Chapter 6
1032 Words
Sam
The next morning, I find him in the shop office, going through invoices like it's any other Sunday. Coffee in one hand, pen in the other, reading glasses perched on his nose. He looks up when I walk in and smiles.
"Morning, princess. You sleep okay?"
"Fine." I close the door behind me and lean against it. "We need to talk."
His smile falters just slightly. "About what?"
"About last night. About the meeting at midnight. About the guys sleeping here with packed bags. About Knox watching me like I'm going to disappear if he blinks."
Dad sets his pen down slowly. "Sam—"
"Don't." I cross my arms. "Don't do that thing where you brush me off or tell me I'm tired. I saw what I saw."
He leans back in his chair, studying me. There's something in his expression I can't read—caution, maybe. Or calculation. "You had a
long day yesterday. Big day. Sometimes when we're tired, we read into things that aren't—"
"I'm not imagining it." My voice is sharper than I intended, but I don't soften it. "I've been coming to this shop my whole life, Dad. I know what normal looks like. Last night wasn't normal."
"The guys had some business to discuss. Shop stuff. Nothing you need to worry about."
"At midnight? On my graduation night?"
"Business doesn't stop for parties, Sam. You know that."
I push off the door and step closer to his desk. "Then why did you keep checking the clock? Why did Bobbie and Ricky look like they were going into a war room instead of a meeting about invoices?"
"You're reading too much into—"
"Stop lying to me."
The words hang in the air between us. His jaw tightens, and for a second I think he's going to get angry. But he doesn't. He just looks at me with this expression that's half pride, half something else. Regret, maybe.
"I'm not lying to you, Sam."
"You're not telling me the truth either." I lean my hands on his desk. "The duffel bags. The sleeping bags. Knox positioned like a bodyguard all night. The way everyone goes quiet when I walk past certain conversations. What is all of that?"
Dad sighs and takes off his reading glasses, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Some of the guys crash here after long shifts. You know that. Knox is protective because he cares about you—we all do. And the meeting was just business that couldn't wait."
"Business that required three guys in a closed room at midnight while you stood out here watching the clock like you were waiting for something to go wrong?"
"Sam—"
"I graduated yesterday, Dad. I'm not a kid anymore. I'm seventeen, I'm going to college in a few months, and I deserve to know what's actually going on in my own family."
He stands up, and for a moment I think he's going to tell me. There's something in his eyes—a flicker of hesitation, like he's weighing whether I'm ready. But then his expression hardens, and I know I've lost him.
"There's nothing going on," he says firmly. "You're my daughter, and I love you, and I would never put you in a position where you needed to worry about anything. That's my job. To handle things so you don't have to."
"That's not fair."
"Life's not fair, princess."
I stare at him, frustration burning in my chest. "You're treating me like I'm still ten years old."
"I'm treating you like my daughter who just graduated high school and has her whole life ahead of her. You don't need to be dragged into—" He stops himself, and I pounce on it.
"Dragged into what?"
"Into worrying about things that don't concern you."
"If it involves you, it concerns me."
His face softens slightly, and he comes around the desk, putting his hands on my shoulders. "Sam. Listen to me. I know you're smart.
I know you see things. But sometimes seeing things doesn't mean you understand the full picture. And sometimes the full picture isn't something you need to carry."
"So there is a full picture."
He closes his eyes briefly, and I can see the war happening behind them. When he opens them again, his voice is gentle but final.
"I'm asking you to trust me. Can you do that?"
"I've always trusted you."
"Then trust me now. Trust that if there was something you needed to know, I would tell you."
I step back, pulling away from his hands. "That's not the same thing as being honest with me."
"Sam—"
"No. You don't get to do this. You don't get to ask me to trust you while you're actively hiding things from me." My voice cracks slightly, and I hate it. "I'm not stupid, Dad. I know something's going on. And the fact that you won't just tell me what it is makes me think it's worse than whatever I'm imagining."
For a second—just a second—his resolve wavers. I see it in the way his shoulders drop, the way his mouth opens like he's about to say something real. But then he shakes his head and the wall goes back up.
"There's nothing to tell," he says quietly. "I'm sorry you think there is. But you're wrong."
We stand there, staring at each other across the small office. The air between us feels heavy, loaded with everything we're not saying. He knows I don't believe him. I know he's lying. And neither of us knows how to move past it.
"Okay," I finally say, my voice flat. "If that's how you want to play this."
"Sam—"
"I'm going home. I have some things to do."
I turn and walk out before he can stop me, before the frustration turns into tears I don't want him to see. Behind me, I hear him call my name, but I don't turn around.
I know what I saw. I know what I felt.
And if he won't tell me the truth, I'll figure it out myself.
- Writer
