Donovan

I’m still annoyed that I had to leave Eden, which means I’m in dick mode when I finally arrive just outside the city limits of Atlantic City. It was a boring as fuck three-and-a-half-hour drive and I fought the urge to turn and go back the entire goddamn way. If I didn’t know it would upset her, I’d probably lay her dad the fuck out just for ruining this particular day.

The motel he’s in is a rundown shithole. I knew that before I got here but the drunken assholes loitering all over the place really bring that home. The most recent text from my source says that as of five minutes ago, Marshall Avery was still here, located in room fourteen. My guy has been watching him all day and according to what he’s reported back, Eden’s dad is quiet and doesn’t appear to be on anything. He’s also alone, no sign of the wife. Climbing out of my truck, I ignore three panhandlers who descended on my car like locusts before the engine was even off. I step around them without acknowledgement and head directly for his room. I’m hoping like hell my guy is right and that this fucker isn’t tweaking, but I’ve learned the hard way to be prepared.

My knock is firm but not I’m a cop firm. I know the difference since I was an officer, back before everything went wrong. Hearing him move around on the other side of the door, I wait. I can tell when he checks the peephole because of the shadow. Also, his muttered curse is a dead giveaway. Fully expecting him not to respond, I’m pleasantly surprised when he opens the door without argument. He’s clean and looks healthy enough, but it’s obvious that stress is aging the fuck out of him. He’s only forty-seven, but he looks like he’s in his mid-fifties.

“Marshall Avery?” I ask, needing to confirm.

He nods. “That’s me.”

“I’m—”

“Donovan Beckett,” he answers for me as he holds the door open and gestures for me to enter.

Crazy shit can happen working a skip trace but I’m rarely as surprised as I am right now. “How the fuck do you know who I am?”

I quickly assess the small, crappy as hell room as I walk in. Spotting a high school graduation photo of Eden on the dresser, I come up short.

“Despite how it looks, I love my daughter, Mr. Beckett,” he says from behind me. “I know who you are because I’m not such a piece of shit that I didn’t check up on her.”

He drops down into a rickety looking chair at an equally unstable table. When he motions for me to sit, I hope for the best as I put my body weight on the other shitty chair.

“You’ve checked on her?”

“Several times. That’s how I know who you are. It seemed to me like every time I made the drive up there you were hovering around her,” he says with a pointed look. “As soon as I noticed you noticing her I set about finding out who you were. I pretended to recognize you and asked that nice woman at Jackson’s Market if I was right about who I thought you were. Needless to say I wasn’t, but she provided your name without another thought.”

It figures that Gloria’s blabbermouth would be how he got that information. She probably talks to her plants. Knowing that he has been checking in on Eden but hasn’t made contact doesn’t sit well. Now I get why she thought someone was watching her.

“If you’ve been concerned enough to check in, why the hell haven’t you talked to her?”

He has the good sense to look shamed by my question. “Because I don’t deserve her. I lost my way and it spiraled out of my control,” he says bluntly. “First, I lost my job, then my house, and finally I lost my daughter because I took her money and nearly lost it all. There’s no explanation that can ever make that right.”

“Where the fuck did all that money go?”

He grimaces and looks away, clearing his throat before answering, “I’m a gambling addict. Met my wife in a casino when I was shit out of luck and money, but it wound up being the luckiest day of my life. Because of Melissa, I started going to Gam-Anon meetings and I got my shit under control. We moved away from Atlantic City as soon as our little princess was born and I never looked back. Figured it would never happen again, but life went sideways when my wife and mother-in-law were killed by a drunk driver in the fall of Eden’s senior year of high school. At first I thought I was handling it but after she left for college and I was alone in that house… it felt like within an instant,” he snaps his fingers for effect before continuing, “I was lost.”

I’m not entirely without empathy because I know what it’s like to be lost. It’s the fact that his actions have hurt Eden that pisses me off the most.

“When you say you’ve lost nearly every cent, what does that mean exactly?”

