Page 31

What do I do with that when there’s no playbook?
I have to write new rules on the fly.
“Dad? Can I go now?” Colt swings in front of me, freshly showered and changed into a pair of jeans and aBreaking Badshirt that sticks to his wet body. His hair sticks up in spikes.
“On one condition.” I hold up a finger. “You promise to check in, and you do it religiously. If you step one foot outside Uncle Pat’s place, or I find out you had Evans or whoever over, you’ll be grounded until you’re old enough to drive. I’m not playing, you hear?”
“Okay, okay! Jeez.” He rolls his eyes, but I’m still waiting. “Yes, Dad. Got it. Read you loud and clear.”
“Good. C’mon then, little man.” I haul myself up off the sofa, but as I’m about to leave to drive him over, I check my phone and see I’ve missed a call.
From Rina.
Fucking Rina.
My ex-wife. Colt’s joke of a mother. A ghost I’ve barely thought about in years.
She usually never gets in touch outside Christmas except during her vacations, one of the few times her guilt starts eating her bad enough to give a shit about Colt.
“Hey, Dad?” Colt hovers by the door, looking like he’s going to fall through it as he glances back at me. “You coming or…?”
“On my way.” I swipe the missed call notification away and follow him to the garage.
I do my best to banish Rina from my mind, but she keeps creeping back in.
What the hell could she want?
I can deal with her later.
This week seems determined to massacre my hopes for peace and quiet.
Between my ex-wife and Winnie, the drama wheel feels like a steamroller, ready to grind me under.
5
BEE HAPPY (WINNIE)
Once, I ripped off a nail.
We’re talking my entire nail, gone just like that, all thanks to catching my finger in a door.
It hurt like Hades, the worst pain I’ve ever experienced. I went to the hospital, only for them to tell me there was nothing they could do except hand out antibiotics to keep it from getting infected.
Eventually, a new nail grew back.
For a while, it was just this ugly bruised nail bed that throbbed every time I moved my hand.
I vowed I’d never do something so stupid again, and so far, I haven’t.
But right now, I swear to God, I would rather rip offevery single oneof my fingernails than take my phone out of airplane mode.
I gnaw at a hangnail as bad habit takes over, staring at the stupid black screen, considering my options. Which are basically zilch, not after Dad forced my hand by calling Archer’s company, demanding answers.
I grit my teeth, swallowing thickly as I stare at my reflection.
Okay, let’s do this.
I tap the icon to resume service and let ten thousand notifications appear, pinging like a choir.