“I care for her. I worry about her. I moved schools for her. You think I like dealing with teenagers? With an entitled, untalented football team? You’re wrong. I did this for your daughter. I stayed single—for your daughter. I live in this awful, plastic town—for your daughter. Don’t you come knocking on my door lecturing me about morals. Daria feels half-orphaned because of you. I just became who she needed me to be. The only person in her life to care for her enough to give her the discipline she craved. And the spanking?” He stops, out of breath. His chest rises and falls. He is manic. On the edge of falling apart. He wipes sweat from his brow. “When I was young, I got spanked, a lot. It corrected my ways when I strayed from God’s word. And look at me now.” He gestures toward his body with his hand. “In one piece.”
For now, bastard.
I take a step back, steadying my breath. His words cut me like a knife, but what I’m about to do is going to split him in half. I clutch the pearls on my neck, pushing the buttoned-up pale baby blue shirt down to reveal a little recording device clipped to the shoulder strap of my bra. Would this hold up in court? Who the hell knows? All I know is that Prichard is not dumb enough to find out.
“My bad, Mr. Prichard, this makes everything you did okay. I just hope the authorities will find your version of things sufficient, as well.”
His eyes drop to the recording device, and I know this is my in. I have all the evidence in the world to bring him down now. A blatant admission. But I don’t want the messy way out. I don’t want to drag my daughter through court. I want his quiet, silent defeat. Even though nothing brings me more pain than to know he is about to get away with this.
There can’t be a trial.
This can’t go public.
Daria has suffered enough.
“Name your price,” he growls, his eyes darkening.
“Quite simply: your job, your location, and your word. I don’t want you anywhere near kids or teenagers again, Mr. Prichard, and you’re about to sign on it.”
I want to be your everything
Other than one thing
Your past
I thrust the vodka bottle into my glove compartment and wipe my mouth with the back of my hand.
Great. I’m turning into fucking Rhett. I’ve been avoiding the Followhill mansion since breaking shit off with Daria except for the times I needed to sleep, shit, and shower, and even though I’m jumping through hoops trying not to bump into Daria and Via, every time I do, it feels like they cut me down the middle, dragging my two halves in opposite directions.
Throwing the driver’s door open, I zigzag my way toward the snake pit. It’s too early for the fights, but people are already milling on the bleachers, passing beers, vapes, and cigarettes. I find Gus underneath said bleachers, reading through statistics of fighters, which he writes down with a Sharpie on a clipboard. He licks his finger and flips a page when I approach him, not even looking up.
“Scully.”
“Are we gonna make up and out, or are you going to tell me why the fuck you invited me here?” I hiccup, bracing myself on the side of the blue bleacher we are standing underneath.
Yesterday, Adriana called me and asked if we could meet at the park. Stressed that it was urgent. I said yes because I thought it had something to do with my stepdad. He’s a notorious shit-stirrer in my old neighborhood. In the background, I heard Gus talking, almost whispering, but I chalked it up to maybe her serving him at Lenny’s. Only when I parted ways with Addy and Harper at the park, in which she told me Harper might be running a fever (she wasn’t) did I remember that Addy had taken off to focus on school last week.
Now I’m interested to know just how deep Gus thrust himself into my life without my knowledge. Because if he’s playing Addy and messed around with my sister, who knows what else he touched without permission?
Not Daria, for his fucking sake.
“Aw.” Gus tosses his clipboard to the ground, adjusting his ball cap backward because apparently, he just doesn’t look douchey enough. “Someone’s being a bad sport.”
“Spit it out,” I snarl.
“I just wanted to talk.” He lifts his hands in surrender.