“I’m not coming in,” Marcum growls. “You and I are going to have this out, Maxwell.”

I step outside, closing the door, trying to keep what noise I can out—just so Maddie can sleep. I’ve learned that my father doesn’t let things go easily. I’ve rarely seen him drunk. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him this drunk, so I figure he’s definitely not going to be cooperative.

“Fine. Would you like to tell me exactly what we’re having out?”

“Don’t play stupid, boy! You know what you did! You messed with my fucking head and that shit is messing with my dick!”

“Jesus Christ,” I mumble rubbing the side of my face. I need more sleep to deal with this. “What in the hell did you let the son of a bitch drink, Top?”

“Vodka… Devil’s blend. Not sure how much, Dawg. God’s truth it could have been the whole damned bottle.”

“Fuck, he’d be dead,” I argue, but from looking at the shape Marcum is in, I can’t completely dismiss what Top says.

“I could always handle my liquor,” Marcum brags. If the old man could get a look at himself right now, he might think twice about making that boast.

“Fine. Then tell me what’s going on, Marcum. It’s late and I was in bed with my wife and I want to go back there.”

“You fucked with my head and it’s fucking with my—”

“Dick. Yeah, I got that the first time, old man. I just have no fucking idea what you’re talking about.”

“Toi!” he growls. The others have been talking and laughing to that point; now everyone goes quiet. For me, suddenly everything clicks into place and I start to relax.

“How is my stepmother?”

“That shit right there! That’s it! She’s a kid! I can’t fuck her!”

“Sure you can.”

“She’s too damn young!”

“Do it to the tune of the Hokey Pokey. Put your dick right in, pull your dick right out. Shove it back in and move it all about,” I finish, and I hear Topper and Babs laughing, barely—because I’m laughing harder.

“Fucking prick. I didn’t beat you as a kid, that’s my biggest regret,” he growls.

“I’m just saying—”

“You’re saying too much.

“What’s the real problem here, old man?” I ask, when he drops to the ground looking miserable.

“I keep thinking about her.”

“Why is that wrong?”

“I’m too old for her and she’s… Fuck, I think she’s innocent.”

“Jesus. How old is she? Is she like sixteen?”

“No! Christ, I’m not that fucked up,” he grumbles.

“Is she legal?”

“She’s legal.” This comes from Ghost. I turn to look at him, because there’s a tone in his voice I can understand immediately. He’s sweet on this girl.

“Did you fuck her?” Marcum asks, getting up and except for a slight wobble, it’s like he’s not drunk. It’s almost as if his anger is burning through.

“If I did, then it’s none of your business. I won’t stand by and let you use her,” Ghost says and it’s been awhile since I’ve been in the life, but it takes guts for a man to stand up to Marcum like that.

“I’m not going to use her,” he growls.

“Then what are you going to do with her?” Ghost asks.

“Protect her,” Marcum mutters.

“Even from yourself?” Ghost asks, right before he walks away.

Ghost starts his truck up and leaves. The four of us are standing there and Marcum looks up at me, and I don’t believe I’ve ever seen the man more torn up. I know he hasn’t been in this shape over a woman before. Christ. Tess was right the other night when she told me my father was going to fall hard. I think he already has.

“See what you’ve done, Maxwell?” Marcum asks me. I don’t get why he’s blaming me, but who knows with him. He’s never been in love before, and I remember from my days on the run with Tess that when a woman gets under your skin, she fucks up all your thoughts. “Motherfucker,” Marcum grumbles, walking toward the door.

Topper waves in the background, taking Babs with him toward his bike. I nod my head slightly in acknowledgment. Guess Marcum is my responsibility tonight.

“Later,” I mutter, standing back so Marcum can come inside. Marcum just stands there looking at me, completely lost. It’s not a look I like, so I react the one way I know will get his anger going. “Toi and Marcum sitting in a tree. K-I-S-S-I-N-G,” I smirk. Just as expected, my father comes walking towards me and before I can blink, he buries his fist into my stomach.

“Smartass motherfucker,” he growls, walking on in and leaving me gasping for breath.

He might be drunk off his ass, but he can still hit. I find I don’t care. It was more than worth it.