I’d decided to start campaigning for a woman’s right to marry her vibrator. So far I’d collected signatures from … well, mostly just Maggs. Her old man, Bolt, was coming up for parole soon, but she didn’t think he’d get out. He wouldn’t admit he’d done anything wrong. We all knew he was innocent. Hell, we even knew the DNA would exonerate him.

Convincing the state to actually get off their asses and test it, though? Good luck.

Maggs had dressed up like a prisoner in an orange jumpsuit, declaring it was her current version of slutty. Said she’d started associating prison jumpsuits with sex, seeing how the only time she got laid was during the very occasional conjugal visit.

I considered the music volume levels, then turned them up just a notch. I wasn’t blasting the back bedroom too loud—but listening to perky dance songs is a great way to wake up and get moving, right? Not only that, it seemed only civil to make a nice brunch for them.

A new song started, and I heard stirrings from the back of the house. Guessing who would come out of Dad’s bedroom any given morning was a real crapshoot. I kept fantasizing that he’d bring home someone over the age of thirty, but no joy so far. Knowing my luck, it was yet another chick I’d been in high school with.

I should start carding them to make sure they were legal.

It hadn’t always been this way. When Mom died, my dad went dark on us for a while, an angry lion who prowled around the house and occasionally swatted at things that got in his way. That first year I hadn’t seen him with a woman, not even once.

After that? It’s like a switch went off, and now he screwed around more than Ruger did before Sophie, which was saying something. But I might as well make Dad’s “friend” feel welcome, I told myself piously. After a long, hard night she would be hungry. I started whipping up pancakes, singing loudly as songs cycled through.

By the third song, the griddle was hot and the batter ready.

By the sixth I had a dozen pancakes cooked and ready. I’d also heard some thudding from the back of the house, and a high-pitched squeal. His latest party favor sounded just like a baby pig, I decided uncharitably.

Sure enough, when the girl marched into the kitchen, I recognized her. Yet another one I’d gone to school with. Officially icky. I eyed her as I took a sip of coffee. Then I raised my cup, wordlessly offering her some. She shook her head, wincing from the motion. I took another sip of sweet caffeine, hiding my smirk.

I set the cup down and poured a measuring bowl of whipped eggs into the frying pan. I heard a gagging noise behind me as she took off running for the bathroom. A few minutes later, Dad wandered into the kitchen. He wore nothing but flannel pajama pants, leaning against the counter as I passed him a cup of coffee without comment.

He took a sip, then spoke.

“You have plans for today?” he asked.

He didn’t ask about the girl or complain about the loud music.

He never did.

I had a secret theory that he liked how I chased off his women first thing in the morning. Sort of like letting out the dog, or hauling the trash to the curb. It was just one of the many small things I did to make his life more pleasant. In return he made it impossible for me to date and tried to micromanage my life.

Didn’t seem quite fair, something I needed to discuss with him. I took a deep breath, figuring there was no time like the present.

“Actually, I’ve got a project today,” I told him.

“What’s that?” he asked. A loud barfing noise came from the bathroom, and we both winced.

“Classy, Dad.”

A pained look crossed his face.

“Yeah, you got me there. So what’s this project?”

“Well, you know I’ve been looking into getting my aesthetician’s certification? I found a program and they’ve accepted me. You know I love doing nails, but I think this would be a great step forward.”

“That’s nice,” he said, then smiled. “I got no idea what that is, but if it makes you happy, go for it.”

“Here’s the thing,” I said, taking a deep breath. “The program’s in Portland.”

I braced myself, expecting him to explode. He didn’t disappoint.

“What the fuck are you thinking?”

“Cookie and I were talking at the wedding,” I said. “She’s got space and could use a little rental income. She’s lonely since Bagger died. She loves Portland, but having a friend around would help.”

“Don’t bullshit me, little girl,” he muttered. “This has to be about Hunter. What the fuck did he do to you? You gotta talk to me.”

I shook my head. He’d been after me to give him details of my time alone with Liam, but I wasn’t ready for that. I might never be ready. It seemed like my feelings changed daily, but I knew one thing for sure.

Dad wasn’t the person I’d be talking to when and if I felt the need.

“No, this is about me,” I told him firmly. “It’s time for me to strike out on my own. I love Portland, I love Cookie, and I need to get out of Coeur d’Alene.”

He looked away, face hardening.

“If it’s not Hunter, is it Painter? You need to get away from him? I know he was all over you last night, but I can make him back the fuck off, baby.”

“No,” I repeated. “That’s part of the problem. Everyone thinks it’s about the men in my life, or the club. It’s not. This is about me. I love you, but I’m almost twenty-three years old. I want my own space—it’s time.”

“I want you to be happy,” he said slowly. “And I can even understand moving out on your own. But Portland is the wrong city.”

“Don’t give me that,” I told him. “The truce with the Devil’s Jacks is solid. Deke and the brothers will be there for me. You have to accept the fact that I’m an adult and I can take care of myself. I promise you—if I need help, I’ll ask for it. But you can’t just tie me up in bubble wrap and store me in the basement. Kit’s on her own and she’s doing fine. It’s my turn.”

“Well, if that’s what you really want …” he said finally. He shook his head. “I don’t like it. For the record, I don’t like her being out there, either.”

I smiled, because I knew I had him.

“I’ll be fine, Dad. I love—”

“Oh, I can’t believe how much my head hurts,” moaned my former classmate as she stumbled into the kitchen, her face faintly green.

Kind of like the inside of a cucumber.

The wave of warmth I’d been feeling toward Dad chilled. Why the hell did he keep fucking around with women like this? Mom would kill him dead if she saw him pulling this shit. Not out of jealousy. Nope. Straight-up mercy shot.

“You think you could turn that music down?” she whimpered.

I shook my head in mock sorrow, then shouted, “Can’t find the remote!”

Her entire body shuddered and then I felt sort of guilty. I might be disgusted by the situation, but now she was turning all pitiful on me, ruining a perfectly good self-righteous snit.

“Oh, here it is,” I muttered. I grabbed the phone and turned the music off, wishing I could remember her name.

“Do I know you from somewhere?” she asked, and I bit back a sigh. At least I wasn’t the only one with a shitty memory.

“We went to school together,” I said. “Unfortunately, you fucked my dad last night, so I thought I’d make you breakfast. Consider it your consolation prize.”

Confusion filled her face, and I let the last of my snit go. Who cared if Dad screwed twenty-year-olds? At least he wasn’t marrying them.

“You want some coffee?”

“No thanks,” she said. She looked over at the silent man watching us and frowned. “She really your kid?”

He nodded, and I saw a hint of humor in his eyes.

“That’s kind of creepy,” she said, glancing between us. He shrugged.

“You ready for a ride home?”

She pondered, the wheels in her head obviously a little rusty.

“Um, yeah,” she said. “That’s probably a good idea.”