ZEE.
The clock ticked louder than usual.
Or maybe it just felt that way because I was pacing the living room like the walls were closing in. The house smelled like ginger tea and floor polish. It was too clean. Too quiet
I’d cleaned the house three times. Changed my shirt twice. Tried to do something with my hair, gave up, then tried again.
Purple told me I was being ridiculous—and she wasn’t wrong—but that didn’t stop the nerves crawling up my spine.
Because today wasn’t just any visit.
Denver was coming to see my dad.
Not alone, either. He said he’d be bringing “a few of the guys.” For backup? For moral support? For dramatic effect? I didn’t know.
All I knew was that the man my father had already decided he didn’t like was about to walk through our front door in full biker mode
