I’m contemplating the very serious choice of sesame chicken vs. salt and pepper shrimp as I park my car, hoist a sleeping Noah into my arms, and climb up the stairs to my apartment. I fumble with my keys for a few seconds, then finally unlock my door and push it open.

And somehow, I manage to keep from screaming at the sight of the man sitting at my kitchen table.

“Dad!” I squeak. Taking a deep breath to calm my racing heart, I continue in a loud whisper. “What the hell are you doing here? How did you get in? You scared me half to death!”

“Jenna, I need to talk to you,” he says, in a voice I’ve heard before.

It’s the voice he uses when he needs something from me.

“Good God, Dad, you could have just called,” I hiss.

Then I guiltily remember the four voicemails from him that I still haven’t responded to.

“Okay, look,” I sigh. “Let me put Noah down. I’ll be out in a couple minutes.”

Thankfully, Noah’s still asleep in my arms, and my near-panic attack didn’t wake him. I carry him into his bedroom and lay him down on the bed. Pulling the covers over him, I decide that I’ll change him into his jammies later. Then I turn around and prepare to face my father.

When I go back into the main room, he hasn’t moved at all. He’s still sitting there with his elbows on the table and his chin on his fist, staring into space like a hanged man.

When I come over him, he nods vaguely and tells me to have a seat. I pull out one of the mismatch chairs and sit down facing him. “Why are you here, Dad?” I ask, deciding to get right to the point.”

“I need a favor.” There’s no preamble, none of the chatty questions about how I’m doing that he usually likes to pad a conversation with before jumping into the ask. He’s not looking at me, and his eyes look strangely vacant.

Whatever this is, it must be serious. I’m used to Dad playing people’s emotions to get what he wants. But that doesn’t feel like what this is.

“Do you want something to drink?” I ask, standing up. Suddenly I want a few more seconds before I have to hear what’s going on with him.

He tiredly accepts a beer from me, and I pour myself a glass of cheap red wine. When I’ve served both of us, I sit down again and take a deep breath.

“Okay,” I say. “What’s going on?”

“I need you to convince your club to do a deal.”

Whatever I was expecting, it sure as hell wasn’t that.

“What?” I’m dumbfounded. “What deal? Why me?”

“Because you have your brother’s ear. And Casper’s.”

Casper’s…? None of this makes sense. Sure, Dad knows I tend bar at the clubhouse. But why would he assume that Angel would listen to me about anything having to do with club business? And how would Dad know whether I have Cas’s ear specifically?

Before I can ask any of this, though, Dad starts telling me about the deal in question. “Jenna, you know I have a history with the club. That Rock Anthony and I have entered into certain… partnerships… over the years that benefit both the Lords of Carnage and the town of Tanner Springs.”

And especially the mayor of Tanner Springs, I think to myself sarcastically, but I don’t say anything.

“A bit ago, I went to the club asking them for a loan to get me the development deal I’ve been working on south of town,” he continues. For the first time, I notice how ashen my father’s face is. “I thought for sure they’d say yes. I was willing to give them a very advantageous interest rate on the loan, and a damn good return on their investment. And I know for a fact they can use the money.

“But the deal got voted down.” His shoulders sag. “Rumor has it it was a pretty close vote. And that both Angel and Cas voted against me.” He looks at me now, his eyes hopeful. “I want you to convince them it’s in the best interest in the club to do this deal with me.”

Rumor has it… I know he must mean that Rock Anthony told him how the vote went down.

I sit back in my chair, trying to take it all in. My mind is reeling with questions. Why would Angel vote against the deal if our dad wanted it — and if Rock wanted it? And I’m guessing Rock probably does want it, or he wouldn’t have told my dad about all this. What’s wrong with the deal? Why did Cas vote against it? And how would my dad know whether I “have Cas’s ear,” as he puts it?

I thought Cas and I had been pretty careful about keeping what was going on with us a secret. We never let ourselves be seen in any sort of compromising position at the club. It’s not like we’d been on any “dates” out and about in Tanner Springs. Until right now, the only person I thought knew about us was Jewel. But maybe I was wrong. Still, I knew for sure Dad hasn’t seen us together — unless he happened to see me on the back of Cas’s bike at some point?

Whatever’s happening, warning bells are clanging inside my head. I decide to play as dumb as I can.

“Dad,” I begin. “Look, I don’t know how I could have any influence in this. I mean, I’ve never talked to Angel about any club stuff. Or Cas.” I spread my hands wide. “I wouldn’t even know how, to be honest. The Lords keep their business between them.”

“You’ve got to try,” he says stubbornly, shaking his head. “I need this deal, Jenna.”

Exasperation starts to well up inside me. “Well, why is this one deal so important?” I counter. “And if it’s such a big deal, why can’t you just go to the club and try to convince them yourself?”

“I already have.” He pulls himself up straight for a second, but then all the fight seems to leave him, and he slumps, defeated-looking, in his chair. “Jenna Lee. I can’t tell you everything. But please.” He looks at me with eyes full of desperation. “My life is in your hands.”

He never calls me Jenna Lee. Or rather, he never calls me that anymore. It was his nickname for me when I was a little girl — too little to realize that the scraps of affection that he gave me were just that: scraps. These days, he only called me Jenna Lee when he wanted to soften me up.

Still, I can’t escape the fact that the look in his eyes is one of sheer terror. It’s not a look that he could fake — and I know his acting skills well, having seen him use them on me and others for years.

My father is scared. Really scared. And right or wrong, he thinks I’m the only one who can help him.

I feel trapped, but there’s no way I can refuse my own father when I see how much this means to him. Sighing, I scoot my chair next to his and give him a brief hug.

“Okay, Dad,” I tell him. “I don’t know if it will work, but I promise. I’ll do my best.”