“I’ve got twenty-one thousand and change left. I kept trying to recoup the losses so I could make it up to her but the balance just kept going down. I hit rock bottom when I realized she couldn’t afford to finish out her degree and other than the bare minimum in living expenses I haven’t touched a penny since.”

Again, I’m conflicted. If he hadn’t fucked up, she wouldn’t have needed the job at the motel. Without that job, I wouldn’t have her.

“I have to ask—did you lose a hundred and twenty large without any help, or was the new wife involved?”

His jaw clenches as he looks down at the table. “In the end, it doesn’t matter all that much since I’m the dumb fuck that took the money out of the bank. That’s all on me.”

“It will matter to Eden,” I mutter.

A few seconds pass before he lets out a heavy sigh. “I personally lost fifty-three of Eden’s money. That’s on top of the equity loans I took out on the house that I lost. The rest was Sharon.”

“What about the credit cards that got taken out in Eden’s name?”

His jaw clenches as he shakes his head. “That was Sharon. I didn’t know about that until it was too late.”

That fucking bitch had better not ever show her face around Eden, because I won’t react well. My source said there was no sign of her and nothing in this room suggests a woman has been around. Hopefully she’s long gone.“Where is she now?”

“I don’t know and I don’t want to know, either. I bailed on her one afternoon while she was at the track and I’ve stayed way the hell off the radar ever since so that she can’t find me. I’ve been bouncing from shitty motel to shitty motel just to be damn sure she doesn’t show up demanding that I try to make it work. It was always bullshit with her—I married her because she likes to gamble as much as I did and I was lonely. To be blunt, I’m damn ashamed that I tarnished my late wife’s memory that way. Since leaving Sharon I’ve been going back to my Gam-Anon meetings and I got an under the table job on a landscaping crew. This motel is shit but it’s all I can afford until I can get all the way back on my feet.”

I get it. I really do, but fuck. He should’ve contacted his daughter.

“Part of getting back on your feet should be getting back to Eden. What the fuck have you been waiting for?”

He pales as he chooses his words. “You know how sweet and kind she is. Eden doesn’t know about my gambling past and I never wanted her to know. I just kept telling myself I could fix it until I realized I’d broken it beyond repair. I’m trying now, but I can’t burden her with this—it’s still touch and go for me. I haven’t gambled in almost five months but some days the pull is so strong I’m not sure I’ll make it through. I’m hitting at least four or five meetings a week.”

This is good. If he were still gambling like a fiend I wouldn’t want him anywhere near her. Instead, he’s fucking trying to get better and I respect that, even though his logic is shit. “I applaud you for getting help and taking it seriously, but you have to realize that avoiding Eden isn’t helping either one of you. You talk about how sweet and kind she is—you should know it isn’t about the money for her. It’s you she cares about, Marshall. She’s scared that you don’t want to be her father anymore and it rips her up inside. I have to think she’s told you this in any of the dozens of emails she told me she’s sent.”

He nearly breaks, his shoulders slumping as his eyes fill with tears. “The last one I opened was the one that let me know she was moving to take the job at Miller’s. That email was as angry as she’s ever been and it nearly destroyed me. I get that I deserve it and I’m glad she said what she wanted to say—but if I’m going to get back to her, I need to be strong. I’ve chosen to ignore the emails and focus on recovery, but it doesn’t mean I’m discounting her anger. I know I fucked up and I’d give anything to take it back. Believe me when I tell you that my failure as a father will haunt me every day for the rest of my life. When I’m sure I won’t let her down more than I already have I’ll take anything she feels like throwing at me.”

The truth I keep locked away is practically banging on the door in my mind, begging for me to share. It’s relevant and might help him understand why his logic is skewed, but talking about it with someone who isn’t one of the five people I rely on is going to hurt. He needs to know that the decisions he makes today in the hope of somehow making things easier might bite him in the ass before he knows it.

“I’m going to tell you why your plan sucks and you’re going to listen to every word. Time waits for no one, Marshall. Losing your wife the way you did should’ve brought that home, but seeing as how it didn’t, I’m going to give it to you straight.”

And I do.