseriouslytrying to set me up right now?” Of all the people in my life—the very few of them—my father is thelastperson I would expect to pull something like this.
