He glances over. “You look really nice.”
“Thank you.”
“That color is pretty on you.”
My cheeks warm from the compliment, and I place my hand on his leg.
The drive takes a little more than two hours but still seems to be over too fast.
Even though this is a medium security federal penitentiary, we’re asked to provide identification and thoroughly questioned.
“DeLova.” The guard glances at my license and back to me. “Here to see your father, right?”
“Yes.” I’m guessing my father’s made friends all over the place and that’s why the guard seems pleased my father has a visitor.
“Adams.” He scrutinizes Chaser’s license more thoroughly. “What business do you have here?”
Chaser’s expression remains passive. “I’m here with my girlfriend for moral support,” he answers.
The guard’s gaze flicks between us for a few seconds before a slow smile of recognition spreads over his face. “You’re Chaser Adams, right? Guitarist for Kickstart?” He glances at me again. “You’re the chick from the video. I knew you look two looked familiar.”
Oh my God. I can’t afford to have news spread that my father’s a notorious crime boss. The tabloids will have a field day.
Chaser seems to understand why I’m frozen in place.
“Yeah, that’s us.” He leans in closer to the guard. “We really need to keep this visit hush-hush, though.”
The guard straightens up. “Of course. I’m a huge fan. Looking forward to the next album.”
“We’ll be working on it soon. It’s a little different from the last one.” Chaser leans in closer, as if he’s including the guard in top-secret band information. “More progressive. The label let us do some experimenting.”
“Totally awesome. Love ‘Candy Jar.’” His gaze slides my way. “The video was perfect because of her.”
Waves of possessiveness roll off Chaser, and he slips his arm around my shoulders, making it clear we’re together. “Sure is. Favorite video ever. That’s how we met.”
I flash a hesitant smile.
Finally, the guard waves us through the metal detector. On the other side, he does a quick inspection of my small purse, before leading us into a room with a long counter in the middle. Large panes of plexiglass separate the prisoners from visitors. A mesh square in the middle allows us to speak.
“Your dad hasn’t been here long, so he’s still only allowed no contact visits,” the guard says almost apologetically.
“Of course. I understand.”
Honestly, it’s probably safer that way. I doubt my father is happy with me at the moment. And I guarantee he won’t be thrilled about Chaser.
Chaser pulls out a chair for me and then drags another to my side, so we’re sitting as close as possible.
No mistaking that we’re a couple.
“Thank you,” I whisper. I don’t care if it makes me weak; today, I need the safety and protection Chaser’s closeness brings.
On the other side, a large, metal door swings open. My father enters the space.
I jump out of my chair at the sight of him. Chaser stands as well, more out of respect than shock, since this is the first time he’s met my father and has no way of knowing how much weight he’s lost since he’s been inside. Also missing is the healthy glow I remember. His skin is pale, pasty and etched with new lines.
What my father has not lost is his air of authority. He stands tall, as if he owns the room and everyone in it.
Chaser wraps his arm around my shoulders, and my father’s eyes narrow at the obvious-we’re-a-couple gesture.
His gaze slides down my body and over to Chaser, before finally taking a seat. He motions for us to do the same.
“Daughter, who have you brought to our visit?” It’s only now, after not hearing his voice for so long, that I notice the moderate accent coloring his words.
It’s not like they can shake hello. So instead, Chaser takes my hand, lacing our fingers together. “Russell Adams, sir. Pleased to meet you. I wish it was in a better setting.”
“And who are you to my daughter?” he asks with a bite to his words I’ve only ever heard him use with business associates who have fallen out of favor.
“Daddy, Ch—Russell is my…boyfriend.”
My father’s jaw tightens at the word boyfriend.
“You did not do as I asked,” he says in the same tone that used to send terror through me as a little girl. Old Mallory shivers inside.
New Mallory sits up taller and looks her father in the eye. “No, I did not. I’m not a thing you can give to one of your friends. I have my own dreams for my future that I want to go after.”
He drops his head, shaking it from side to side, as if I’m a simple, foolish girl.
“All I wanted was for you to be protected and taken care of.”
And kept under someone’s thumb. “That would mean a lot more if your goons hadn’t insisted I pay back the money I borrowed to go to California.”