I turn the damn radio off. “You don’t even know me—or her, for that matter. Why would you care?”

“Because I know you’re good for her.”

“Do you?” I reply, sarcasm in full bloom. Thankfully we’re getting closer to his side of town, so this horrid conversation will be ending soon.

“Yes, I do.”

Then it strikes me, and I’ll never admit it to anyone, but it’s actually sort of nice to have someone say I’m good for her, even if it’s her drunk asshole of a father. I’ll take it.

“Are you going to be seeing her again?” I ask, and then quickly add, “And where exactly am I taking you?”

“Just drop me near the shop where we met yesterday; I’ll figure it out from there. And yes, I hope to be seeing her again. I have a lot of shit to make up for.”

“Yeah, you do,” I agree.

The parking lot next to the tattoo parlor is empty, which makes some sense, since it’s not even one in the afternoon yet.

“Can you drive me to the end of this street?” he asks.

I nod and pass the shop. The only thing at the end of this street is a bar and a run-down Laundromat.

“Thanks for the ride.”

“Yep.”

“Do you want to come inside?” Richard asks, nodding toward the small bar.

Getting a drink with Tessa’s homeless drunk father doesn’t sound like the most intelligent thing to do at the moment.

However, I’m not known for making good decisions. “Fuck it,” I mumble and turn the car off and follow him inside. It’s not like I had anywhere in mind to go anyway.

The bar is dark and smells like mold and whiskey. Following him to the small counter, I grab a stool, leaving an empty seat between us. A middle-aged woman wearing what I pray are her teenage daughter’s clothes walks toward us. Without a word she slides Richard a small glass filled with whiskey and ice.

“And for you?” she asks me, her voice raspy and deeper than mine.

“Same as him.”

Tessa’s voice warning me not to do this is clear as a bell between my ears. I push it away, push her away.

I raise the glass, and we toast and each take a sip. “How can you afford to be a drunk if you don’t work?” I ask.

“I clean the place every other day, so I drink for free.” Shame is clear in his voice.

“Why not be sober and get paid, then?”

“I don’t know; I tried and tried.” He stares at his glass with hooded eyes, and for a second they resemble mine. I can see a shadow of myself in them. “I’m hoping now it’ll get easier if I can see my daughter more often.”

I nod, not even bothering to hit him with a snide remark, and instead wrap my fingers around the cool glass. I welcome the familiar burn of scotch as I tip my head back and finish the rest. When I push it across the semipolished bar top, the woman makes eye contact and then starts pouring me another.

chapter

eight

TESSA

Your dad?” Landon says incredulously through the phone.

I forgot that I hadn’t had a chance to tell him about my father’s return.

“Yeah, we ran into him yesterday . . .”

“How is he? What did he say? What was it like?”

“He’s . . .” I don’t know why, but I feel embarrassed to tell Landon that my father is still drinking. I know he’d never judge me, but I’m still apprehensive.

“Is he still . . .”

“Yeah, he is. He was drunk when we saw him, but we brought him back here and he stayed the night.” I twirl a lock of hair around my index finger.

“Hardin let him?”

“He didn’t have a say in it; it’s my place, too,” I snap. But then I immediately feel bad and apologize. “I’m sorry, I’ve just had it with Hardin thinking he controls everything.”

“Tessa, do you want me to leave campus and come over?” Landon’s so kind; you can hear it in how he talks.

“No, I’m just being dramatic.” I sigh and look around the bedroom. “I think I’ll come there, actually. I can still make my last class.” I could really use some yoga right about now, and some coffee.

I listen to Landon as I dress myself for yoga. It seems like a waste to drive all the way to campus for one class, but I don’t want to sit around this apartment and wait for Hardin to come home from wherever he ran off to.

“Professor Soto asked about your absence today, and Ken said he wrote a character witness statement for Hardin. What’s up with that?” he asks.

“Soto did? I don’t know . . . He offered to help him before, but I didn’t think he meant it. I guess he just likes him or something?”

“Likes him? Likes Hardin?” Landon laughs, and I can’t help but join him.

My phone drops into the sink as I pull my hair into a ponytail. I curse at myself and get it back to my ear just in time to hear Landon say he’s headed to the library before his next class. After our goodbyes, I hang up and start to text Hardin, to let him know where I’ll be. But then I close the app instead.

He’ll come around about this whole Seattle thing; he has to.

By the time I get to school, the wind has picked up yet again and the sky has turned an ugly shade of gray. After grabbing a coffee, I still have thirty minutes before yoga. The library is on the other side of campus, so I don’t have time to go there and see Landon. Instead I end up waiting outside Professor Soto’s classroom. His class should be ending any—

My thoughts are cut off by the crowd of students practically rushing out the doors and into the hall. I lift my bag farther up my shoulder and push my way through them to get inside. The professor is standing with his back turned toward me as he pulls his leather jacket over his arms.

When he turns, he greets me with a smile. “Ms. Young.”

“Hi, Professor Soto.”

“What brings you by? Did you need the topic for today’s journal that you missed?”

“No, Landon gave it to me already. I came by to thank you.” I shift uncomfortably on the heels of my gym shoes.

“For what?”

“Writing that character witness statement for Hardin. I know he hasn’t been that pleasant to you, so it’s very appreciated.”

“It’s nothing, really. Everyone deserves a quality education, even hotheads.” He laughs.

“I guess so.” I smile at him and look around the classroom, unsure what to say next.

“Besides, Zed deserved what he got, anyway,” he says suddenly.

What?

I look back at him. “What do you mean?”

Professor Soto blinks a few times before collecting himself. “Nothing, I’m just . . . I’m sure Hardin had a good reason for going after him, that’s all. I better get going, I have a meeting to get to, but thanks for coming by. I’ll see you in class Wednesday.”

“I won’t be here Wednesday; I’m going on a trip.”

With a light hand he waves this off. “Well, have fun, then. I’ll see you when you return.” He quickly walks off, leaving me bewildered by what he could have meant.

chapter

nine

HARDIN

My unlikely drinking partner, Richard, has escaped to the restroom for the fourth time since we’ve arrived. I get the feeling that Betsy the Bartender may taken have a slight liking toward the man, which makes me really fucking uncomfortable.

“Another?” she asks.

With a nod, I dismiss the burly woman. It’s now after two in the afternoon, and I’ve had four drinks, which wouldn’t be so bad if they weren’t straight scotch with a smidgen of ice.

My thoughts are cloudy and my anger has yet to subside. I don’t know who or what to be more mad about, so I’ve given up on reasoning things out and have decided to just run with a general state of pissed-the-fuck-off.

“Here ya go.” The bartender slides my drink in front of me as Richard takes the stool directly next to me. I was under the impression he understood the importance of the empty stool between us. Guess not.