Off Limits: A Bad Boy Romance (11 page)

W
hen I heard
Daddy's voice cut through the bar, I froze, my heart trembling in my chest as my head whipped around to see him standing there, rage on his face. I'd seen him that mad only once before, when Mike Burriss had been caught red-handed drunk on a job site, and his drinking had caused two other men to get hurt. Daddy had needed to be restrained by four other men that day, and I knew that I had to try and do something. If he’d attacked Dane, Dane would either catch a beating if he didn't fight back, or else Daddy would go to the hospital. I'd seen Dane fight, and for all my Dad’s strength and rage, he wasn't a match.

Still, I also knew that Dane was a man who was conscious of his criminal record, and that he tried to do everything he could to blend in, not catch the attention of the police. If something did happen, he’d probably just let Daddy beat on him mercilessly. I had to do something, but I didn't know what. When Dane got up, trying to protect me, I laid a hand on his forearm, hoping that maybe I could use words to diffuse the situation. "Dane, stop. "He's . . . he's my father. Daddy, this is—”

Daddy cut me off, his face turning purplish and scaring me. After the cardiac incident back in high school, he wasn't supposed to get upset like this. And he almost never cut me off unless he was upset, and never by screaming at me. If anything, he would interrupt with quiet tones, never showing a lack of control of his emotions. He claimed it was what some of the upper-crust folks who tried to hold him back would use against him. This time, though, his voice was bellowing, loud, and dripping with the blue-collar accent that he’d tried his hardest in daily life to not let seep out. "Enough! We're leaving. Now!"

I wanted to say something more, but Dane's calm voice stopped me. I looked at him and was moved. He was obviously angry, but he was under control. A warm flush ran through me, knowing how much passion he had inside him, yet he kept it under such strong control—all to protect me. "It's okay. It'd be better if I go. Abby, thank you."

I watched Dane make his way out of The Nook, and turned my attention back to Daddy. "Daddy—”

"Abigail, not a damned word," he said, shocking me into silence. He had never, in my entire life, cursed at me. Sure, he might have occasionally described something in one of our conversations using a curse word, but never had he cursed
at
me. It brought tears to my eyes, and I gaped like a fish out of water, staring at him as he made his way to our table and grabbed the check. He wouldn’t let a tab go unpaid, no matter how angry he was. "Get your things; we are leaving."

"Mr. Rawlings, please don't make a scene. Abby was trying to introduce you to him," Shawnie said, trying to be helpful. “If you'd only sit down and let her explain . . .”

He fixed Shawnie with a glare that could have melted through steel. I'd seen my friend stand up to harassing professors, ignorant frat boys, and even groups of people before, but under his eyes, she withered. She sat back down, her eyes barely still able to make contact with Daddy. "I have approved my daughter's friendship with you previously because she always described you as having a good head on your shoulders. Apparently, she was as mistaken in that as she was in talking to that bastard. Do not speak to me, and do not speak to my daughter ever again. Is that understood?"

Shawnie's a smart girl, and knew that trying to argue the point with him at that time would be futile. Instead, she was concerned with me, so she pulled her eyes away to look at me. "Are you going to be okay?"

"She'll be fine," Daddy said, his iron-hard grip on my arm pulling me toward the exit. There were a few of the customers who looked at me with concern, but no one wanted to get in our business. Not with the look in Daddy’s eyes.

Outside, he let me go and pointed at his car, silent and resolute. He said nothing to me the whole time, the frame shaking as he slammed the door when he got in the car. He jammed the keys in the ignition, twisting them savagely until the starter whined and ground with the still-running engine, then stomping down on the accelerator so that his Escalade squealed rubber going out of the parking lot.

The whole time driving home, he was dead silent, the only sound in the car being the sound of his breath puffing in and out of his nose. I sat in the passenger seat, trying to figure out what to say, and couldn't. I was miserable, and there was nothing I could do about it. Ironically, the one thought going through my mind was what I'd have to do to get my car back, as it was parked in The Nook's lot. I wondered how long it would take for them to call a tow truck for it. I sighed and leaned my forehead against my window, wanting to cry but not allowing myself the bitter comfort of tears. I was stronger than that.

