“Unless you faked it, I think so,” Dusty answered.
Mike chuckled again.
Then he said softly, “Right, Angel. I need to clean the proof I didn’t fake it off me and hit the sack.”
“Okay, honey.”
She was back to breathy.
She liked the idea of him jacking off while she whispered dirty shit in his ear and she liked it a lot.
Jesus, he liked that too.
“Later, darlin’,” he whispered.
“Later, gorgeous,” she whispered back.
Mike hit the button to disconnect. Then he got up, went to the bathroom and cleaned up. Then he went to his bedroom, pulled on a tee over his pajama bottoms, left his room and moved down the hall.
Clarisse’s door was closed. He opened it, shoved his head in and looked through the dark at the lumps her body caused under the covers.
He loved his girl. Definitely. He had it perfect, one of both, a boy and a girl. He’d had suspicions early he had far from perfect from their mother but she gave him perfect with their two kids.
But she’d also taught them to lie early on. This she did by taking them shopping with her and making it a game, keeping what she bought from their Dad.
Since the divorce, he’d had a variety of conversations with his kids about the fact that family didn’t lie to family. They’d need to decide in their lives how they dealt with other people and situations but a lie was a last resort and with family, it was not an option.
He knew No took this to heart. He knew this because No was a boy in high school and he’d already made a variety of f**ked up decisions that got his ass in hot water. Mostly with girls and partying. But he always called his Dad, manned up and took his punishments. And Mike made certain those punishments weren’t over the top because No had come clean.
Clarisse had always been his little informant. She’d never lied even when her mother told her to do it. She didn’t tell him about her mother’s activities because she was a tattletale or because Mike interrogated her, she just was close to her Dad. They talked and she shared not thinking she was doing anything wrong which she was right, she wasn’t. That was another frustration he had living with Audrey. He never let on that he’d learned shit from their daughter and sometimes had to go to lengths to protect Clarisse from whatever Audrey’s reaction might have been. In other words, he, too, had to lie.
But recently, shit was going down with Reesee. She seemed lost. Uncertain. Her habits had changed. She was lazier. Her grades were dipping. She was making questionable decisions. And he’d caught her in a variety of lies.
These latest, taking a call on his cell and not giving him a message were just the two recent.
His eyes went from her bed to her dark walls.
He’d noticed the night they came down that she’d lost the vampires.
She’d be fifteen next month. Fifteen was when Dusty went off the rails. They’d skirted that when they were together because the look on her face made it pretty clear she didn’t want to go there.
Even so, she was open and sharing about everything else. So she might not want to go there but he figured she would if she felt whatever she went through would help him deal with whatever his daughter was going through.
He pushed through the door, walked across the room and, using the shadows as his guide, slid the thick mass of dark blonde hair away from her face and neck and kissed his daughter’s temple.
She stirred and muttered, “Dad?”
“Yeah, honey.”
“You okay?”
“Just want my girl to know I love her.”
“Love you too,” she whispered.
“Go back to sleep.”
“’Kay.”
“’Night.”
“’Night, Daddy.”
Daddy.
She’d be okay.
Eventually.
He slid his fingers along her cheek.
Then he moved through her room, closed the door behind him, moved across the hall, opened the door to his son’s room and Layla jerked up and shot out.
Then Mike and his dog walked down the hall back to his room.
*
Saturday late afternoon…
The kids were gone, No out in his beat up car with some girl at a movie. Clarisse out with some girlfriends at the mall which would mean she’d come back flat broke with a bunch of shit she didn’t need and ask for an advance on her allowance.
This was a weekly occurrence. At first, he gave it to her. Now that she was eight weeks advanced on her allowance, he’d stopped. So she was borrowing from her brother who, to feed his music habit, had taken a paper route and did shit around the house beyond his chores to earn extra money so he usually always had it. She also hit up her mother who rarely gave it to her because she also rarely had any but even if she did, Audrey preferred to spend it on herself and not her kids.
This didn’t make Mike happy. It made Clarisse less so.
He was in track pants, a tee and a sweatshirt. He had his gym bag over his shoulder and he was trying not to trip over an always excited Layla as he walked down the stairs to get to the garage. He was three steps from the bottom when the doorbell rang.
He went to the door, looked through the peephole and saw Rhonda Holliday.
“Fuck me,” he whispered, dumping his bag by the door, unlocking it and opening it.
Her eyes came direct to him. Her face was pale. Her expression was downright haunted.
“Jesus, Rhonda, you okay?” he asked.
“I…uh…” She stopped, stared at him, tears wet her eyes and she whispered through trembling lips, “No.”
Fuck. Maybe Rhonda wasn’t one of those people who needed avoidance. Maybe Rhonda was one of the different kinds of people.
He didn’t know if that was better or worse.
Fuck.
He stepped aside and muttered, “Come in.”
She dropped her head and came in.
Layla pounced.
Mike closed the door, moved forward, grabbed his dog by her collar and guided her down the hall, inviting, “Follow me. Just gonna put her out.”
“Oh…okay,” Rhonda whispered and he felt her following him as he went down the hall to the big living room/dining room that sprawled the entire back of the house.
He took Layla directly to the backdoor, she got excited for a different reason that didn’t involve company but jumping around in snow and shot out the door the moment he opened it.
He closed it and turned to Rhonda to see her looking around.
“You want a cup of coffee or something?” he asked thinking she didn’t look like she needed coffee. She looked like she needed a shot of tequila.