Page 141 of Legally Yours
My father stiffened slightly, and the paper in his hands crinkled under a strained grip, but otherwise, he didn’t change his expression.
“He came into the club last week, but he didn’t talk to me,” he said quietly. His good hand went reflexively to cradle the bad against his chest. “To be honest, kid, I just got out of there as soon as I saw him.”
I searched his face for something that might reveal anything he wasn’t telling me. Something like Messina knew who his daughter’s boyfriend was and was looking to shake us down. But there was nothing but a father’s love and concern.
I exhaled with relief. “How was your GA group?”
Dad leaned back in his chair with a rueful chuckle. “You’re a shit liar, kid, just like your old man. The group’s all right. I’ll keep going. It’s interesting to meet people going through the same stuff, I guess.”
I nodded. At this point, I didn’t care why he was going, so long as he was.
“Good,” I said as I stood up and cleared our empty dishes to the sink. Then I walked back to where Dad sat and wrapped my arms around his shoulders, leaning down to rest my chin on his collarbone. “Love you, old man.”
He was quiet for a moment, then reached up with his good hand to squeeze my wrist. “Right back at you, kid.” His smile made the thin skin at the edges of his eyelids crinkle. “The Mets game is on. Do you want to watch?”
I stood up and shook my head. “No, I have to get ready. I’ll probably just pack up and take the train into the city, see if I can catch an earlier bus.”
With a nod and a squeeze to my shoulder, Dad shuffled out of the kitchen, and I suddenly felt like I could breathe a little bit easier. Maybe I’d been running away, but coming home had definitely been the right decision.
I pulled my phone out of my back pocket and turned it on. Another text message had arrived.
Brandon: Skylar, I deserve an explanation. Please. I’m begging u.
A few seconds later, another appeared.
Brandon: Don’t make me come down there.
I sighed. The jig was up; I knew it wouldn’t take him long to figure out where I was. It was time to deal with reality.
I started up the stairs, pulled up Brandon’s number, and pressed dial.
“Skylar?” His answer was frantic and abrupt, right after the first ring.
“Hey,” I said softly as I started the ascent to the attic.
“Skylar, Jesus Christ, are you okay?”
“Yeah, yeah, I’m sorry I didn’t call sooner. I’m fine. I’m in New York.”
“Did something happen? Is your dad okay? Your roommate wouldn’t tell me a goddamn thing, just that you weren’t coming back. What the hell is going on?”
“Brandon, I—”
I paused on the rickety wooden steps, unsure how to proceed.
“I want to hear you say it, Red.” Brandon spoke softly, even a bit dangerously. “If you’re doing what I think you’re doing, you should at least have the guts to say it to me straight. If not in person, then right now.”
I sighed again. Victor Messina, Victor Messina. I chanted the name over and over to myself until a ball of red rage burned steadily inside me. I thought of the bruises on my dad’s face, the look of his limp, frail body in the hospital bed. I remembered the shrill hysteria in Bubbe’s voice when her only son was in the hospital. The looming question of whether or not he would ever make music again.
And for some reason, Brandon was giving money to the guy who did this to my family and hid it. It was obviously out of some kind of misplaced gallantry, but I couldn’t be involved either way.
“It’s over,” I bit out.
The stairs protested loudly as I jogged the rest of the way to my room. I slammed the door and collapsed onto the bed, inhaling the faint scent of lavender fabric softener. I could do this. I could.
“What? Why?” Brandon’s voice was sharp, biting through the scratchy cell phone service.
“I just…” I paused, thinking about how to say this without actually having to say it. If he really was in league with Messina and for some reason it wasn’t above board, then chances were, I shouldn’t know about it. “It’s too much. Miranda. The whole divorce. The lies. I’m twenty-six, Brandon. I can’t deal with all of that, and I shouldn’t have to. It’s not worth the trouble.”