I'm Not Your Enemy (Enemies 2)

I shook my head and slid away a couple inches. I couldn’t be near him. I couldn’t touch him like this. Choosing an Alabama shirt was only marginally better than Georgia Tech.

“I thought we had somethin’,” I said grimly.

The fucker decided to throw an arm around my shoulder and plant a loud, wet kiss on my cheek. “You love me anyway.”

“Oh-la-la, boyyyfriends!” Teddy catcalled.

I shook with laughter, unable to help it, and hid my face against Sebastian’s neck. That boy was too funny sometimes, and he hadn’t quite finished processing that his Bastian and Uncle Blake were together.

“You goofball.” Sebastian chuckled and flicked a stray nacho chip at Teddy. “Unfortunately, I have to cut my fun short. I was hoping to terrorize you with a wardrobe change. I bought a football shirt with some Florida team too.”

Eh, Alabama was worse, even if the Florida team ended up being the Gators.

“I’m so sorry to miss that,” Soph drawled.

Sebastian withdrew his arm from around me and gave my thigh a squeeze. “Can I have a word outside?”

Sensing that the lingering humor in his expression was forced, I nodded and slid out of the booth after him.

“We’ll be right back,” I said.

Wind and rain greeted us outside, so we walked between two buildings for at least a semblance of shelter.

“Is somethin’ wrong?” I wondered.

“I don’t know,” he answered pensively. “When I was finishing up at the guesthouse, you got a visitor.” He retrieved the keys to my truck, and I frowned in confusion and accepted them. “You should probably go there.”

“I don’t understa—”

“It’s your dad, Blake.”

I reeled back and stared at him.

“It’s why I was late. He pulled in just as I’d covered the last tree, and he asked for you.” He took a step closer and cupped my cheek. I barely felt it. Hell, I barely heard him. A rushing sound took over. “As soon as I realized who he was, I told him I was on my way to see you.”

I swallowed against the sudden dryness in my throat and shook my head. “He’s here? In person?”

It didn’t make any sense. Was someone dying? Was Dad dying?

“He’s at the guesthouse right now,” Sebastian replied. “I let him in and said I’d tell you he’s in town.”

Jesus. I didn’t know what to say. If he was so angry because we’d decided it was best not to have Mom and Dad at Christmas, he would’ve just kept calling. I’d chickened out a bit, having had zero desire to actually talk to him, so I’d sent an email on Thanksgiving before we went over to Mr. Wilder’s place. Dad hadn’t responded.

Except, now he was evidently right here in Washington.

My stomach tightened, and I hated the grief threatening to well up inside me. Anger was so much easier, but I hadn’t had much luck in that arena where my folks were concerned. I’d mostly been hurt.

“Why the fuck is he here?” I took a step back and placed my hands on my hips to keep from clutching my stomach. Ouch. “It’s not like him. He doesn’t do…that. He calls or…” Well, under normal circumstances, Mom would handle issues between them and us.

“I think there’s only one way to find out,” Sebastian murmured. “I can let Sophia know. Or if you want me to drive you to the house and drop you off—”

“Yeah, that,” I said. I didn’t wanna drive. I wasn’t sure I could physically make myself take a single step closer to Dad. At the same time, the part of me that still hurt like a son of a bitch wanted him to take it all back. That part wanted to hear what he had to say.

I knew that wasn’t going to happen. He was 100% devoted to standing by Mom’s side.

“Okay. I’ll take you.” Sebastian closed the distance between us and kissed my temple. “You’ve got this. And as soon as you want me to come get you, you just call me.”

I nodded numbly and returned the keys to him.

“I’ll go let Soph know,” he said.

“Okay.”

By the time we reached Downtown, the shock had been replaced by an anxious impatience. I drummed my fingers against my thighs and kept counting the streets. Each one brought me closer to a conversation I couldn’t predict the nature of. Or the reasoning behind it. It baffled me that he was here. I couldn’t grasp it. It was just so unlike him.

On the other hand, we’d never had an issue like this in the family before. All the hell I’d brought home over the years had been child’s play—and nothing that’d caused my mother to be unable to speak to me.

Was Dad here as the messenger?

It was kinda unlike him too. He wasn’t a mediator. That was Mom.

“Whatever the outcome, baby—” Sebastian squeezed my hand “—you have me. You have us.”