Chapter 18
EIGHTEEN
Knock knock knock.
Charlie sat straight up in bed before her eyes were even open. Ben stirred next to her.
Ben blinked up at her. “What—”
“Fuck. I think that’s Mrs. Calhoun. She never uses the buzzer.” Charlie slapped her hand over her mouth. She was pretty sure that was the first time she’d ever said fuck in front of Ben.
Ben chuckled as he rubbed his eyes. “She’s an early riser, I see.”
“Yeah. Probably checking to see if you’re still being a gentleman.”
Ben gave her one of his panty-melting smiles. “Am I?”
“Pffft. After what you did to me last night, you’re more of a knave.” She leaned down and kissed him, lingering until another knock sounded, this time a little louder. Charlie pulled away reluctantly and with an eyeroll. She got out of bed and threw on her robe.
“Wait in here,” she said quietly as she put her index finger to her lips. “Back soon.”
“Oh, I’ll be waiting.” He stretched his massive arms and put his hands behind his head as he leaned back against the headboard and Charlie damn near went back to bed, gossipy Mrs. Calhoun be damned.
I hope she didn’t see that Ben spent the night again. I’ll never hear the end of it.
There was a third polite but insistent knock when Charlie was halfway across the living room.
But of course she did.
“Coming, Mrs. Calhoun, coming.” Charlie tightened her robe around her as she turned the deadbolt, hoping Mrs. Calhoun had no concept of sex hair, and opened the door.
“Charlene, honey, look who I ran into in the lobby! He looked lost, so I asked him who he wanted and then I brought him straight up. Isn’t this nice?”
Mrs. Calhoun’s voice faded as a dull roar filled Charlie’s head. Standing behind her neighbor was Charlie’s father.
The man Charlie never wanted to see again. The man she’d avoided for over a decade.
“Charlene.” Her name came out of his mouth in a wheeze.
“What the hel—what are you doing here?” She tried not to hold anything against Mrs. Calhoun.
How was she supposed to know that the last person Charlie ever—ever—wanted to see in this lifetime was the man who treated her like dog shit, like his own personal maid, and encouraged his sons to do the same.
“Sorry for the short notice—”
“Try no notice. How did you find me?”
Then she remembered the phone message from Joey. The hesitancy in his voice had been totally fake. He’d found her and ratted her out.
Mrs. Calhoun looked between the two of them like she was watching a tennis match, no doubt looking forward to spreading the gossip.
As her father literally pushed past her into the apartment, Mrs. Calhoun bought a clue and said, “I’ll let you two catch up. Too-da-loo.” She crossed the hallway to her apartment and disappeared inside.
Charlie didn’t close her door, but turned to the man who dared to call himself her father and said quietly, evenly, “Get the hell out, now.”
“Nice way to greet your old man. I brought you something.” He reached into his pocket, pulled out a bag of peanut M&Ms, and held it out to her at arm’s length.
She stared at him. “Are you serious?”
“They’re your favorite.”
“No, I hate the peanut ones. Get out.” She pointed back out into the hall.
He put them back in his pocket. “Charlene. Come on. I’ve come all this way. Just give your old man a minute.”
“No.”
“Not even one minute to catch his breath?” His voice had turned almost charming, but she wasn’t falling for it. She’d never fall for it.
God, why today? Why, when she had Ben waiting in her bedroom, would her father darken her door?
Hide what you love.
Charlie dropped her head. The only way out was through. She prayed Ben had drifted back off to sleep and wasn’t listening at the bedroom door. She kept her voice low, hoping her father would, too.
“Fine. One minute and then you leave.” She glanced at the wall clock. “Starting now.” She reluctantly closed the door and folded her arms.
“Your place looks good,” her father said, looking around. “You’re keeping it nice.”
“Clock’s ticking.”
Then he saw the drawing of the St. Vrain on the wall.
“You draw that?” he asked casually as he pointed at it.
Charlie felt like she’d been gut punched. “Are you being serious right now?” she choked out. An old familiar feeling of panic set in. Memories threatened to overwhelm her. Memories of her father ripping up all the drawings Charlie did as a little girl, all the drawings of her mother—
Hide what you love from him.
“It’s real pretty. You always were a good artist.”
“Time’s up. Get out.” Her voice sounded so small. She felt small. It always happened around her father. It didn’t matter how old she was or how tall she’d grown—Charlie was always the smallest person in the room when her father was in it, too. So she added, “Desmond.”
