Down to You (The Bad Boys #1)(36)
Author: M. Leighton

“But Dad, I don’t—”

“I know you, Olivia Renee. I raised you. I know what you’re planning and how you think. And I’m asking you not to do this. Just leave me be in this life. There’s something different out there for you. Something better.”

“Dad, I love these sheep and this farm. You know that.”

“I’m not saying you don’t. And we’ll always be here for you to come visit. And one day, when I’m gone, this will all be yours, to do with as you like. But for now, it’s mine. My problem, my life, my worry. Not yours. Your worry is to graduate and get a good job so you can buy your old man out ten times over. Then maybe I’ll think about letting you come back home. How’s that sound?”

I know what he’s doing, what he’s getting at. And I understand it. I understand guilt. But when I nod my head and smile in agreement, it’s only for his benefit. What he doesn’t know is that I will never leave him like she did. Never. I’ll never choose a cushy life of means over the people I love. Never.

“Now, since you’re already here, I have a favor. Well, two actually.”

“Name it.”

“I’ve got all the fixin’s for chuckwagon beans. Will you put some on for supper?”

“They’re your favorite. Of course I will.”

“Good girl.”

He smiles at me for a few seconds then turns his attention back to the show he was watching on television.

“Dad?”

“Huh?” he asks, looking back at me, eyebrows raised.

“What was the second favor?”

He frowns for a second then his face lights up. “Oh! Oh, right. Ginger and Tad are wanting you to come by tonight for your belated farewell party.”

I start shaking my head. “I’m not leaving you to go to a—”

“Yes, you are. The game comes on tonight. I’d like to watch it in peace while you have some laughs with your friends. Is that too much for a wounded old man to ask of his daughter?”

I snort. “Like I’m gonna say no after you put it that way.”

Again, I know what he’s doing. And why. But I’ll go along with this one, only because I know how much he loves football and he genuinely probably wants to watch it by himself, without me fussing about his blood pressure when he gets all worked up and yells at the screen.

His smile is satisfied when he turns back to the television a second time. This time, I leave him to go start supper.

********

A series of whistles greet me as I walk through the door at Tad’s, making me tug self-consciously at my skirt. That’s the bad thing about not having time to pack a bag. It leaves me stuck with the clothes in my closet at home, clothes I outgrew a couple years ago.

My black skirt is shorter than I’d like and the t-shirt I’m wearing with it is a bit more…form-fitting than it needs to be, not to mention I don’t ever remember it showing so much belly. If I weren’t an adult, Dad probably wouldn’t have let me leave the house until I changed. Unfortunately, yoga pants or cut-off jean shorts with paint on them were my only other options, so short skirt and tight shirt it is.

It doesn’t take me long to settle into the comfort of the familiar. Drinks flow freely and there’s more of a party atmosphere than usual. It’s not long before my head is spinning happily, warning me I need to slow down on the drinks.

I’m laughing with Ginger, who took the shift off to sit on the other side of the bar with me tonight, when I see the door open behind her. My heart squeezes painfully when I see my ex, Gabe, walk in with his girlfriend, Tina, on his arm.

He looks the same as always—dangerously handsome with his jet black hair, pale blue eyes and cocky, to-die-for smile. He even has the same issues as before—a girl on his arm and a wandering eye. He doesn’t even try to hide the fact that he’s checking out other girls. And Tina, God love her, she just pretends not to notice. Talk about dysfunction!

Ginger, having noticed my silent, open-mouthed stare, turns to look. “Oh sweet heaven, who let that bastard in?”

She turns and starts to slide off her stool as if to rectify the situation. Reaching out, I put my hand on her arm, stopping her from getting up. “Don’t. It’s not worth it.”

Actually, I’d love to see her kick his ass out, but it would only make me look more pathetic, so I’d rather just drink enough to drown him out of my consciousness.

I signal Tad, who is working a rare shift behind the bar tonight to cover for Ginger’s absence, and ask him to bring us another round of shots. That’s the fastest way to oblivion as far as I’m concerned. And oblivion is looking very appealing at the moment.

Ginger and I toast one another and down the shots. I feel the burn of eighty proof all the way to my stomach where it kindles a warm fire. She whoops excitedly and I laugh at her, but my eyes can’t help but stray back out to the crowd in search of Gabe.

When they find him, he’s sitting down at a tall table. Despite the girl at his side, his eyes find me. In them, there’s recognition. And hunger, just like there always was. And I react instantly, just like I always did. Only now, the reaction dies almost immediately, the flames doused by the cold waters of reality and how he’s here tonight with Tina rather than with me.

I’d listened to his lies for months, falling more deeply in love with him by the day, when all the while, he’d had a girlfriend he’d never had any intention of leaving. The worst part was, they have a son together. They were basically a family. And even though they’d never actually split, he’d made me feel like a homewrecker. He’d made me feel like my mother. And for that, he doesn’t deserve my forgiveness.

I try to enjoy the rest of the night, enjoy a farewell gathering with my old friends and coworkers, but my mood continues to darken. Every drink and every laugh seems tainted, tainted by the presence of the umpteenth bad boy I’d fallen for.

Ginger orders us another round of shots, which I gladly accept even though I know I’m pushing my limit, and we toss them back amid the cheers of our friends. The alcohol is just starting to burn off my bitterness when someone at the door catches my attention again.

This time, Cash strolls in.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR – Cash

I’m not surprised by anything I see when I walk into the sports bar. It’s typical, with its dozen or so televisions lining the walls and a collection of tables in the center of the room facing them. The bar is to my right followed by four pool tables, crouching under long Budweiser lights. Beyond those is a small dance floor.