exploding, this beer had to be overturned and plunged
into the glass. It was a technique that they’d taught a hundred
guests, and it had a noticeable effect on the flavor of this
beer.
She took a long drink and then sighed in
satisfaction. “I needed this. Thanks.”
He put the two bottle caps in the garbage,
which wouldn’t have surprised anyone but her. In all their time
together, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him throw a bottle cap
away instead of just tossing it onto the nearest surface.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he
asked. “Or am I going to have to get you drunk first?”
She sat on a stool on the opposite side of
the breakfast counter from him. “My dad showed up.”
He stiffened and raised his eyebrows. “Oh
shit. Really?”
She nodded and tilted her glass to watch as
the foaming brown color of the beer slowly turned black. “Yep. He
found me at a restaurant where I was meeting with a reporter.”
“A reporter? What was that for?”
She smiled as she recalled the start of her
day. “My school surprised me with a new music room, and the local
news sent a reporter to cover it. They wanted to interview me, so I
met up with them at the China Buffet on Fairmont.”
“That’s awesome, about the room and the
reporter, not the buffet. That place sucks.”
“I know, right? I hate that place.” She
smiled as she looked down at her beer. It was nice to be with Paul.
They understood each other, which was a comfort she direly needed.
“All in all, I was having a pretty great day until Dad showed up.
Turns out the reporter had interviewed him in Pittsburgh…”
Paul interrupted her, “What? Why?”
While the two of them had shared a lot,
she’d never revealed anything about her history with the
Widowsfield incident. “They were, I don’t know, doing a story on
the king of assfucks or something. Doesn’t matter. The point is: He
followed them to me.”
Paul drank his beer and stared at her over
the rim. She could see by his expression that he sensed she wasn’t
telling him the whole story. When he lowered the glass there was
foam on his mustache.
He wiped his mouth on his arm. “Want me to
beat his ass?”
“No. I already had a guy do that for me. Now
there’s a Dad-sized dent in the side of my car.”
Paul frowned and his eyebrows sunk as if he
were scowling, but his menace was comedic as he asked, “Who do you
have beating up guys for you? That’s my job.”
“Yeah, well you’ve been busy porking bar
sluts.” She thumbed in the direction of the nearby queen bed that
Paul had made up in an attempt to hide what had occurred there just
hours before.
“Hey,” he said as if offended, “don’t call
my hand a bar slut. She’s a fine lady.” He wiggled his fingers.
“Gross.”
He ignored her condemnation. “I know you and
your dad have a bad relationship, but is he dangerous?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said as if he should’ve
known.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, you never told
me the details. You just said he was a dick, and that you never
wanted to see him again.”
“And I don’t.”
“Do you have a restraining order or anything
like that?”
She shook her head. “No. My mom moved us
back here where she grew up. I moved in with my grandparents after
my mom…” She was surprised by the grief that swelled from the
mention of her mother’s passing.
“I gotcha,” said Paul to end the
conversation and spare Alma the pain of recounting any more. “Maybe
you should think about getting one now.”
“Could I? I’m not sure I’ve got enough
against him to warrant it. Hell, I hurt him more than he hurt me at
the restaurant.”
“Still might be worth looking into.”
She nodded and took another drink. “Maybe.
For now, I just want to stay as far away from him as I can. I’m
afraid he’s going to show up at my place or something.”
“Hey, if you want, I can go round up some of
the guys downstairs and we’ll take you home. If the fucker
into the glass. It was a technique that they’d taught a hundred
guests, and it had a noticeable effect on the flavor of this
beer.
She took a long drink and then sighed in
satisfaction. “I needed this. Thanks.”
He put the two bottle caps in the garbage,
which wouldn’t have surprised anyone but her. In all their time
together, she couldn’t recall ever seeing him throw a bottle cap
away instead of just tossing it onto the nearest surface.
“Are you going to tell me what’s wrong?” he
asked. “Or am I going to have to get you drunk first?”
She sat on a stool on the opposite side of
the breakfast counter from him. “My dad showed up.”
He stiffened and raised his eyebrows. “Oh
shit. Really?”
She nodded and tilted her glass to watch as
the foaming brown color of the beer slowly turned black. “Yep. He
found me at a restaurant where I was meeting with a reporter.”
“A reporter? What was that for?”
She smiled as she recalled the start of her
day. “My school surprised me with a new music room, and the local
news sent a reporter to cover it. They wanted to interview me, so I
met up with them at the China Buffet on Fairmont.”
“That’s awesome, about the room and the
reporter, not the buffet. That place sucks.”
“I know, right? I hate that place.” She
smiled as she looked down at her beer. It was nice to be with Paul.
They understood each other, which was a comfort she direly needed.
“All in all, I was having a pretty great day until Dad showed up.
Turns out the reporter had interviewed him in Pittsburgh…”
Paul interrupted her, “What? Why?”
While the two of them had shared a lot,
she’d never revealed anything about her history with the
Widowsfield incident. “They were, I don’t know, doing a story on
the king of assfucks or something. Doesn’t matter. The point is: He
followed them to me.”
Paul drank his beer and stared at her over
the rim. She could see by his expression that he sensed she wasn’t
telling him the whole story. When he lowered the glass there was
foam on his mustache.
He wiped his mouth on his arm. “Want me to
beat his ass?”
“No. I already had a guy do that for me. Now
there’s a Dad-sized dent in the side of my car.”
Paul frowned and his eyebrows sunk as if he
were scowling, but his menace was comedic as he asked, “Who do you
have beating up guys for you? That’s my job.”
“Yeah, well you’ve been busy porking bar
sluts.” She thumbed in the direction of the nearby queen bed that
Paul had made up in an attempt to hide what had occurred there just
hours before.
“Hey,” he said as if offended, “don’t call
my hand a bar slut. She’s a fine lady.” He wiggled his fingers.
“Gross.”
He ignored her condemnation. “I know you and
your dad have a bad relationship, but is he dangerous?”
“Uh, yeah,” she said as if he should’ve
known.
He shrugged. “I don’t know, you never told
me the details. You just said he was a dick, and that you never
wanted to see him again.”
“And I don’t.”
“Do you have a restraining order or anything
like that?”
She shook her head. “No. My mom moved us
back here where she grew up. I moved in with my grandparents after
my mom…” She was surprised by the grief that swelled from the
mention of her mother’s passing.
“I gotcha,” said Paul to end the
conversation and spare Alma the pain of recounting any more. “Maybe
you should think about getting one now.”
“Could I? I’m not sure I’ve got enough
against him to warrant it. Hell, I hurt him more than he hurt me at
the restaurant.”
“Still might be worth looking into.”
She nodded and took another drink. “Maybe.
For now, I just want to stay as far away from him as I can. I’m
afraid he’s going to show up at my place or something.”
“Hey, if you want, I can go round up some of
the guys downstairs and we’ll take you home. If the fucker
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