Page 83 of Saving the Last Heir
“Where the hell is your walker?” I asked.
Dad turned to look at me, taken aback. “Well, hello to you too.”
“Sorry,” I said, rubbing my temple. “I’m worried you’ll fall down or hurt yourself without it.” I glanced out the window. “I’m guessing you didn’t take the medical transport here, either?”
Dad looked down at his feet, which was all the answer I needed.
“You drove,” I said—not a question but a statement.
“I did. Now, lay off me.” He gave an exasperated shake of his head. “What is the matter with you? You’ve been awfully short with me the last few days.”
Jackson and I shared a look. We’d decided to keep Dad out of the loop—it was better if the fewest people possible knew what was happening. It pained me to hide things from my father, butit was for his own safety. Honestly, it was almost too far having Christian involved, but weneededhim for this plan to work.
“I don’t mean to be,” I said, easing my tone. “We’ve, uh, got something big we’re working on.”
“Yeah,” Jackson said, twisting the top off a water bottle. “Really important and stressful. That’s all. You want a drink, Marquel?” he added, offering my father a different bottle.
“No,” Dad said slowly, eyeing him with that shrewd expression he sometimes got when he’d been haggling with parts suppliers for a better discount. Finally, he said, “You haven’t gotten Shyanne pregnant have you?”
Jackson coughed, spraying a fan of water across the room as he barely managed to turn away before choking. He bent over, clutching his knees as he spluttered.
I glared at my father.“Dad! What the hell?”
He shrugged and gave me a “who? me?”look. “You’re both acting weird and stressed. I figured it was a justified question.”
“No,” I said through gritted teeth. “I amnotpregnant.”
“All right, all right,” he said, patting the air with his hand as if to calm me down. “It was just a question.”
“Which has been answered,” I said.
Jackson wiped his mouth and tried to change the subject. “So, what brings you by?”
“I was on the way to my doctor and thought I’d pop in.” Dad glanced wistfully around at the garage. “I wanted to see how things were going.”
My irritation at him faded into sadness. He hadn’t retired early because he’d wanted to—his body had simply given out on him. He still loved cars and missed the camaraderie of the shop environment. He’d stop by like this once or twice a week and joke around with the guys before hobbling back home. I knew it ate him up inside, and no amount ofLoteriaor dominos clubs could make up for the loss of this place. Each time he came, everything his body had cost him was only reinforced.
“You can hang out longer if you want,” I offered.
“Nah.” He waved me off. “I’ve got an appointment. I should get going.”
“Let me walk you out,” Jackson offered.
“I’m fine, son, but thank you.” Dad eyed the both of us once more. “There’ssomethinggoing on here. You two are acting strange.”
“It’s not a baby,” I said dully.
“Sure,” Dad said, still looking at us as though we were a puzzle he was trying to solve. “But there’s…something.”
“Okay,Sherlock. I love you. Have a good afternoon.” I hugged him and planted a kiss on his cheek.
After Dad left, Jackson shot me a guilty look. “I didn’t realize we’d been acting strange.”
I had. How could anyonenotact strange with what we were planning? Our lives and the lives of two children rested on whether or not our plan worked. If I was the only one at risk, I’d have been nervous but not as terrified as I was knowing other lives were relying on me. We’d been working on this for over aweek, and as the day grew nearer, the anxiety continued to crank up, sending my blood pressure through the roof.
Jackson turned to the shop. My seven employees—three full-time and four part-timers—were hard at work. “Who’s hungry?” he called, raising his voice above the clamor.
At the mention of food, every head turned in his direction and a faint cheer erupted.
