When he looked at me before taking a drink, I saw the understanding in his thickly lashed dark eyes and I was reassured that I’d brought my dad to the right place.
Parker was easygoing and had a great smile, and was genuine in a way that I’d rarely come across. But he had an air about him that warned people to tread carefully. One knew right away that it would be stupid to try to pull anything over on him. His street smarts were as obvious as his tribal tattoos.
“So you bring him here,” he said, “let him work it out and let him see you taking care of your own protection. Good idea.”
“I don’t know what else to do,” I confessed. Parker’s studio was located in a revitalizing area of Brooklyn. It was a converted warehouse, and the exposed brick and giant sliding loading-bay doors added to the atmosphere of tough chic. It was a place where I felt confident and take-charge.
“I’ve got some ideas.” He grinned and jerked his chin toward the mat. “Let’s show him what you can do.”
I dropped my towel over my water bottle and nodded. “Let’s.”
I didn’t see any of the uniformed parking attendants as we pulled into the underground garage of my apartment building. Since I wanted to do the honors myself anyway, that worked for me. I slid the DB9 into an empty slot and cut the engine. “Fabulous. Right by the elevator.”
“So I see,” my dad said. “Is this your car?”
I’d been waiting for that question. “No. A neighbor’s.”
“Friendly neighbor,” he said dryly.
“A cup of sugar. An Aston Martin. It’s all the same, right?” I glanced at him with a smile.
He looked so tired and worn, and not from the workout. The weariness came from the inside, and it was killing me.
Turning the car off, I released my seat belt and turned to look at him. “Dad. I … It’s shredding me to see you torn up over this. I can’t stand it.”
Heaving out his breath, he said, “I just need some time.”
“I never wanted you to find out.” I reached out and gripped his hand. “But I’ll be glad you did, if we can put Nathan behind us for good.”
“I read the reports—”
“God. Daddy …” I swallowed back a rush of bile. “I don’t want that stuff in your head.”
“I knew there was something wrong.” He stared at me with such sorrow and pain in his eyes it hurt to look into them. “The way Cary went to sit beside you when Detective Graves said Nathan Barker’s name … I knew you weren’t telling me something. I kept hoping you would.”
“I’ve tried very hard to put Nathan in my past. You were one of the few things in my life he hadn’t infected. I wanted to keep it that way.”
His grip on my hand tightened. “Tell me the truth. Are you okay?”
“Dad. I’m the same daughter you came to see a couple weeks ago. The same daughter who hung out with you in San Diego. I’m okay.”
“You were pregnant—” His voice broke and a tear slid down his cheek.
I brushed it away, ignoring my own. “And I will be again someday. Maybe more than once. Maybe you’ll be crawling with grandkids.”
“Come here.”
Leaning across the console, he hugged me. We sat in the car for a long time, crying. Getting it out.
Was Gideon watching the security feeds, sending me silent support? It gave me comfort to think he might be.
DINNER out that night wasn’t quite as boisterous a meal as usual for Cary, my dad, and me, but it wasn’t as grim as I’d feared it might be. The food was great, the wine better, and Cary was snarking out.
“She was worse than Tatiana,” he said, talking about the model he’d shared the shoot with that day. “She kept going on about her ‘good side,’ which I personally thought was her ass as it walked out the door.”
“You’ve done shoots with Tatiana?” I asked, then explained to my dad, “She’s a girl Cary’s seeing.”
“Oh, yeah.” Cary licked red wine off his lower lip. “We work together a lot, actually. I’m the Tatiana Tamer. She starts one of her fits and I calm her down.”