Gripping the steering wheel, I took several deep breaths and reminded myself that cursing out my mother wasn’t cool. This was just her being her self-centered self. “Credit cards, houses, cars—it’s all mine, Mom,” I reminded her instead.
She made a noise that sounded like a hiss.
“Hello, Rush.” Abe’s voice came over the phone.
“She has a job at the club. Says she’s going to move out and get her own place soon,” I told him. Surely he could see how Blaire’s living alone was a bad idea.
“Good. I knew she’d be able to figure things out,” he said.
I jerked the Range Rover over onto the side of the road. My blood pounded in my ears, and my vision went blurry. Motherfucking piece of shit. Did he really just say that? “You don’t deserve to breathe air, you sorry son of a bitch,” I growled into the phone.
He didn’t reply.
“She’s a f**king innocent. She’s so damn innocent and trusting. She’s gorgeous. Blindingly gorgeous. Head-turning, drop-dead gorgeous. Do you get that? Your daughter has no one. No one. And she’s vulnerable. She’s hurt and alone. Any jackass could use her. Don’t you care?” I was breathing hard. My knuckles turned white where I gripped the steering wheel, trying to control my rage.
“She has you,” was his only response.
“Me? She has me? What the f**k are you talking about? You know me. I’m Dean Finlay’s son. Who am I? I’m sure as hell not her protector. I’m the heartless ass**le who took her father away from her when she needed him most. That’s who the f**k I am!” Me. He’d said she had me. As if I were worthy of that responsibility. Didn’t he cherish her? How could a father have a daughter like Blaire and not want to protect her?
“I would have left without your visit, Rush. I couldn’t stay. She hasn’t needed me in years. She doesn’t need me now. I’m not what she needs. But you . . . maybe you are.”
How the f**k did he think that made sense?
“She’ll be OK. She’ll be much better without me. ’Bye, Rush,” Abe said, with a heaviness to his voice that I hadn’t heard before. Then the line went dead.
He had hung up.
I sat there staring at the road ahead of me. He wasn’t going to do anything for her. He was really going to let her figure things out on her own. And he had a small hope that I’d help her. That was it.
She would be fine. I would make sure of it. She’d be motherfucking perfect. I wouldn’t let anyone hurt her. I’d protect her. She didn’t have a father to keep her safe, but she had me. She wasn’t alone. Not anymore.
She had me.
I didn’t want to talk to Grant anymore. I needed to be alone. To think. To plan. Blaire was mine to protect. I had to make sure I didn’t let her down again. She deserved so damn much.
I came home hours later with a newfound determination. I would be Blaire’s friend. I would be her best friend. Fucking best damn friend she ever had. Nothing would touch her or hurt her. She wouldn’t want me making things easy or taking care of her, so I would have to do it quietly Make her think she was handling it.
I opened the door, a smile touching my lips. Knowing she was inside made things seem right with the world. Until I saw her on the steps dressed like a f**king wet dream.
Holy hell, why was she wearing that?
A short denim skirt with boots—cowboy boots . . . dear Lord, have mercy. “Day-um,” I muttered, closing the door behind me. She was going out in that. To the club . . . with Bethy Shit. “You, uh, wearing that out to go clubbing?” I asked, trying not to let her hear the panic in my voice.
“It’s called honky-tonking. I’m pretty sure it’s a completely different thing,” she said, smiling at me nervously.
A bar. She was going to a bar. Dressed like that.
I ran my hand through my hair and tried to remind myself that she wanted us to be friends. Friends didn’t lose their shit and demand that each other change clothes before leaving the house.
“Can I come with y’all tonight? I’ve never been honky-tonking,” I said.
Blaire’s eyes went wide. “You want to go with us?”
I let my gaze travel down her body again. Oh hell, yes, I did. “Yeah, I do.”
She shrugged. “OK. If you really want to. We need to leave in ten minutes, though. Bethy is expecting me to pick her up.”
She was going to let me go. No argument. Thank God. “I can be ready in five,” I assured her, and took off up the stairs. I could get changed and down here in plenty of time. Drunk men in a bar with Blaire looking like an angel in a pair of cowboy boots was not happening. At least not without me there to beat them off her.