Loving My Best Friend's Dad : An Older Man Younger Woman Romance Page 9

  “Can I have a word with you?” he says, waving me over.

  My sneakers squeak noisily as I make my way over to his office. My brain works hard to come up with some kind of excuse as to why we’re late again, but I’ve got nothing. I’ve already used them all up the other five times we’ve been late.

  “What’s going on Ronald?” I ask, trying hard to sound chipper.

  “You’re late on rent again,” he says. “It’s happening too often. Boss doesn’t like it. Technically we could’ve kick you two out after the third time you know.”

  I nod quickly.

  “And I appreciate it,” I say. “But dad got paid today, so I’m sure he’ll have it for you tonight.”

  He grunts, shifting on his feet.

  “We’re not running a charity here Isabelle,” he says, but his voice has softened. “I can only hold the boss off for so long.”

  “I know,” I say. “And I do appreciate everything you’ve done for us. I promise that you’ll have the check tonight.”

  He nods slowly.

  “Tonight then,” he says.

  I paste on a big smile to show him that everything is fine and head towards the elevators. As soon as my back’s turned though, I drop the smile. Truth be told, I have no idea if dad’s getting paid today. I’m not totally sure he even has a job. He used to work in construction, but then his gambling took over, and we lost the house. My dad’s always had a problem with money, made worse when things go badly. He says he hasn’t been to the racetrack since, but he never looks me in the eye when he tells me and I’ve stopped asking.

  Once I’m in the elevator, I send my dad a text reminding him for the millionth time to drop off the rent check. He texts back saying I’ll have it for sure. Don’t worry. And I almost want to ask if that’s because he thinks his luck is turning but I don’t. Sometimes I feel like I’m the adult in our family and our roles are reversed. At least he can’t touch the money I make from my part time job. That mostly goes towards food and bills. I learned that lesson early on too.

  I let myself into our apartment and shiver. It’s colder here because I’ve had to turn off the heat while I’m away. There’s a new six pack in the fridge. Funny how there’s always enough funds for that. I tidy up the kitchen, I make myself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, and head into my room to do some studying. I’ve got a chem exam, and I’m not sure I’ve got all the rules for reactions down pat. I know the only ticket out of here will be through scholarships, because there’s no way my dad has anything left saved up. I’m not the smartest kid in the room, but I make up for it in sheer determination. And compared to the rest of my classmates, I’m doing pretty well. Of course, it makes me an even bigger target for Chantal, but I just have to wait out five months to graduation. I can do that.

  After chemistry is English, and even if Ronald tries his best to make Shakespeare interesting, it’s like slogging through mud to get through his plays. At some point, I drift off in bed. The next thing I know, my shoulders being shaken. My eyes open wide with surprise, my heart jumping almost out of my chest until I realize that it’s just my dad.

  “What are you doing?” I yell at him.

  “Good, you’re awake,” he says, nonplussed. “You need to pack up your things.”

  “Why? What time is it?”

  He ignores my question. I can tell from the light in the hallway that he’s looking more disheveled than usual, and he’s got a nasty bruise under his eye. Concern overtakes the anger I feel.

  “Dad, are you okay?”

  “I’m fine. Just a little roughing up. Nothing your old man can’t handle,” he assures me. “But come on. We can’t stay here.”

  “Is this about the rent?” I ask, still confused. I didn’t think Ronald was the kind of person to shake a man down, but maybe his boss is.

  My dad laughs, but there’s no joy in it.

  “That’s the last thing we need to worry about,” he says. “Come on. You’ve got thirty minutes and we’re leaving.”

  Dad leaves, closing the door behind him, and I force myself out of bed. I’m still foggy with sleep, and I have to rub my eyes a few times before I’m really awake. It’s only 10 p.m., but it feels like much later. Come on, I think. You can process this later. Right now you have to pack. I know my dad wouldn’t leave me behind, but his whole demeanor bothers me. There’s more he’s not telling me, I’m sure of it. I quickly grab my duffel bag and begin dumping my clothes into it. I don’t have a lot, but I have to remember to grab the money that I’ve hidden behind one of the drawers.