When we arrived home, Daddy parked the car and sat there, trying to calm himself. "Abigail, I know that going to college, you get exposed to ideas that I may not agree with. And I accepted that. I'm not so backward and set in my ways that I’m afraid of your exposure to these ideas. I thought I'd raised you correctly, and that you would be able to discern the truth from the bullshit.”

"But what I saw breaks my heart. It wasn't that you were talking to a traitor. Talking is one thing. But I saw the way you were holding his hand, and the way you were looking at him. You want to break my heart? You want to spit on everyone and everything I find important? Because that's what you did. A fucking traitor, Abby? What the hell’s gotten into you?"

I couldn't help it. Long repressed tears spilled down my cheeks as I looked at the anguished face of my father. "Daddy, I'm sorry."

He shook his head and took out his keys. "Most days, that'd have been enough, Abby. But this . . . go to your room. Tomorrow, I'll take you to school for your tests. And I'll pick you up."

"Daddy, I’m grown. I can go to school on my own," I protested, and he looked back at me. “Besides, my car is parked at The Nook.”

"Until I know I can trust you again, I don't think so. Now head to your room. You have tests tomorrow. I'll call the restaurant and make sure that your car is taken care of."

I followed his instructions, closing the door to my room behind me. Falling onto my bed, I let the rest of my tears out into my pillow. I wasn't sure if they were tears of rage, tears of sadness, tears of frustration, or what they were. I just knew they had to get out. I think it was mostly of anger, anger that I was being treated like a child. Either way, the tears were poisoning my body, my heart pounding in my chest and my eyes swelling to the point I could barely see, and I had to get them out.

I was just starting to gain control of myself when there was a knock on my bedroom door and Brittany came in. "Patrick has asked me to tell you that you’re to have dinner in your room tonight, and that if you need anything, I’ll be the person you should speak to," she said quietly, in a tone totally unlike her. It wasn't cold and it wasn't distant, like I'd expected. Instead, she sounded hollow. "He also asked me to collect your cellphone. He'd have me collect your laptop as well, except he thinks that you might need it for your studying."

"Brittany . . .” I said, then sighed and dropped my head. Reaching over, I grabbed my backpack and pulled out my smartphone, holding it out to her. "It isn't right."

For the first time I could think of, I saw frustration in Brittany's face while she took the phone from me and held it while she crossed her arms. I'd seen her piqued plenty of times, usually due to something I did, but I'd never seen this level of pure frustration before. She looked up to the ceiling and took a deep breath, then spoke. "You know, both of you are wrong in this instance. Maybe it’s not my place to say it—but it's true."

"What do you mean?" I asked, shocked. I'd rarely heard Brittany talk in this way before, and I had certainly never heard her say something negative about Daddy. If she had ever criticized him, she must have done it just between the two of them.

"I mean, Abby, that Patrick is wrong in the way that he’s handling this, while you were wrong to have met with that man in the first place. What do you even know about him?"

"A lot," I said, the fire building in my temper. I may not have inherited Daddy's size or physical strength, but I did inherit his stubbornness, even as much as I tried to control it. Sometimes that comes out as anger, whether I want it to or not. "He's not as bad as Daddy thinks he is. He's actually a good man, Brittany."

"That doesn't really matter now, does it?" Brittany asked. "You lied, Abby. Maybe not explicitly, but you lied by omission. Patrick and I both thought that your stress over the past month has been because of your upcoming finals and graduation. Now we find out that it was over some . . . some boy!"

"He's not a boy,” I said simply. “If you saw him, you’d never say that again."

"You think that makes it sound any better?" Brittany asked. She held up her hand, silencing me. "Whatever the case may be, I suspect this has roots going all the way back to that morning you came home after staying out all night. I'm not going to give voice to my suspicions as to what happened that night, although I'm sure Patrick is thinking about the same thing."

I couldn't say anything but just dropped my head, unable to answer. Brittany sighed, then bonked her head against my door, a sound so natural and unlike her that I couldn't help it, smiling for an instant before disappearing into my other feelings. "That doesn't mean that Patrick has been blameless in his actions either, Abby. There was no reason for him to blow up at you like that, especially not in a public place. God knows what is going to happen to his account that he stormed out of."

