Sidecar Crush

The whole thing felt like a business arrangement. Like signing on with his modeling agency, only for life.

But I was probably being dramatic because of what had happened at the Lookout last night. Kelvin was out of his element, and yes, being kind of a jerk about it. But he wasn’t always that way. Bootleg Springs hadn’t grown on him the way I’d hoped it would, but it wasn’t his sort of place. He was an urban guy—born and raised in L.A. To him, a city of less than a million people was a small town. A place like Bootleg Springs was barely a neighborhood in his eyes. I’d grown up here, so I knew what it was like. He didn’t have the same nostalgia for it. I couldn’t expect him to fall in love with the place just because I’d lived here as a child.

I was sure that by the time we got back to L.A., everything would be back to normal. He’d figure out my next career move, we’d get married, and everything would be fine. Like he’d said, I was at a crossroads. I should be excited for what the future had in store.

In the meantime, I was going to have one last visit with my dad.

I knocked on the front door as I opened it. Of course it wasn’t locked. People didn’t lock their doors in Bootleg. It just wasn’t done.

“Hey, Daddy,” I said when I came in. “I brought breakfast.”

He hadn’t been on his front porch—which was strange because the weather was so nice—and he wasn’t in his recliner, either. His truck was outside, so I knew he had to be home. But looking around, I didn’t see him.

“Daddy?”

Betsy Stirling came out of the back bedroom. She was nearing fifty—pretty, with a bit of gray in her short blond hair. “Oh good, I was about to call you.”

“Is Dad okay?”

“Well, he is, and he isn’t,” she said. “He’s been having a bit of trouble breathing this morning. I made him call Doc Trevor. Doc said it was all right for Clay to stay home as long as he rests and doesn’t get worse. Otherwise, he’s to go get checked out at the hospital.”

“Oh, no.”

“I’ve been having a hell of a time keeping him from getting up for every little thing,” she said. “I tell you, Leah Mae, men either act like they’re dying when they have nothing but a bit of a cold, or they’re up and working when they’re at death’s door. There’s no in between.”

I sighed and put our food on the counter. “Thanks for checking in on him. I appreciate it.”

“No trouble at all, sweetie,” she said. “Now if you don’t mind me, I’ll get a few things done around here. You’re on keep-your-daddy-in-bed duty.”

“Got it,” I said. “Thanks.”

I let Betsy get on with her work while I unpacked our breakfast and put it on a tray I found in a cupboard. It was just muffins, but I wanted to make sure Dad didn’t get up. If he was supposed to rest, I was going to see to it that he did.

Dad was in bed with his head propped up against two pillows. His oxygen tank was on the far side of the bed, the rubber tubing running over the side. His skin was pale, almost ashen, and he coughed when I came in.

“Hey, Daddy.” I set the tray down on his dresser. “I brought breakfast.”

He coughed again, and I didn’t like the way it sounded. So raspy. “Thank you, sunshine.”

“That cough doesn’t sound so good.”

“I’m all right,” he said.

I sighed and helped him sit up a little more so he could eat.

“I think you’re just saying that so I won’t worry.” I pulled up a chair next to the bed and sat down with my plate.

“I don’t want any fuss,” he said. He coughed again before he started eating.

“No fuss might mean you wind up in the hospital again,” I said.

He just grunted.

“Daddy, it’s okay to admit you’re not feeling well.”

“I just don’t want you changin’ your plans on account of me,” he said. “I’ll get on just fine.”

“Now that’s something I don’t want you worrying about,” I said. “I need you to do something for me.”

“What’s that?”