Page 7 of The Road Back Home

I tug the band from the end of my braid and untwist my dark hair so it falls around my face in waves.

My lungs burn from my run, but my muscles are loose.

I feel light, weightless, as if I could jump off the nearest bridge and fly away.

Endorphins buzz through my veins, and I can’t help but smile at the group sitting at the table outside the coffeeshop.

Luci must be in charge of the music, since an old country song plays over the speakers.

The singer croons about the furniture in his house, the memories he has with the woman who left him.

I grin to myself and join the queue of people waiting for caffeine and pastries.

It takes almost ten minutes to reach the counter—the person currently at the front seems to struggle with deciding between apple and cherry danishes.

It’s a fair struggle, I have to admit. Kenny always outdoes himself.

Luci is already ringing up my order by the time I step up. “So any news on the cutie?”

“Yeah,” I say, passing over my card. “We hung out a couple days ago.”

“Aw, and you didn’t bring him by? DeeDee, I wanted to meet the cutie!”

“We mostly just hung out and watched TV.” Mostly .

Luci gives me a sharp look, and I force myself to stand still under the scrutiny.

It’s none of my friend’s business what Holden and I got up to.

Besides, it’s something I want to keep to myself, to relish the memories even while knowing it should never have happened, nor should it happen again.

Flashing an innocent smile, I move to sit down at a table while Luci continues taking orders and the new barista makes drinks as fast he can.

I breeze out of the building five minutes later, sipping my iced coffee happily. I have plans for the day, and waiting for Luci to have two seconds to chide me more for not bringing Holden by isn’t included on that list.

Parking outside Katie’s house, I cut the engine, swallow the last mouthful of coffee from my cup, and push open my car door.

The old man who lives in the equally run-down house beside my former stepsister glares at me through his window before he yanks the curtains closed.

I frown, but I know what it means. Sighing, I hurry up to the cracked sidewalk to knock on Katie’s door.

The chain lock scrapes before the door swings inward.

Katie shuffles away, and I step inside. I don’t bother closing the door behind me—I won’t be here long enough for it to matter.

Ashton shrieks when he sees me, clapping his hands together, and a wince mars Katie’s thin, pretty face.

She’s hungover, I realize bitterly, never mind the fact that if something had happened to her son at any point, she would’ve been too drunk to do a damn thing.

I want to spew the hatred that festers, but I don’t.

I bite the inside of my cheek to stem the words.

I meant what I said to Holden: Ashton is worth keeping my mouth shut.

I would rather cut my tongue out of my head before I risk losing Ashton.

So I focus on gathering the diaper bag. Katie is no help, halfheartedly holding clothes out only to let them drop to the floor a second later.

I watch her shuffle down the short hall.

The click of her door is nearly inaudible under Ashton’s chattering.

After changing his diaper, I dress him in the least-stained outfit I can find, then I heft him up into my arms. The diaper bag strap goes over my other shoulder, and I carry him out of the house.

I toss the bag onto the passenger seat of my car before rounding the vehicle to place Ashton in his seat.

He grins up at me, his blue eyes bright, and the stress fades from my mind.

How can I feel anything but love when looking at this little boy?

I press a kiss to his hair, slide into the driver’s seat, and point the wheels toward the steakhouse across the city.

“Hey, there’s my girl.”

I hitch Ashton onto my hip and approach the table where my father sits. “Hey, Dad. Sorry, traffic was a nightmare.”

“No worries, sweetie. Here, let me take him.” My dad takes the toddler from my arms, grinning at the face that smiles back. “Hey, bugger, how are ya today?”

I sit at the table across from my dad and let myself scrutinize him closely.

We haven’t seen each other in a couple of months, and though we talk on the phone regularly, his assurances that he’s fine haven’t been very convincing.

The divorce has been hard on him. I know it has.

He’d been married to my stepmother since I was eight.

Sixteen years can’t be easy to walk away from.

The silver lining, I’m selfish enough to admit, is Paige hasn’t walked away from the child she helped raise. She’s still my second mother.

“You’re staring,” Dad comments. He hands Ashton the coloring page as I duck my head in shame at being caught. Laughing, he shakes his head. “Kid, I’m fine. I promise.”

“I know you’ve said you are, but I still worry about you. Is that so wrong?”

