Page 42 of Absinthe Dreams
"Yes." I curl up on the sofa beside Thanos, biting my bottom lip. "Are you…how mad are you right now?"
"You think I'm mad at you, Clo?" Dad asks, genuine surprise in his voice.
"Yes. No." I huff a breath, my fingers drifting through Thanos's rough fur. "Maybe?"
"I'm not mad, sweetheart. Not at you," Dad clarifies. "I'm mad as hell at that shady bastard, and I'm worried about you. So is your mama."
"I didn't mean to worry you guys. I guess I just…worried maybe you'd blame me?"
"What the fuck?" Dad growls.
"I know," I whisper, squeezing my eyes closed. "It sounds stupid when I say it out loud."
"It isn't stupid," he says with a sigh. "I'm sure whatever he said to you probably played a hand in making you feel like you couldn't come to us with it. But he won't ever be a problem for you again, I promise you that."
Worry shoots through me. "What did you do?"
"Nothing you need to worry about, baby girl."
"Is it something you could go to prison for doing?" I press, suspicious.
His rough chuckle crackles down the line. "You know damn well that I'm not leaving my girls behind like that, Chloe. There are too goddamn many men in this world who like to look at your mother like they think they can have her. I'm not nearlystupid enough to give one of them an opportunity to steal her away."
His response sends a bolt of relief through me—the first I've felt in days, I think. I actually smile. And then laugh. "As if she'd let herself be stolen away from you, Dad."
"Not risking it, sweetheart. Especially not for a miserable prick like Donny. Let's just say that he won't have a company before the month is out. And I referred his wife to the best goddamn divorce lawyer in the state." He sounds pleased with himself. "He'll be lucky if she leaves him a pot to piss in when she's done."
"She deserves all his stuff," I mutter. After thirty years at his side, she deserves sainthood.
"He and I had a civil discussion. He knows the consequences of coming anywhere near you now."
For some reason, I do not think his idea of a civil discussion and mine are the same. I'm guessing his probably involved flying fists and a lot of threats. But he isn't in jail, and Donny would have to be an idiot to risk bothering me again now, so I'm taking the win for what it is.
"Thank you," I whisper to him, a lump in my throat.
"You don't ever have to thank me for taking care of you and your sisters, sweetheart. It's my job as your dad. And frankly, it's the best goddamn job I've ever had."
"I love you."
"I love you, too. You going to come home soon?"
"Maybe when Wyatt gets back."
"Figured as much." Dad hesitates for a long moment and then sighs. "The worst part of parenthood is realizing your babies are all grown up and need someone else more than they need you."
"I'll always need you," I protest softly.
"I know, but I also know you need Trystan more, baby girl. You always have."
"I…" I don't know what to say to that because he's right. But is this the right time to tell him that I've been in love with Trystan for most of my life? Is there a right time to tell him that the little boy he watched grow into a man stole my heart long before I even knew what that meant? I don't know, so I don't say it.
He sighs into the phone, exactly like he knows what I'm not saying. But he doesn't push. He never does.
"Your mama wants to talk to you, sweetheart."
"Okay," I whisper. "Love you."
"Love you, too."
