Spinning Out(The Blackhawk Boy #1)(51)

Footsteps sound down the hall. Boom. Boom. Boom. "What the fuck are you doing in my house, Mendez?"

My dad's home.

"You think you can come into my house wielding a gun like some kind of maniac?"

I hold my breath. Dad steps forward and pulls the gun from the man's hand as if it were nothing more than a toy.

"Get out," Dad says. "Before I call the cops."

"I hate you." Mia's father shakes and spits the words. His face blooms red. "I hate you so much."

"I know you do," Dad says. "But it doesn't give you the right to bring a  gun into my house. If you'd like, we can have the authorities weigh in  on that. But I think you'd rather they not know you were here this  morning. I think, given your track record of drunk and disorderlies,  you'd rather they not know you broke into my house and put a gun in my  son's face."

"You seduced my wife and stole my daughter."

Uriah clicks the safety on the gun and folds his arms. "You tell  yourself whatever you need to, old man. But maybe your daughter's just  trying to keep your lights on, keep you fed. Maybe she's here because  somebody has to make money so that you-piece of shit-don't wither away  and die. Maybe she's just trying to pay her way through school so she  has a fighting chance at a life better than the one you'd have her  lead."

I didn't give Dad enough credit. I figured he had no idea what her  reality was, but he's known all along. He's never as clueless as he lets  on.

"And I'm not speaking to you about Isabella," Dad says, referring to Mia's mother. "Get out of here, Mendez."

"Gimme my gun back."

My father laughs. "You think I'm an idiot? Now go."

With one last look at Mia, and betrayal all over his face, her father  turns and walks out the door, and we all hold our breath. We listen to  his slow, heavy tread as he makes his way down the stairs.                       
       
           



       

Mia stares at my father. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry." She grabs a pair of  jeans off the floor. "I'll take him home. I'm so sorry," she says as she  rushes out the door.

I start to follow, and Dad grabs my arm. "House arrest, remember, son?"

"Mia!" I call, and I hate how trapped I feel. I should be with her while  she talks to her father. I should talk to him myself. But what would I  say? I'm in love with your daughter, and by the way, I killed your son.

She stops in the doorway. "It's okay. I'll be fine."

All I can do is watch her leave. I listen to her steps down the stairs and then the click of the front door.

"I thought you were in Louisville," I say, without turning to my father.

"I came home for a quick meeting this morning," he says. "Why wasn't the  alarm system on? Did you even lock the fucking door? How did that man  get in here?"

I straighten. Dad and I don't talk. Not to each other. We talk around  each other, about each other, but I feel like he hasn't looked at me  since he joined us at the hospital on New Year's Day. But he's looking  at me now, and there's disgust all over his face. I'm in nothing but my  boxer briefs, and I feel exposed.

"It's my fault," I say.

"And you being in Mia's bed this morning? Is that your fault, too?" When  I open my mouth to answer, he holds up a hand. "And her sleeping in  your bed before? Is that your fault, too?" He drags a hand through his  hair and exhales heavily. "Jesus, it's a good thing Gwen isn't here.  She'd lose her mind."

"I'm sorry I didn't lock the door. Please don't blame this on Mia."  Don't fire her. Don't take her from me. God, I want to beg it. But it's  selfish, and when I tell Mia the truth, she's not going to want to be  here anyway.

He sighs. "She does her job and she's good at it, so I haven't said anything, but he was your best friend. Did you forget that?"

I back up a step. "Don't pretend you know what we're going through."

He narrows his eyes and points a finger at me. "You think you're the only one who's ever lost someone they loved?"

"I think Mom was dying in your bed and you were fucking around with  Mia's mom." It's the first time I've admitted that I know, but he  doesn't look surprised, only resigned.

"It's not the same," he says, his jaw hard.

"How? Mom wasn't even dead, and you were screwing someone else."

Now he's the one to take a step back, and his face softens. "It's lonely  to watch the woman you love die. It makes you feel helpless. Powerless.  But Isabella Mendez made me feel like a man again when that was what I  needed most. She comforted me. But I'm guessing you know all about a  beautiful Mendez woman giving you just what you need."

"It's not like that with Mia."

"You've been sleeping with her."

"But it's not just sex." I swallow hard. "I love her. I've loved her . . ." I drop my head and stare at my bare feet. "Always."

"And you think I didn't care about Isabella? That I'm just an old  asshole who fucks around on his dying wife? Sometimes we love the people  we shouldn't exactly when we shouldn't." He tilts his face to the  ceiling and draws in a long breath. I've never seen him like this.  Vulnerable. Human.

"Then how is your story so much more forgivable than mine?" I ask, and  when the question slips from my lips I realize just how much his  reaction to the last few months hurt me, just how much I needed him to  swoop in like a worried father and not judge like a disappointed  employer.

He steps forward and places a big hand on my shoulder. "Because you're  better than me. Don't you get that? I was lonely and grieving for a  woman who was still breathing. I'm not proud of what I did, but you're  better than me. You're not the one who does drugs or gets in trouble and  needs his dad to call in favors to keep him out of prison. You've  always earned what you had. Proven yourself. I didn't know what to do  with a son who couldn't handle grief when I could never handle it  either."

I close my eyes and focus on the weight of my dad's hand on my shoulder.  The day of my mother's funeral, I stood by his side as people walked by  to pay their respects, and he kept his hand on my shoulder. It grounded  me. Reminded me I hadn't lost my whole family. His quiet sign of  strength helped me find mine, and it does the same now.                       
       
           



       

When I open my eyes and meet his steady gaze, I say, "I was driving the car that hit Brogan and Nicholas Mendez."

The blood drains from my father's face. "Don't say that."

"I was driving the car. I don't remember it. Not at all. But Coach found  me in the front seat of his SUV after midnight. There was damage to the  front. He'd seen the news so he put two and two together." Dad stumbles  back, and I take a breath. "He covered it up. He was trying to protect  me, but I couldn't live with myself."

Dad shakes his head. "Don't say that out loud again. You understand? Never say it again. Don't speak of it."

I can't make that promise now. I never should have made it the first time. "I'm so sorry."

"Who knows?" he asks, and I feel like I'm watching him age before my  eyes. He seems to shrink into himself, the wrinkles around his mouth and  eyes suddenly more prominent.

"Trish was in the car. She remembers it. And then Coach knows. He was  trying to protect me, but I hate that he did." I take a breath. It feels  so damn good to have said it aloud. "I wish he hadn't."

"Mia?" he asks.

I shake my head, and guilt knifes through my gut. I made love to her  before she knew the truth. I need to tell her. I have to find a way.

Dad's phone buzzes, and he curses when he looks at it. "I'm late for my  meeting, and then Gwen will cut off my balls if I don't get back to our  suite." He slides his phone back into his pocket and his shoulders sag.  "But I can stay if you want me to. I'll get out of the meeting, make up  some excuse for Gwen."

"No. Go on. I need to think anyway."

"Promise me you won't do anything rash," he says, and when I just look  at him, he adds, "At least not until after we have a chance to talk this  out together. I lost your mom." His voice grows thick and weakens until  he has to swallow to finish. "I can't lose you, too."

I nod. "Then we have to find a way to make this right."





Dad's silent on the drive back to his trailer. He took a cab to the  Woodisons'-thank God for that moment of good judgment. Since I met  Arrow, I feared the day my father would learn how I felt for him. I let  that fear dictate my choices, and now that it's happened in one of the  most mortifying scenarios imaginable, I'm ashamed I let it rule me for  so long. But more than that, I'm ashamed I've passively accepted my  father's addiction.