Page 97 of A Little Jaded
“I’d hardly call a two-minute run-in when you’re covered in bruises an introduction.”
With a sigh, I shift in my seat, running my tongue along the inside of my upper lip and across my teeth. I hate how he hasn’t dropped it yet. His determination to find the culprit behind the bruises Drake gifted me with. He doesn’t get it, though. Why I need him to let it go. Why I need any reminder of all things Drake to be shoved under the rug, never to see the light of day. But making assumptions and piecing together nonexistent strings, like Everett’s connection to said bruises, is a joke. And it’s one I don’t find very funny, especially if there’s any chance of my dad actuallyaccepting Everett as my boyfriend and welcoming him with open arms.
Pinning my dad with a sharp look, I say, “Let’s cut to the chase.”
His mouth twitches as he shifts on the faux leather stool. “By all means, Bo. The floor’s all yours.”
“He didn’t do it,” I announce.
“And who did?”
“Dad,” I repeat. “He. Didn’t. Do. It.”
“And. Who. Did?” my dad returns, mirroring my inflection. He isn’t mad. Not really. But it’s still infuriating.
Curtly, I offer, “It doesn’t matter. I’m fine.”
“You know, sometimes our conversations feel like I’m pulling teeth,” he points out, stating the obvious. “Who are you trying to protect?”
“I’m not trying to protect anyone.”
“Then why can’t you tell me the truth, Bo?”
Trepidation swims in my gut, and I push aside the tiny voice inside my head. The one willing me to open up to him. It likes to flare up when my dad looks at me like this. Like he cares and loves me and wants to make sure I’m safe. The funny thing is, since moving in with Everett, I’ve never felt safer.
“You want the truth, old man?” I ask.
“Before I turn eighty? Yes.”
I lean closer to him and wrinkle my nose, giving him a mock glare. “Here it is, but you won’t like it.”
“Ready whenever you are.”
“The truth is…” I pause for effect. “You need to look into cleaning out your ears because I already told you it was a bar fight?—”
His groan cuts me off. “And I already told you, I think you’re full of shit.”
I’m not surprised he doesn’t buy it. Thankfully, I alsoknow he’ll drop the interrogation after he says his peace, the same way he has at least once a week since I started working here. Even so, it still makes me want to wrap up this conversation as quickly as possible so we can move on to things like my oldest niece’s first word or what kind of chaos Dodger is stirring up while on the last leg of his tour.
I paste on a fake smile and tilt my head. “Maybe you should have a little more faith in your daughter.”
“Maybe you should have a little more faith in your old man,” he counters. “How are things?”
“Honestly?” I hesitate as I reflect on the last few weeks since Everett’s attack. He didn’t go to the cops even though I told him to. Why? Well, call it a hunch, but I think it’s because of the original promise he made to keep the cops in the dark. In fact, he’s been quite stubborn about it, even giving me shit for telling him to press charges.
“Oh, so I can call the cops about Drake, but you can’t?” he asked.
“I’m fine.”
“Yeah? Well, so am I. What’s done is done. Now, come over here and kiss me.”
I let it go after that. Not because Drake deserved to get away with jumping Everett without repercussions but because Everett deserves to have a say in the matter like I did. It also doesn’t help knowing the owner of the gas station is a huge Grizzlies fan and most likely wiped the security footage before Griffin and Reeves even arrived on the scene. It’s also probably why Drake brutally pulled the trigger in the first place. Right time, right place, and all that.
Asshole.
Even so, it’s been nice. Having Everett all to myself while he’s healing. After the incident, he had to sit out of a couple of games, much to his dismay, but it’s been kind of fun to go to them together. Okay,togetheris a bit of a stretch. He’s stillon the bench, and I’m still in the stands with Finley and Dylan, as well as Maverick and Ophelia when she doesn’t have a game. Yeah, you better believe Maverick sits front and center during every Lady Hawks game when Ophelia plays. It’s pretty adorable. But I’ve still been able to drive with Everett to the men’s games instead of separately, so I think it still counts.
The bruises have finally faded, and he doesn’t grunt when he stands from the couch anymore. Still, it hasn’t erased the image of Griffin and Reeves carrying him inside, no matter how much I wish it would. We don’t talk about it, though. The incident. Drake. Or any of the repercussions. I’m not sure there’s anything left to say at this point. Hopefully, Drake made his point, feels like he was vindicated, and it’s over. Done.