His eyes flickered with surprise, registering that she’d just used his first name. That gave her a little strength back.
He tried a different tactic. “Louise left me.” He gave her a hang-dog look.
Charlie rolled her gaze to the ceiling and huffed out a breath. “Wife number three, or is it four now?”
“Three. I don’t want another. Too expensive.”
Charlie snorted. “So what does any of this have to do with me?”
His gaze swept around her apartment until it settled on the drawing of the St. Vrain again.
“Need you to come home.”
If Charlie hadn’t closed the door behind her, she would have fallen backward through the doorway. “No fucking way, are you serious? Is that why you had Joey try to find me?”
Her father looked confused. “Joey? I haven’t talked to that little shit in ten years.”
Charlie hid her shock. So Joey hadn’t been working on her father’s behalf?
Desmond continued. “Louise is gone. She took half my money. I’m not in the best of health anymore.”
Charlie just stared at him, knowing what was coming next and still unable to believe it.
“I don’t know how to cook and I don’t have the money to eat out all the time. I can’t hire a housekeeper. You always did all that for us. Who’s gonna take care of me if you don’t come home?” he whined.
“The devil himself, for all I care. Or maybe your worthless sons.”
“Baby girl—”
Charlie reared back. “Don’t you ever call me that,” she hissed. “Mum called me that.”
“Right up until the day she left you,” Desmond said. “Worthless bitch up and left her husband, her kids.”
“And I can’t blame her.” Charlie gestured at her father. “Look what she had to deal with.”
Staring at her father, at his red, swollen nose, his small, cruel eyes, the bitter frown lines around his mouth, she understood her mother’s choice.
“Can’t believe you’re still taking her side, Charlene. She left you and went and got herself another family. You ever hear from her?”
No.
“That’s none of your business.”
He barked out a laugh. “Yeah, that’s a no.” He walked to the couch and sat down, settling in like he owned it. Owned her. “I’m the one who kept a roof over your head, kept you and your brothers fed, took care of you—”
“Oh now that right there is a lie.” She pointed at him.
“You never cared for me, for any of us. I’m the one who cared.
I’m the one who shopped and cooked and cleaned and made sure my little brother had his homework done, right up until he turned on me, too.
” That had hurt almost as much if not more than her mum’s abandonment.
“I took her place. No twelve-year-old child should have to do that. And now I can’t believe you’re asking—no, telling me—to do it again. ”
She realized she was raising her voice and glanced quickly toward the bedroom. No sign of Ben. Good.
Hide what you love, or he’ll take it away.
“It’s a child’s duty to respect and obey her father—”
“Then it’s a good thing I’m not a child anymore, if I ever was.”
“—and a woman’s duty to manage the home. So I’m not taking no for an answer, Charlene.”
Charlie opened the front door. “Get off my couch and get out of here. Your minute’s up, old man.”
He didn’t move. If anything, he settled in.
“You never were much of a woman, though, were you?” He looked her up and down, making her skin crawl. “Women are supposed to be dainty. What the hell happened to you?”
He’d told her that ever since she hit a growth spurt at thirteen. What’s wrong with you? Girls are supposed to be dainty. No man’s ever gonna want you for a wife. Over and over until she believed it.
Charlie sized him up, remembering all the times he yelled at her, belittled her, hit her with his belt when she didn’t make what he wanted for dinner, or the house wasn’t clean enough, or just because he’d had a bad day and she was a convenient target.
He’d tower over her as he slipped the belt out of its loops one by one.
If she cried, he’d tell her to toughen up.
When her brothers ganged up on her, he’d laugh. Toughen up.
Even when she was tall enough to look him straight in the eye, he’d always seemed so much bigger than her, so much more powerful.
Not anymore.
Now she could see him through adult eyes, eyes that had seen combat.
He was out of shape, flabby, and almost twice her age.
The way he was wheezing, she’d be surprised if he didn’t have emphysema.
She could literally kick his ass out of her apartment, through the hall, down the stairs, and across the parking lot to his car.
He glared back. “Just look at you right now. You look like a man, Charlene. Sizing me up, thinking you can take me. You never could and you never will. I came all this way, thinking you gave a damn about me.” He sneered. “You owe me, Charlene. You still have a duty to me.”
“I don’t owe you shit.”
Desmond stood up, hands opening and closing at his sides the way they did right before he took off his belt, like they just couldn’t wait to inflict pain. “You think because you were in the Navy, you’re tough now? That you can take me?”
Charlie’s stomach twisted. “How’d you know I served?”