“It is if you’re doubting your old man.”

“Well, I’m very aware of how stubborn you are, so forgive me for doubting that you’d tell me if you aren’t okay.”

“ I’m stubborn? Have you met yourself recently?”

“I’m not stubborn!”

His flat expression causes me to break out in giggles, and I concede the point that perhaps I am a bit hardheaded.

After all, I’ve just proved him right without even trying.

The server comes by to take our orders—grilled chicken salad for me, a small bowl of macaroni and cheese for Ashton, and a steak for my dad.

I’m not surprised. He’s always been a meat-and-taters kind of man.

It hasn’t changed, no matter the fact he’s gone from blue collar to white.

As we wait for our food to arrive, we entertain Ashton and talk about the changes in our lives since the last time we met for lunch.

I have no idea who the people Dad tells me about are, but as long as he’s smiling, I don’t question it.

He lifts his coffeecup to his lips then pauses, staring at me over the rim.

“Anything goin’ on in your life?”

I shift awkwardly in my seat, tapping the tines of my fork against the tabletop. “Not really. I mean, I made a new friend, but that’s about it.”

“About time. Was beginning to wonder if you were gonna die a hermit with how little you talk about friends.”

“Unfair. I tell you about Tristan and Luci all the time.”

“And no one else.” Dad sighs and sets his mug on the table. Clasping his hands in front of him, he leans in. “Dealla, I don’t give a damn if you wanna spend the rest of your life in some opium den, sleeping with a cult leader to get your fix—”

“Dad!”

“Okay, so I would care. Please don’t do that. You’d give me a heart attack, and that ain’t the way I wanna go. What I mean is, I want you to be happy. And honestly? You seem lonely. Yeah, you spend time with Luci and Tristan, but who else? Ashton doesn’t count as social interaction, either.”

“Dad, I’m fine.” I blow out a breath and wipe a hand over my face. After a moment, I meet Dad’s gaze. “Fine. If I promise to make more friends, will you stop worrying so much?”

“Sure. Now tell me about this friend you’ve made.”

It’s said as a request, but it sounds more like an iron-clad demand to me.

I relent and tell him about Holden, about how kind and funny he is.

How we met in the coffeeshop and it felt like we’d been friends for a lifetime.

How, though we live in separate states, we’ve been making the friendship work.

I say nothing of his profession or the physical reactions I have to just thinking about him.

Dad doesn’t need to hear about the heat between my thighs when I remember the mistake I made with Holden or the tingles that run up my spine or the flutter of my heart in my chest. That last one is something I can’t explain, even if I tried.

Especially not since I’ve told Holden I want nothing to do with a real relationship.

“He’s a good cook, too,” I tack on at the end as the server sets our food on the table, and Dad’s gaze darts to my face.

“He stayed for dinner?”

“Yeah, he came over to hang out, and we lost track of time. Oh, c’mon, Dad, don’t give me that look. Don’t make a big deal out of this. Holden is just a friend.”

“’Den?”

Both my dad’s and my heads whip around to stare at Ashton who shovels a handful of pasta into his mouth.

I close my eyes when Dad looks at me pointedly.

Admitting with no small amount of hesitation that Ashton had met Holden, I plead with him to not make it seem bigger than it is.

Dad presses his lips together tightly, examining my face, then promises he won’t.

I slump in my seat at his words. That’s one less worry for me to have on my mind.

He pays once we’ve finished eating, while I wipe cheese sauce from Ashton’s face and hands.

I feel awful about the seventy dollars Dad is dropping on lunch—it’s bad enough he always pays for our meals and that he’s already paying my rent and utilities while I’m in school.

I’m well aware of how lucky I am. I just hope my father doesn’t feel like I’m taking advantage of his kindness.

After buckling Ashton into his carseat, Dad faces me. “I meant what I said, Dealla. I want you to be happy, and if this Holden guy makes you happy…”

“He’s just a friend.”

“Okay, okay. If you say so. Love you, kid. Drive safe.”

“Love you, too, Dad.”

I hug him tightly, my eyes squeezing shut with the contact. He steps back, walks away to his rental truck, while I get into my car. Once I buckle my seatbelt, I glance in the rearview mirror. Ashton beams back in his own. I know Dad will have too many questions, ones I’m not sure I can answer.