News Boy - Susan Hawke Page 0,27

happen too. Plenty of them. Girl Scouts save puppies they found abandoned in a store trashcan. Or entire classrooms full of kids all shave their heads so the one student with cancer doesn't feel different when the chemo makes their hair fall out. Struggling single moms win the lotto. Any animal ever at the zoo has a baby. Sweet stories balance the serious ones so they aren't so scary."

He stopped to gulp some water, and I felt a whole new respect for the man. After setting his glass down, Neil shrugged with a shy smile. "But even though good stories and fun staff will even out the serious and scary, I don't know until I get into the studio what news might hit my desk. Even if they still need to be told, I hate the bad stories, so sometimes I freak out."

He appeared so raw that I was halfway up to come around and give him a hug, but my phone rang. I knew it was Mack’s ringtone, as did Neil after spending three weeks with me. Wincing, I settled for patting his hand. "Hold your thought, sweetie. I'm probably going to need a few hugs after hearing your explanation, but first I need to take this call."

Neil frowned at my phone. "Yeah, you have to answer. If Mr. Mack’s calling at night, it's probably important."

Wondering if I should leave the room, I reluctantly took the call. I ended up staying because Neil seemed so worried. I tried not to give much away, only asking the basic questions like when, where, why, and how. Once finished, I ended the call and slipped my phone in my pocket. Taking a deep breath, I decided to respect Neil as a journalist and not waste either of our time by mincing words.

"Mad Dog has been found. He's gone, Neil. And has been for over two weeks. He died of a self-inflicted bullet wound. The groundskeeper found him last week at the graveyard in Washington state where his family was buried. There were flowers and toys on his family's plots. With all the interstate bureaucracy involved, it took them this long to check for surviving kin and finally get word to the California parole board."

I ran a hand over my head, resisting the urge to punch something. "I’m so pissed. You had to live in fear all this time with a bodyguard shadowing your every move, when a simple database entry up in Washington would've saved you the pain."

Kicking his chair back, Neil hopped up, put his fists on his hips, and leaned forward to yell in my face. "You mean it could've saved you! Tell the truth—you're happy you can leave. You know what? Go. Leave my house and get in your crappy car and go on the trip you skipped to babysit me. I didn't ask for you, and I don't want you here anymore. You're not my Daddy, so go away!"

His outburst shocked me so much I needed a moment to react. "Neil, I know the news startled you, but there's no reason to be rude. I want you to go to your room and stand in your corner for ten minutes. While you're in timeout, I'll load the dishwasher tonight. When I'm done, I'll be back to check on you so we can discuss what's really bothering you. Go ahead and scowl. You and I both know you don’t behave like a brat unless a situation calls for it. This, right here? No. This behavior isn't a tantrum. It's a front, and I'm not buying it."

Neil glared at me, a mess of conflicting emotions flashing back and forth across his face. "Aargh! I'm so over you trying to boss me around. Fine! I'll go to my room, but only because I don't want to do the dishes." He stomped toward the hallway, then stopped and repeated himself—at full volume. "You're still not my Daddy! You can't tell me what to do."

"Welp, I'm pretty sure I just did. Now march, or I will add time." When Neil snapped a perfect salute before spinning on his heel and actually fucking marching to his room, I wanted so badly to laugh. I had to walk over and watch him go, simply to witness the way his perfect little ass moved up and down. What did it say about me, getting so turned on when he was bratty? Even though I had been expecting it, I jumped when his door slammed behind him.

Hearing