“You called him since we landed?” Mase asked as he leaned back and stretched his legs in front of him.
I quickly pulled out my phone and turned it on to call Daddy. It rang three times and went to voice mail again. “Still not answering,” I said.
“He’s an ass. I can’t believe we came out here to look for our forty-five-year-old father. This is ridiculous,” Mase grumbled.
I knew Mase didn’t respect Dad. He held him to the level of his stepfather and that was unfair. Dad was a rock star. He was a legend. His world was different. You had to take into account that if he wanted something, people fell all over themselves trying to give it to him.
“He’s still our father,” I said, trying not to get defensive. Grant reached over and squeezed my hand. It felt as if I had an ally. Someone who understood. No one really understood my life and choices, not even Mase. Just knowing that someone might felt . . . well, it felt freeing. As if I wasn’t alone.
“Yeah, he is. Lucky us,” Mase replied, staring out the window.
Grant’s hand tightened on me and he pulled me closer to him. I didn’t want to like this or need it. But right now I was giving in to it.
My phone rang, startling all of us, and I fumbled with it to see it was only Dean.
“Hello,” I said, hoping he was about to tell me Dad was back at the hotel.
“Have you landed?”
“Yes, we’re on our way to the hotel,” I replied.
“Has he answered any of your calls?”
There was something off in Dean’s voice. Did he know something?
“No . . . has he called you?” I asked.
Dean didn’t reply right away. I started to get worried.
“No, he hasn’t. But when you get here we need to talk about something before you go looking for him.”
That sounded as if he knew something. I didn’t like him being so secretive. It was only making me nervous. “Okay. I should be there in just a few minutes,” I replied, when I wanted to demand he tell me now what it was he knew.
“See you in a few, kid,” he said before he hung up.
I held the phone in my hand and stared at it a moment.
“You forgot to tell Dean you brought his other son with you,” Mase drawled.
I glared at him and Grant just chuckled. I was glad Mase wasn’t getting to Grant. That wasn’t something I wanted to think about right now. I was afraid I had a much bigger problem. The foreboding sound in Dean’s voice was all I could focus on at the moment. Something was wrong. He would tell me if something had happened to my daddy . . . wouldn’t he? I dropped the phone to my lap and placed a hand over my stomach. He had to be okay. He had to.
•
When we arrived at the Hard Rock, we were sent right up to the penthouse that Dean and Kiro always used. The rest of the band stayed in another one. Dean opened the door, a frown creasing his forehead. I studied him closely. He didn’t look like someone who was about to tell me my dad was dead. He just looked concerned.
“We need to talk,” he told me. I nodded, because I already knew this. I hadn’t said anything to Mase and Grant in the car because I wasn’t sure I could without choking up. I was scared. I hated to admit it but I was scared of losing Kiro.
Grant’s hand was suddenly in mine and Mase was at my other side, his hand holding my arm as if I needed support to stand.
“Is he alive?” Mase asked, and I realized he knew nothing but was reading the tension in the room, just like I was. Whatever it was, Dean needed to tell me, even if he didn’t want to.
Dean’s eyebrows shot up and then he realized how his words had sounded and an apologetic look crossed his face. “Hell, yes, he’s alive. I’m sorry, Harlow, I didn’t mean to scare you, sweetheart. Normally, when he does this and I know where he is, I don’t call you. I just deal with it. But when he ran this time I decided it was time you knew. You’re not a child anymore. Kiro still treats you like one but he needs you more than he realizes.” Dean paused and started pacing back and forth in front of us. He fisted and unfisted his hands at his side and stared at the floor.
Although I knew Dad was alive, I was now dealing with the fear of this big secret. Could he be sick? Was he hiding something like that from me?
“I don’t want to be the one to tell you—hell, he should have told you years ago. This isn’t right. But you need to know. I need you to know. I can’t deal with him anymore. I need help. You’re the only one that can help him, I’m afraid. It’s getting harder and harder to make him leave once he’s there.” Dean’s ramblings made no sense. He continued to pace the floor as if he could walk a hole through it to sink into. Whatever this secret was, it was bad. My knees started to feel weak.
Dean motioned to the sofa and waved his hand at it before running a hand through his hair. “You need to sit down,” he said.