mom without a word. I fire up my shitty squad car and test out the engine, getting to Abby’s house in less than three minutes by blowing one stop sign and rolling through three others.
At her curb, I slam the car in park and dash through the lawn and up her steps, pounding my fist on her front door. She opens it after only seconds, and I step inside and take her into my arms, and let her cry big, fat, ugly tears into my chest.
“I know,” I say, running my hand over her head and through her hair, rocking her softly while we embrace in the doorway.
“I can’t do this,” she fights. I assume she means the movie, and that’s just crazy talk. She’s too good to let this emotional hump stop her.
“Yes, you can. Don’t give him that much power over you. Your choices, your decisions,” I say.
She goes quiet, breathing hard, her mouth open on my cotton shirt. She’s making a wet circle in the middle of my chest with her spit and tears. In all my years of knowing Abby Cortez, I don’t think I’ve ever seen her truly cry.
“Someone took nude pictures of me, and he paid them off. I owe him,” she says, her voice raw and embarrassed. She hides her face against me, turning inward even more. I’m glad because I’m sure the expression on my face is violent and frightening. I feel hot, and it’s a struggle for me to keep my touch so gentle while my muscles are flexing, ready to rip someone’s head off.
“You don’t owe him jack shit, Abby. Taking care of you is his job.” I’m probably a little more forceful than she needs to hear in her fragile state of mind.
“He’s moving here. To fucking Allensville. He’s moving his whole Miami life, his whole Miami girlfriend, to the town he called a shithole and pledged to never step foot in again.” She pushes off from my chest just enough so she can form fists with her hands and level them against my chest. I can take it. I hold her elbows while she beats against me, letting out her rage. “He’s coming here so he can get a better handle on my business. He thinks my mom doesn’t do enough. I should be earning more! He’s coming to milk me dry, not to be a dad!”
I bend down enough to look her square in the eyes, my palms cradling her face. I swipe away the tears collecting on her cheeks and wait for her breathing to slow while she sniffles and focuses through her blurred vision. She nervously steps side-to-side in my hold.
“Abby, listen to me. You . . . deserve better. You hear me?”
She shakes her head. It’s going to take more to make her get it. I tighten my lips and shake my own head.
“No, you need to listen, to hear! You are worth a thousand suns. Your dad screwed up, and not like a business man, but like a human. He screwed up the day he wrote you and your mom off, and he doesn’t get a second shot at that. He’s not the man for the job. Hell, you and your mom—you don’t need a man. Look at what you two strong women have done! You . . . you’re going to be in a fucking Jordan Shotcraft film! Like, in theaters, where I’ll have to buy some twenty-dollar ticket or some shit.”
She laughs through lighter tears and sniffles.
“That’s right. Smile, Abby Cortez. Let him try to steal your spotlight, take dollars out of your pocket. He’s just using you to fill his empty void. And he did it to himself. He gave up the chance to have a real heart, a real life, the day he took off for Miami. He can move here and fight you in court so he can get paid and it will never be enough because he won’t have you. Not having you . . . it is fucking torture, Abby Cortez.”
Her eyes blink away tears and open on mine, and I swallow hard. That last part, that’s about me. There’s no way she doesn’t know it. She has to know.
“Abby . . .”
My attempt to get back on track is cut short when she steps up on her toes, clutching my now damp shirt in her hands, and presses her lips to mine. I’m frozen from the touch, my hands falling away from her face but