“No, B. I get that it’s hard. I get that you want to keep this on the down-low, but stop acting as if anything about us, about this”—I wagged my finger from myself to her and back again—“is a fucking mistake.”
Grabbing my hoodie, I pulled it on over my head and got the fuck out of there before I said something I might regret.
Voices floated down the hall, and the knot in my stomach twisted and tightened as I forced myself toward them.
“I thought you weren’t— what the fuck?” I gawked at my old man in absolute disbelief. “What the hell happened to you?”
His face was a patchwork of cuts and bruises. Dried blood crusted along his brow and bottom lip.
“It’s nothing,” he grunted, swatting Jessa away as she tried to come at him with a damp towel.
“Let me guess, business didn’t go to plan?”
“Nix,” Jessa warned, shaking her head.
“Fuck.” I blew out a weary breath, looking up at the ceiling. Just when I thought things couldn’t get any worse, a new level of fucked up showed itself.
“You don’t look so good yourself,” he grunted.
“I had a game, remember?”
“Some game,” he winced as Jessa managed to wrestle the towel to his cheek. “Will you back the fuck up, woman. I said I’m fine.”
“Stubborn fool.” She threw it in the sink and threw up her hands. “They could have killed you, Joe.”
“Yeah, maybe they should have, because when Vince—”
“Vince? Oh hell no, tell me you didn’t go down there running a job for him?”
“What’s it to—”
“Umm, hello.”
“Harleigh, honey, is that you?” Jessa rushed over to her as she stood in the hall. “It’s so good to see—”
My old man’s eyes flared as he ground out, “What the fuck is she doing here?”