Ripped: Chapter 12

I left ten messages on his cell phone as I waited for my flight. By the time I landed, he’d left a message. Said his parole officer had found him and not to worry myself over it. Yeah, right.

He’d left a hotel name and room number too. I pick up a key at reception and end up having to scribble a couple of autographs, until I’m finally on the twentieth floor, popping the door open to find my father slumped in a chair out on the terrace, staring off into space.

A room service tray holding two glasses of champagne is set up by the window. “What the hell is up with you, Dad?”

The anger on my face gives him pause, and it takes him a hot second to get words out of his open jaw. “Hell I . . . you’re here? Son . . . I wouldn’t be ditching parole if that bitch hadn’t made it such a pain in the ass. I need freedom, Kenna, I’m choking here.”

“Look up, Dad. You see that? That’s fucking sunlight. You want to get a good dose of that every day, then you do your fucking parole.”

“I said I’m choking. Feels like I’m still in jail, only with a wider mile radius.”

“Jesus,” I curse, then lean over, trying to reason with him. “Dad, I know exactly how you feel. You feel trapped by your circumstances, but don’t carve yourself a worse one.”

“Do you understand? Do you really?”

“You fucking know I do.”

He forces out a smile and looks away, over the traffic and the city. “ ‘Carry on my wayward son,’ ” he quotes, his dark eyes framed with the same dark circles he came out of prison with. “Remember that song? You rocked it.”

“Yeah, I rock everything I touch with my tongue.”

A chuckle. “ ‘There’ll be peace when you are done,’ ” he continues, raising his eyebrows in question.

“You damn well know I want my freedom too. We’ve talked about this before. I’ll move you back to Seattle when I’m done so I can see you more often. Just don’t give anyone reason to put you away—you hear me? Be smart about this, Dad, Jesus. I fucking worry about you. Just think things through.”

“Like you’re smart about that girl?” he counters.

Fuck, I knew he’d bring her up.

Every part of me is tensing to defend her.

But it’s no use arguing with Dad about her. I shrug and say nothing, my jaw tight.

“Son, she’s toxic to you. You might want to be sure she’s into you before you go and drop a good life for the life of your dreams, only to find out it’s all a castle in the air, boy.”

“She’s real to me” is all I give him, and I growl it out in a thick whisper.

He sighs and drops his face in his hands. “Sorry, just can’t forget how her bitch mother put me behind bars.”

“Dad, you got yourself behind bars. See? We reap what we sow. Nobody made you deal, nobody made you make that choice. Own it. I’m owning the choices I made too, and one of those put me in a tight spot. Nobody made me do it. I had to. We just have to do some things sometimes.” I scrape my hand down my jaw, because holy shit, those choices hurt.

“You made a deal with her, didn’t you? That’s why I’m out. That’s why I should still be there. That’s why my parole sucks—that controlling bitch probably knows you’re traveling with her daughter now and is still trying to meddle with you two!”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

He stares at me, his eyes widening. “So what are you going to do?”

“She’s not fucking up my life twice, she’s not taking two people I love twice. Just be good, Dad—tomorrow doesn’t have to be today. Mine isn’t going to be. I’ve made mistakes. I hurt people I cared about. I’m fixing it.” I pat my dad on the back and lean over. “Fix your life the way you want it. Think of another job, I’ll pull some strings. Just give me time to get us back to Seattle. And do your parole.”

“Mackenna . . .” He stops me as I pull open the terrace door. “You’re the reason I hang on. When we lost your mom . . .”

“You did your best. I know. Come on, let’s get you home. I’m taking you out later today.”