I raised my head, surprised. "What are you talking about?"

Brittany huffed through her lips, pondering me for a second before answering. "Lake Automotive is looking at expanding, adding a heavy equipment dealership to their lineup. Patrick was meeting with Hank Lake to discuss the possibility of Rawlings Construction building it for them. As Hank is also a rather working-class man, they decided that a casual meeting over beers and some burgers was better than business suits and lawyers, at least at first."

It answered a question I'd had, and I let my breath escape in a whoosh. "So Daddy wasn't spying on me or following me."

Brittany chuckled darkly and shook her head. "No, he wasn't. You got caught by pure bad luck, Abby. Basically, at least according to what Patrick said to me, he looked around stretching, only to see you, your friend, and that man talking. He said something, and Hank looked up and remarked that it was . . . what's his name again?"

"Dane Bell," I answered hollowly.

Brittany clicked her fingers, nodding. "That's right. Dane Bell. In any case, you know your father. He never forgets something like that, and when he made the connection, he lost his temper."

"So what now?" I asked. "Brittany, I know you don't want to hear this, but I like Dane. A lot—”

“Just stop there,” Brittany snapped, cutting me off. I closed my mouth, and she shook her head. “Just stop, please. I know what you want to say, and I'm not going to argue with you. If you're trying to get me to lessen your father's punishment on you, it won't work. But I do want peace in this house, and I do want us all to be a family. This past month, at least until tonight, has been some of the best for me and you, and I'd hope we could continue that. So don't throw a monkey wrench into that just yet. I’ll talk with Patrick, see if he's willing to calm down. I do guarantee you that you will be taking that European History final tomorrow with him sitting in the parking lot—if not in the hallway outside the lecture hall. I guess the housing development in Douglas County will have to get along with just the foreman tomorrow."

Lessen my punishment? What am I, thirteen? Daddy’s overprotectiveness was never really a problem until now. Things are starting to go a little too far. I’m a grown woman, and at some point, it has to stop.

“Then I guess I should get to studying," I said, sitting up. There was nothing more to say, and I just wanted to be left alone. "Thank you, Brittany."

She smiled, and I was struck at how pretty her smile was. I saw it so rarely, and it actually suited her. I wondered if she shared that smile with Daddy, and I hoped she did. “Don’t stay up too late. Make sure you’re well-rested for your test.”

Brittany left, and I got out of my bed, going over to my little study desk and opening my laptop. She was right. I did have a test, and while I was still emotionally shattered, maybe I could get something else into my mind before trying to go to sleep. I fired up my Mac and went to my professor's course homepage, where the study notes were sitting organized and waiting for us.

I was just reviewing the ways the battle of Agincourt had changed warfare, and to a lesser degree, British culture, when I got a beep on my messenger program. I’d forgotten that I had it set to auto start whenever I booted up, and I wondered who it was. I was encouraged when I saw it was Shawnie.

Hey, Shawnie.

Hey, Abby. I tried calling your phone, but you never picked up. I was worried.

My friend's concern touched me, and I couldn't help but smile.
Daddy confiscated my phone as if I’m still a teenager. I'm still not okay, but I'm doing better than when I left The Nook. U?

I had to wait a minute while Shawnie typed out her reply, during which I pulled up the Wikipedia on the Battle of Agincourt. If I was going to cram as much as I could last minute, going through the textbook just wasn’t going to work. Besides, I only needed a B on the test.

Finally, Shawnie's reply popped up.
I got home okay. Wish I'd have been able to bum a ride like I'd planned, but the bus was cheap. I was thinking about calling the cops though. He was so mad . . .

It wasn't that bad, Shawnie. And before you start, I know I'm 22, I'm an adult, yada yada yada.
I threw in a couple of emojis, a shrugging one and a sheepish grin, then hit enter.

Okay, but it's true. Actually, I had another question for you.

Go ahead
, I wrote.
I'm just perusing Agincourt.