“Uh…” I mumbled, stalling for time, trying to ignore the feel of Hop’s eyes on me. I knew he’d moved away and sat back down but I refused to look at him as I tapped frantically on my keyboard.
“That’s terrible, darling,” Mom’s voice came in my ear. “Hold on, let me talk to your father. We’ll come up with something.”
That was what I was afraid of as I quickly read that yes, indeed, fumigation was a means of controlling pests.
Ugh.
Well, the good news was, this wasn’t a total lie considering, if Hop didn’t leave me alone by next weekend, I would need a fumigation. But I didn’t think there were companies that had chemicals that could keep handsome badass bikers at bay.
I sat back in defeat in my chair, avoiding Hop’s gaze by turning mine to the ceiling.
Not long after I began my contemplation of the ceiling tiles, Dad’s voice sounded in my ear. “Lanie, honey, what’s this about an infestation?”
I moved my eyes to my shrimp. “It isn’t as bad as it sounds, Dad. I just can’t have visitors next weekend.”
“That’s outrageous,” he declared pompously. “That brownstone is in an excellent neighborhood, sound construction, premier carpentry. How on earth did this happen?”
He would know all that. He’d insisted I accept the healthy down payment that made my mortgage affordable on a home I would never have been able to afford on my own.
No way his daughter was residing in anything but the absolute best.
With bad timing, this brought to mind the fact that I had also allowed Elliott to take the unprecedented stand that we were going to pay for our wedding. He knew how I felt about Dad’s guilty generosity so he put his foot down that we were going to have the wedding we wanted and we were going to pay for it.
This had a variety of disastrous results. The first being Dad, who had no respect for Elliott, getting some.
“Didn’t know the boy had it in him,” Dad had mumbled with surprised admiration.
It also meant that when Elliott made a bad investment and lost everything, he had to turn to the Russian Mob to give me the wedding of my dreams.
On me.
That was on me.
Everything was f**king on me.
“Well, it’s good we’re coming out then,” Dad stated and I blinked. With my mind jumping all over the place, I was not keeping up and I was also wondering how anything was good. “I’ll talk to the Roths. They have a condo in Vail. I’ll see if it’s open this weekend.”
“Dad—” I began but it was like I didn’t speak.
“We’ll arrange a limo to come get you, bring you to the airport. I’ll rent an SUV and we’ll drive up. That way the Lexus can stay safe in your garage.”
“Dad—” I tried again.
“We get in Friday afternoon and leave Sunday evening, last flight out. A nice long visit.”
“Dad—”
“I’ll have my secretary email you the details.”
“Dad!” I called.
Again, he did not hear me or chose not to.
“Now, your mother says you’re at work so we’ll leave you be. You’ll get an email Monday. See you next weekend, honey.”
“Dad, I can’t—”
“I’ll tell your mother you said good-bye. Love you, Lanie.”
Then he was gone.
As you can see, this was precisely how I never managed to manage my parents.
I stared at my phone screen, which announced the call had ended.
I put it down and stared at Hop.
Then I asked accusatorily, “Why didn’t you do something?”
His brows shot up as he asked back, “Come again?”
“Throw my computer through the window. Trip the fire alarm. Something!”
My voice was rising and, yes, it was with hysteria, but my parents were coming for the weekend.
He studied me and his lips curved up. “I’m sensing you’re not close with your parents.”
“Wrong!” I snapped. “I am. I just don’t want to be.”
His lip curve faded and he continued studying me, but now with his warm intensity and he also ordered, “Talk to me.”
In the throes of a drama, I didn’t hesitate.
In the throes of a drama, I never hesitated.
This was one thing, amongst many, that I really needed to work on.
I just had no intention of doing it right then.
“I’m spending next weekend with my mom and dad in Vail while my house is not getting fumigated.”
“And this is bad because…?” he prompted when I said no more.
I held his eyes.
Then I socked it to him.
“This is bad because my mother is an alcoholic.”
His warm, intent eyes got soft as he drew in a quiet breath.
Then he let it out, murmuring, “Lady.”
“It’ll be okay. Totally fine. She’ll drink wine with dinner. More than Dad and me but she won’t get hammered. No, she’ll say she’s going to bed with a book, having sneaked a bottle or two or four up to their room. Dad will stay with me and we’ll both ignore the fact she’s up there reading at the same time getting sloshed, and I’ll go to bed knowing Dad is staying up later, waiting for her to finish up by passing out. This means the entire weekend will be a lie. This means all of us will spend it dancing around the dysfunction, something we always do, something I find seriously un-fun at the same time emotionally exhausting. They’ll leave. I’ll call my sister Elissa to vent. She’ll lecture me on how I should cut them out of my life like she has because this is insanity. Even though she is absolutely right, I won’t listen to her like I never do, and then it starts up all over again because now they only have one daughter and thus only one daughter’s life to make a misery.”
To that, instantly, Hop decreed, “Me and the kids are coming up to Vail next weekend.”
I felt my eyes bug out as my lungs seized.
Was he crazy?
I knew he had two kids and I knew his kids. They came to the Compound all the time.
Molly, his eleven-year-old daughter, was the female epitome of her dad. Black hair. Gray eyes. Long, lean body. Easy, bright smile. She was a good kid. Funny, sweet. A little weirdly watchful, though very loving, of her dad, but I figured kids from broken homes could be that way.
Cody, his nine-year-old son, was not the epitome of his dad, and I always found that strange. Hop had clearly dominant traits that not only personality-wise but scientifically should naturally come out on top hereditarily. But Cody was sandy-haired, blue-eyed, and although he was tall and lean, his body somehow didn’t fit the shape of his dad’s. He was gangly in a way you knew he’d never stop being gangly. Hop was not at all gangly.