  I pick up a simple wooden frame, the only picture of me and my mom. We look almost identical: same chestnut hair, big smile, and short stature. And of course, there are the things beneath the surface. We both love lemon poppy seed, according to my dad, and I have the same laugh as hers. We lost her when I was only five years old. My mom and dad were high school sweethearts. He got her pregnant accidentally, but he did the right thing by getting a job and marrying her. I still have flashes of memories of her, and I hold onto those tightly. We both miss her like crazy I think, because whenever we go to the cemetery, my dad would cry. I hug the picture to me for a second, then carefully put it between two sweaters so it doesn’t break. It’s all I have left of her, along with a necklace she used to wear. I grab my school bag, and that’s it. I’m all packed. My dad knocks.

  “Ready?” he says.

  I sling my backpack over my shoulder and open the door.

  “I am,” I say.

  He’s got a wheelie suitcase, and together we make our way out of the apartment. I don’t look back. It was never home for me. The only thing I feel bad about is Ronald, because of how much he’s helped us. I hope he doesn’t get in trouble with his boss. We throw our things in the back, and drive off, keeping the lights off until we’re out of the parking lot.

  “So are you going to tell me where we’re going to go at least?” I ask.

  “We’re staying with… a friend,” my dad says. “You’ll like it. He’s got a fancy house with a pool. You used to love to swim.”

  I frown. He’s anxiously looking around, as though he thinks we’ll be followed.

  “Something’s wrong, isn’t it. Do you owe money to someone again?” I say, putting the pieces together. I see him flinch. “You do. You’ve gone gambling again haven’t you?”

  “I can explain.”

  Frustration and anger, all that I’ve tried to keep down, comes bubbling over. Why would he do this? Why wouldn’t he go get help? He’s a father, he should know better! I shouldn’t have had to grow up so fast. I’m almost eighteen, yes, but everyone else around me is worrying about what dress to get for prom and which new purse they want to buy, not whether or not they’ll be able to keep the lights on until the end of the month.

  “Izzy,” my dad says, using my childhood nickname, but I turn to face the window. I don’t want to hear it. I know I’m being childish, but for once I don’t care.

  We drive, the streetlights washing over me now and again. We’re slowly making our way out of the city. Apartment buildings give way to smaller houses, and the houses get bigger and nicer. Then we turn off the main roads, to the quiet streets. Big, old trees stand over the sidewalks, and the houses are set back from the roads on large lots. This is a nice neighborhood, the kind with basketball hoops in driveways and pools in backyards. Our crappy car sticks out like a sore thumb. Finally we turn into one of the driveways.

  “Are you sure this is the place?” I ask.

  The house is gorgeous, a white Colonial with blue shutters lining its windows. It’s one of the nicest houses in the neighborhood, and I’m totally amazed by it. What would it feel like to live in something so grand? To never have to worry about life and just be able to enjoy it for once? I shake my head, pushing those thoughts away. It doesn’t help, and who knows how long we’ll be able to stay here before we go. Best not to even think those kind of thoughts.

  “It doesn’t look like anyone is home,” I s
ay doubtfully as I lift up my duffel. “Are you sure this is the place?”

  “He’ll be here.”

  My dad sounds so sure of it as he walks up the driveway towards the door. I rack my brains to try and think up who on earth could be inside. A friend? I didn’t think my dad had any. The sound of the doorbell echoes.

  “Nobody’s here,” I say to my dad. “Come on, let’s go.”

  But then the door opens, and my eyes connect to blue eyes so piercing that I shiver.

  I’ve never been in love. When I read about the whole heart thumping, hand shaking, breath catching in my books for class, I’ve just dismissed it all as stuff the author made up for a good story. But it’s happening to me as I take in the man’s handsome features and strong body. He’s tall, taller than my dad, with broad shoulders and rippling muscles meant to intimidate and protect. There’s strength in his squared jaw, but that softens as soon as he sees me. My whole world shifts, as though I’ve been pushed onto a different path in life.

  One that would be twined with the man before me.

  About Lila Younger

  Lila has spent her whole life in the PNW, where rainy days kept her inside with a book. A lover of the written word, she can’t believe that it’s taken her over twenty years to get around to writing a book. She’s always believed in love at first sight and happily ever afters. When she isn’t working on her stories, Lila likes to bake and hike in the mountains that make up her backyard.