Page 79 of Blackbeard
I returned to my Jeep and pulled off my wig, driving through town on autopilot. Had I expected that visit to go any differently? Did I think my father would be understanding and forgiving that I had turned against him?
When I stepped into Blackbeard’s house, I let my purse slide off my shoulder and fall to the floor.
“Is that you, princess?”
The sizzle of cooking food emanated from the kitchen. A spicy scent lingered in the air—cayenne, meat, and black pepper. My chest tightened. It smelled like a home, with dinner on the stove, and someone I loved, calling for me from another room.
Blackbeard rounded the corner, carrying a plate of steak fajitas with a side of pico de gallo, and cilantro rice. He screeched to a stop when he spotted me standing there, frozen in place as tears streamed down my face.
“He wouldn’t talk to me,” I whispered.
“Who?” he asked, bewildered.
“Dad. I visited him. At the police station. I just wanted…”
I didn’t know what I wanted. To see him one last time? To explain why I did it? To justify my reason for betraying my ownfather? Did I really think he would ever understand, let alone accept what I’d done?
Blackbeard set the plate on the end table by the door and wrapped his arms around me. He cradled the back of my head in his palm, tucking my face into his shoulder so tenderly. And I sobbed, dry heaving through the grief that had settled in my belly for days.
It took three months before the Blackjacks allowed me to set foot in their clubhouse again. And only to serve drinks for a few hours on the weekend.
Baby Doll slid onto a bar stool and propped her elbows on the counter.
“So,” she said. “I think it’s time we had that talk.”
“What talk?” I asked.
“The one where I threaten to break your kneecaps if you break Diego’s heart,” she said brightly.
I stifled a sigh and busied myself wiping down the counter. This was part of the deal. Blackbeard had warned me. People weren’t going to trust me easily for a long time.
“Since he’s my best friend,” Baby Doll continued. “It’s my duty to say these things.”
“I understand,” I said.
A diplomatic answer with no heat or sarcasm to it. I wasn’t interested in picking any fights tonight or getting a rise out of anyone. I promised Blackbeard I would be on my best behavior and I intended to keep that promise.
Baby Doll leaned over the counter with a sparkle in her eye.
“It’s also my duty to show you embarrassing pictures of him that I keep stashed on my phone for blackmail purposes. Wanna see?”
She held up her phone. An olive branch—an offer to bond and forget the past in favor of building a better future.
“Hell yeah, I do,” I said, immediately dropping my rag and angling my head to get a look.
Five minutes later, Baby Doll and I were trying—and failing—to smother our laughter.
Seated on the other side of the room, Blackbeard had been preoccupied for the past hour with a poker game. But he lifted his head now with a suspicious look.
“What are you girls talking about over there?”
“Nothing, dear,” I called back. I pointed at Baby Doll’s phone screen. “What’s the story behind this one?”
A shirtless Blackbeard, about ten or fifteen years younger than he was now. Very drunk, sweaty, the tendons in his neck straining and his hair hanging loose. Was he…singing?
“Tequila and karaoke,” Baby Doll said. “Celine Dion is his kryptonite.”
“Goddamn it, Lillian,” Blackbeard growled, shoving to his feet. “I told you to delete that picture.”
