No Saint (Wild Men 6)

Crap.

“Listen, Ross... what I said about staying away from the diner... forget it, okay? I misunderstood. If you say you pay every month, I believe you.”

He stares at me for long seconds, shadows shifting in those pretty eyes of his.

Then he nods. Dry-washes his face with his hand, like a big cat. “Hey... I wanted to say thanks. For everything.”

And... that’s it. I’m done, defeated, won over. Despite all the things still left unsaid, unresolved between us, what chance do I stand of hating him after today?

***

“Luna, where were you?” Dad frowns at me over his reading glasses. He’s sitting at the kitchen table, his phone in hand. “I was about to get out there to find you. You left your phone here.”

“I know. I’m sorr—”

“She was with that guy,” Josh accuses.

Dad’s brows rise to his graying hairline. “What guy?”

“The bully. Ross.”

“Ross Jones? Is that true?” Dad turns to nail me with his gaze. “Luna?”

I sigh and throw myself into a chair. “Josh threw rocks at him. I had to make sure he’s okay.”

“Traitor,” Josh mutters. “You didn’t have to tell.”

I don’t have the heart to reply, but Dad does it for me.

“We don’t do that, Joshua,” Dad says. “We don’t throw rocks at anyone. What were you thinking? You could kill someone.”

“But he was lurking outside. And he’s a bully.”

“You were looking out for your sister. I get that. But violence doesn’t solve problems. It only makes them worse.”

Oh gosh, I want to hug my dad right now, but when he turns to me

, he glares. Oops. He’s still upset with me. It would have been too easy.

“And going off without letting me or your brother know where you are, without your phone, is irresponsible,” he says. “You never know who may be around in the woods. And before you say it, I know you’re eighteen, but please don’t make me worry.”

“Okay, Dad. Sorry.”

He taps his fingers on the table in an uneven rhythm. “You really went after that boy?”

“Josh hit him,” I say, a bit defensively. “Josh told me so. I wanted to make sure Ross was okay.”

Dad shakes his head, gives a gust of a sigh that speaks of frustration and affection. “I want to scold you. Tell you that Ross hurt you, took you away from us. But I can’t, not about this. I’m proud of you for caring enough to check on him.”

I press my lips together, fighting a smile. “Thanks, Dad.”

“Is he okay?”

My smile dies before it forms and I shrug. “Not really.”

“What’s wrong with him? Well, apart from the obvious issue, of course.”

“Oh Dad, I think he’s changed,” I rush to say, my heart starting to pound. “I don’t think he’s a bully anymore. He doesn’t mock or try to hurt—”