teeth. “There’s this guy, and sure, I can get his social, shouldn’t be a problem—”
“MOM, DO SOMETHING!” Amelia yelled.
Bronte just yawned and stared down at her phone.
“YOU GUYS ARE SO LAME! DREW! I HELPED YOU! AND YOU BETRAY ME WITH ONE PHONE CALL!”
I held up my hand. “Shhh. Not-Dad’s speaking, squirt.”
Bronte shook in her seat and then started laughing so hard she had tears running down her gorgeous cheeks
“Well…” Frank sighed. “…sounds like you have things under control. Is that a teenager yelling at you?”
“It’s what they do.” I blew out a long, slow breath.
“You’re telling me,” he said in a tired voice. “Really, though, do I need to check this punk out? Why don’t you just scare him shitless?”
“He’s too stupid to be afraid!” I raged. “I could tell him I was going to cut his tongue out and feed it to a pig, and he’d probably burp and go, ‘We got pigs?’”
“Mom!” Amelia groaned. “Ryan isn’t that dumb!”
“If he can spell cat, I quit life!” I yelled back at her. “Plus, he has eyes!”
“EVERYONE HAS EYES!” she roared. “Mom, he’s crazy!”
“What did you say?” I hissed. “I’m not crazy. Hold on, Frank, I have a teenager to calm down.”
Frank chuckled again. “Yeah, good luck with that. Do you know how many grandkids I have?”
“Too many,” I grumbled. “Hey, saw Chase on TV. Pretty cool, he’s running for a seat in the Senate.”
Amelia’s eyes went wide. “Who’s he talking to?”
“Shh…” I hushed her. Then I whispered, “Mafia.”
“He’s kidding.” Bronte laughed.
“He’s not.” Frank and I said at the same time.
“Well,” Frank said, “good luck with that. Don’t be a stranger, and if you really need help, call me later. I got a few guys in Seattle. Would be a short trip.”
“Toward death,” I said cheerfully.
“Well, I meant to Portland, but sure, scare the teen shitless. Say something about dental records.”
I snorted. “What was that? You won’t even be able to identify him with his dental records?”
“Mom.” Amelia sounded so freaked out that I felt nothing but joy in my soul.
My job was done.
Frank outright laughed. “Nice. All right, talk to you soon.”
“Yup!”
I hung up and turned slowly toward Amelia. “No Ryans.”
“Or what?” she squeaked.
“Well, you only heard half that conversation.” I grinned. “Use your imagination, small one.”
“Mom.” She clenched her teeth.
“Sorry.” Bronte grinned. “Looks like Not-Your-Dad has put down his foot, and who am I to tell him to pick it up? I mean, he’s not wrong.” She winked at me. “No Ryans.”
I held up my fist.
Bronte bumped it.
I made an exploding motion with mine, earning an eye roll and “You’re so lame” from Amelia, but I noticed, as I pulled back into traffic, she was smiling down at her phone.
See? She didn’t need any fucking Ryans.
She just needed us. Her mom…
And Not-Your-Dad, aka me.
Mission accomplished.
I smiled the entire way to the hospital, but the mood didn’t last long as we pulled into the parking lot.
The SUV was completely silent as if we weren’t sure if we’d be smiling or planning more treatments when we came back outside.
“Ready?” Bronte exhaled like she’d been holding her breath and shared a petrified glance with me before checking back on Amelia.
Amelia nodded once and then clenched her cell in her right hand, so tight her fingers went white. “No, but let’s go anyway.”
“You know,” I interrupted and showed her my phone. “We have about ten minutes, and that’s just enough time for a lame, boring Not-Your-Dad ‘when I was your age’ pep talk.”
Amelia pressed her lips tighter and rolled her eyes. “I’m pretty sure nobody has time for that—”
“You see,” I cleared my throat, ready for the encouraging lie. “…back when I was the quarterback at my old high school, living my best life, dating all the hot cheerleaders, and you know, all around peaking and under the impression that I’d always be surrounded by beautiful women instead of working three jobs and paying a mortgage, I too had a big day.”
“Let me guess…” Amelia grinned. “Big game?”
“State championship,” I lied. “Naturally, I threw the winning touchdown with a broken arm and black eye.”
“Naturally.” Amelia grinned. “I mean, how else do you gain small-town glory?”
“Or get the key to the city,” I added. “The point is that moment would have never happened had I stayed in the car. No matter what you face, whether it’s a big or small, staying in one place never changes the outcome.”
Bronte smiled. “How uncharacteristically wise of someone who peaked at eighteen.”
“Right?” I agreed. “All that matters, Amelia,