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Chapter Three

Swayze

It took me longer to connect the dots than it did for the stranger to evacuate everyone from the trailer. To be fair, after seeing a naked Cole being dragged out by his throat and thrown onto the dried-up dirt we call a yard, the crowd didn’t need convincing. I raced to find my vintage Def Leppard t-shirt and boyshorts while Thomas stuffed his worm back in his pants, fumbling with his phone. He throws me a sheepish grin before he stumbles out the door.

Idiot.

The man was like a complex math equation going off in my head, with him being the unknown variable (x) bouncing off the walls of my skull, taunting me. I scrunch my nose in distaste. Math, yuck!

Zair-bear.

The name feels so familiar yet foreign. That’s until my gaze lands on the lone crocheted bear on top of my dresser—the one Dad brought home from work for me one day. It’s missing one of its plastic beady eyes. After he left, I gained a nervous habit of picking at it in my sleep. During that time, Mom was too consumed with her own despair to remember she had a daughter who was experiencing the same pain .

The party hastily jump in their vehicles, gunning the engines to get the fuck out of there. The back tires spin, resulting in the plinks of rocks hitting the trailer. The roar of their engines dampens as they get farther away. I step into my pit of a living room and stare at the mom-shaped indent on the couch. Someone must’ve taken her to bed. Or maybe Dad did. Dad? That’s so strange to me. He’s been gone for ten years. Ten fucking years.

I cross my arms over my chest and wait for Dad to reappear. The cool night breeze seeps through the screen of the storm door, granting me a slight reprieve in the stuffy trailer. A bang from outside startles me. It’s the sound of flesh against wood. There’s a crack and a “Dammit!” from Dad. A piece of the rickety porch, barely holding itself together, must’ve broken off. That has a lump forming in my throat. I let him down. How was I supposed to know he was coming back today? My bare feet rub against the carpet as I inch closer to the door to see what’s happening. Then the banging stops, and I freeze.

What’s happening?

My pulse thrums in my ears like a hummingbird in anticipation.

Then he’s there, opening the screen door, and I slink farther away from his view. I don’t think he knows I’m here. His face is filled with confusion and disbelief. It’s all my fault. He came home from prison to find a party going on around his wife, who lay in a drug-induced coma on the couch while his daughter was fucking with an audience in the next room. Regardless of what’s triggering his response, it’s a moment of truth he thinks he has the luxury of displaying because, as far as he knows, he’s alone. Then his eyes snap to mine. This man is unlike the sweet father I remember. He’s… different, not only physically with his defined muscles, but also with a hardening behind his eyes. He turns to face me fully.

“You!” he hisses, and I’m backing up.

My heart, which had been a low thrum, is now pounding. He’s angry and striding toward me, closing the distance between us until my back hits the wall. He slaps his hands against it, caging me in. I look away only to be greeted by his warm breath on the sensitive part of my neck. I shiver at the sensation, and my cheeks heat. I meet his glare with a challenge because while I know I shouldn’t want him, my body begs for him to replace this other man’s cum with his own. These aren’t thoughts I shouldn’t have about the only man I’ve ever known as my dad, but I do a lot of shit I shouldn’t.

“What were you thinking?” He roars. “I taught you better than this. You know those boys only want one thing from you.” He draws back a hand before violently slamming it against the wall again. The loud smack causes me to involuntarily jerk, and I squeeze my eyes shut. He emits an exasperated sigh before taking a few deep breaths, and then he gently places a finger under my chin. There’s that soft touch that makes the blood in my veins sing. He moves my head, forcing me to look into his eyes. “Baby girl. Zair-Bear,” he coos.

I respond meekly, “Yes, Daddy.”