Page 13 of Waiting For Forever

The driver eased to the curb. I didn't need to strain my detective muscles to figure out that the small huddle of people clustered near the entrance were paparazzi. Melissa finally looked at me. There was no anger, no fight in her gaze, just weariness.

"Take me home," she said flatly.

I gave her a nod and she leaned forward to tell the driver the address. When she sat back, she tiptoed her fingers until they brushed against mine. Her other hand gripped her phone, typing out a message with her thumb.

Once we were in motion, relief rippled across her face, rounding her shoulders, releasing the tension in her body until her fingers roped between mine and she clutched my hand.

"This will be strike three,” she said quietly. “I doubt he'll come meet me."

"Strike three?"

She listed her offenses one by one. "The first was doing anything that called into question that the Fosters are anything but Family of the Year material, the second was not dashing out here as soon as he called, and the third was not coming up to the office."

"He's in Marketing," I shrugged. "Surely he knows that you avoiding the paparazzi right now is the wisest course of action."

She looked down at our hands, a sad smile lining her lips. "I deserve the walk of shame. I have to atone for breaking the cardinal rule: I acted anything less than perfect."

My chest tightened. I thought no father at all was a worst fate. But a life of striving for the impossible took the prize. And I'd brought her back here, back to that man.

"I'm sorry for insisting," I said, capturing her gaze and searching for forgiveness. "Let's just go back to the city."

She leaned in and kissed my cheek, her words a murmur against my skin. "Half an hour, then we can head back."

We pulled into her apartment complex and she tensed, probably expecting the paparazzi had made their way here as well. She exhaled when the only traffic was residents making their way to their vehicles with briefcases and backpacks with sleepy-eyed children in tow.

I told Mike to go grab a bite and be back in a half an hour, then followed Melissa inside her apartment.

"It's kind of a mess," she warned, "But make yourself at home."

From the brown microfiber couch and photographs of her and friends, even one of Melissa and her father, it was easy to feel relaxed and at home. I'd never noticed how my place lacked warmth until this moment. Her place looked like someone actually lived there. Loved there. Mine was a meticulously arranged photo shoot for some magazine. Beautiful to look at, but lonely.

Knocks descended on the door, and Melissa looked so shocked that a breeze would have knocked her out flat. Shock faded into wariness as she moved toward the door and stopped.

"I'm right here," I said firmly.

She nodded slowly, biting her lip. Taking a deep breath, she rushed forward like she just wanted to get it over with. She barely had time to step out of the way before a man barreled into the room. The first thing that came to mind when I saw him was elementary school. I was scrawny then. A target--until I started standing up for myself. He hadn't even said a word and I knew he used his muscular build just like those bullies had. Throwing his weight around to intimidate.

He looked like he belonged in a ring instead of an ill-fitting two-piece suit. His salt and pepper hair was buzzed short, probably a military man. His facial features were hard and thick, frown lines souring any resemblance to Melissa. Except for the eyes--there was no mistaking the fact that she had her father's eyes. His deep blue gaze chewed me up and spit me out.

I had to hold back my chuckle. I hadn't met a significant other's parents since high school. I hadn't been nervous then, and I was even less so now.

He sized me up as I joined Melissa's side. Manners dictated that I extend my hand, but the man was clearly spoiling for a fight. I wouldn't waste my time, or his, by going through the motions.

Melissa was the first to speak. "Hey Dad."

He looked at her like she'd just called him an asshole. From the way he puffed out his chest, breathing fire, ‘asshole’ would have been appropriate.

"‘Hey Dad’?" he seethed. "That's all you have to say to me? Yesterday afternoon the phones were tied up with reporters. Who knows if we lost potential clients? Then last night, I called you and you hung up on me." He shook his head with disgust. "I decided to do my own research about this situation. This scandal-" He tossed a look of disdain in my direction. "-this man...it's not wise to get involved in any of it."

He focused on his daughter. There was still a good ten feet between them, but Melissa trembled like his massive hands were on her shoulders, trying to shake sense into her. "What did I always tell you?"

His answer hung in the air and I waited for her to fight back. But the woman I'd met was nothing like the one that was all but cowering beside me.

Like he could smell her fear, he drove forward, but I stepped in between them. I shook with emotion, but it wasn't fear. I could see the scars of years of emotional abuse, neglect, and hurt all over Melissa. I'd be damned if I would let him cause her another iota of pain.

"That's far enough," I growled.

"Look, boy," he spat. "I don't care if you have more money than God. She's my daughter-"

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