Come on, Alan, why don’t you say something useful?

Like, hello, I’m your dad.

Or maybe, hello, you’re my daughter.

I’d settle for I know I’ve been gone a year, I’m sorry I was a prick, but I’m your father…

Stupid, Kaley, that’s never going to happen.

“Well, hello to you, too, Kaley,” Alan says affectionately, and for some reason it has the power to make me flush. “I just got in to LA a few hours ago.”

“Does Mom know you’re here?”

“No, I wanted to surprise her.”

He smiles.

Oh fuck, he doesn’t know anything.

“Oh, there is definitely going to be a surprise here today.” I debate whether I should get out of the house now, and then hurry to the kitchen.

I start rummaging through the refrigerator, not because I’m hungry but because I need something to do as I try to figure out my next move. I don’t know if I should stay—if Mom is going to need me—or if I should get the hell out of here before the fun starts.

I hear sound behind me. Crap, Alan followed me. I pull out some sort of ready-made pasta salad, slam the fridge door, and grab a fork from the drawer.

After popping off the lid, I lean against the counter, poking at the noodles, wishing Alan away and wishing I were the priority so that we could finally get a few factoids out in the open about who this baby’s daddy is.

Fuck, that’s all my mom needs, for me to have this confrontation now. I shove a too-large forkful of pasta in my mouth and choke it down.

I can feel Alan watching me eat, and it’s completely unnerving.

“You used to like me a little, love,” he chides good-humoredly.

A stupid joke; how the fuck does he do it? Why am I the one feeling as if I’m in the wrong?

I take in a steadying breath.

I’ll do my line.

“Very little,” I murmur, not looking up from my food.

That earns me a smile.

Alan relaxes back against the kitchen island. “You look good,” he says, more in his natural, charming way. “How do you like living in Pacific Palisades?”

Really? After a year? That’s what you want to know? Meaningless bullshit you could get from reading my Facebook page.

“I fucking hate it here.”

His eyes widen, surprised. Don’t act like you never heard the word before, Alan.

“How’s your mother been?”

Everything inside me turns over and erupts.

That’s it for Kaley time.

You look good.

How do you like it here?

And now you’re ready to blow past me, Alan, to pump for information about my mother.

I slam the pasta container on the counter. “I’m out of here.”

Before he can respond, I’m into my bedroom. I lock the door behind me, lean back against the wood, and clutch my stomach. It feels like someone has knocked the air out of me and I can’t pull in oxygen.

I stare at my room, not knowing what to do. Somehow I find myself in the bathroom. I take a quick shower to wash the smell of sex from my body, put on fresh clothes, and then grab my Vans from the closet.

No sounds for the rest of the house. Crap, it’s still quiet. What’s going on out there? I grab my cell from the bed.

Me: Alan is here.

Mom: I know, sweetheart.

I stare at the screen. Well, that wasn’t helpful.

Me: What do you want me to do? I can stay if you need me to or I can spend the night at Zoe’s.

Waiting. Waiting. Waiting. I stare at the screen, biting my nails, watching the little bouncing dots that tell me Mom’s typing. Why is it taking so long to answer that one?

Mom: Text me when you get to Zoe’s. Text me in the morning. I love you, baby girl.

I shove some stuff into a small duffel and head for the door, grabbing my tote from the entry hall before I hightail it into the driveway.

So much is running through me. The seeing-my-dad aftereffect. Guilt over abandoning ship during my mom’s moment of crisis. That hideous crackling uncertainty of life about to change and spin and not knowing in what direction.

The sense that tomorrow everything will be different in my world—I don’t know how, but Alan is here about to go through one of my mom’s classic bombshell moments—and my entire world will change.

It will all be different.

Like it was when my mom left Neil: poof, up and gone.

Like when my mom left Alan—hasta la bye-bye, no warning—and married Jesse before she’d even unpacked.

Like when my mom had Khloe and a week later I found movers in the house and we were taking apart our life in Santa Barbara with Jesse.

When Chrissie makes a move—which isn’t very often—she moves boldly and unexpectedly.

It’s going to be the same with this latest Chrissie life-altering moment. Everything is going to be different. My mom, my dad, my sisters and brothers. Everything—but me.

CHAPTER 16

I park in the alley behind Bobby’s house, pull my keys from the ignition, and grab my stuff. After punching the security code into the back panel, I hurry across the lawn praying I don’t run into anyone. Getting caught sneaking into Bobby’s bedroom means discussion time with Linda.

Linda would take one look at my face, know shit’s going down in my world, latch on and pump me for the full 411. Linda knows and sees everything. It’s a freaking nightmare how on target she can be without ever being told anything. As for keeping my shit private, there is no such thing in the domain of Linda Rowan.

I make my way around the pool, slip into Bobby’s bedroom and flip on the light. Frowning, I drop my junk on the floor.

Where the hell is he?

I only left an hour ago.

I pull my phone from my pocket and check my texts. Nothing. Of course, he doesn’t have to tell me everything. He wasn’t expecting me back tonight. But, damn, I’m in crisis here.

I plop on the bed and start to type.

Me: Where are you?

I stare at the screen, expecting my usual rapid-fire response, and when nothing comes I fight the impulse to text him again and toss aside my cell.

Fuck. My gaze settles on his laptop still open on the bed. I slide it toward me and hit a key. His Facebook page comes up with an open chat box.

My entire body grows cold.

What the fuck is Caroline doing texting him? I scroll through the messages.

Caroline: Bobby, call me now. I fucked up big. I can’t reach anyone. I need help. NOW. Definite emergency. Don’t talk to Seth. Call me now!!!!!

Really, the I can’t reach my boyfriend, please come, fembot in distress bullshit?

Emergency my ass.

I continue to read. Crap, it doesn’t say what’s going on or where they went. Bobby must have called her. My insides grow queasy and chaotic. I can’t believe he jumped for her. I can’t believe he went. And I can’t shut off the voice inside my head wondering how often she has emergencies, how many times he’s run to the rescue, and what the fuck else I don’t know about.

Stupid?

Maybe.

Irrational jealousy?

No doubt, since Bobby isn’t a player.

But I can’t contain my spiking temper. He’s my guy. He should be here when I need him, not with her. You’re going to have a lot to answer for, Bobby Rowan, when you get back.

I exhale loudly.

Crap, I wish he were here.

My nerves feel like they’re about to snap.

Fuck.

What’s happening at my house?

Why is Alan in Pacific Palisades at long last?

I start clicking away, cyberstalking my dad. It’s galling that I have to surf the net to know what’s going on in his life. I hit a link. Nothing. Another. Nothing. Why isn’t there ever anything useful on the Internet? But nope, no answers here about what’s going on in my dad’s universe. Just the standard PR bullshit—blah, blah, blah—and Kodak tabloid moments.