Page 88 of Beautifully Devoted

Bennet pulls his phone out of his pocket, looks at it in horror, and tosses it on the coffee table as we all crack up laughing.

“So.” I look around the room. “Everyone good to channel their inner paparazzo?”

Jagger

It takes a little over a week, and just like Cam predicted, we get another picture of him. Except this time it’s of him leaving class, and the message it came with claimed the clock is ticking. But between the six of us, we’ve collected well over a dozen pictures of my dad around town, on campus, even lurking outside our house. Hopefully, it’s enough.

Manilla envelope in hand, I glance over my shoulder to where our roommates are hidden behind a car in the cheap motel parking lot. Cruz gives me a thumbs up, indicating they’ve got a clear view of the door off the second floor balcony, and when I give Cam a firm nod, he pounds it with his fist.

There’s a bit of a crash, followed by shuffling. And a few mumbled curses later, a cloud of cigarette smoke and the scent of stale beer assaults our noses. With the door wide open, I once again find myself staring at what could be a future version of me.

A weathered, grimy, yet somehow still attractive version, but one that makes me shudder regardless.

Fuck that.

“Say cheese.” Cam and I both angle our bodies toward the parking lot and smile. My pose has a little look what I found flare when you factor in the finger I’ve got aimed at my father. Cam’s, on the other hand, is feigned shock. He has his hands pressed to his cheeks–his upper ones, if you know what I mean–his mouth open, and eyes wide.

Part of me waits for a camera flash, except it never comes since the guys are using their phones to . capture our final piece of proof. Evidence that my father is here and not in New Mexico.

We wait for a long moment, hoping it was enough time for them to grab a good shot. Then I slap the envelope against his threadbare white t-shirt, holding it there until he takes it.

“Finally came to your senses and decided to pay me?” The only way to describe his smile is slimy, and it makes me gag, more from disgust than any lingering sense of fear or uncertainty.

I can’t believe I spent so many years feeling abandoned and unwanted over the fact this guy left.

“See for yourself.” I don’t know if it’s because I believe Cam’s right, that he isn’t a physical threat, or because he didn’t take me by surprise this time, but my voice is clear and calm. Just like my heartbeat.

“What the fuck is this?” He flips through the prints in his hand.

“It’s you,” I practically sing-song, rocking back and forth on my heels like a little kid waiting on his ice cream, smile plastered from ear to ear. “I know it sort of resembles me, but if you look close you can see the gray at your temples, and that leather jacket is obviously you since I’m more jock than vagabond biker.”

“Actually, the back is even better. Flip it over.” Cam gestures and my dad flips the photo over. There, at the top of the one where my piece of shit father was trailing usas we left the stadium, is a list of numbers. His frown deepens when they sink in.

“Is this an account number?” he asks.

Apparently, they sunk in wrong.

“You don’t know?” I pretend to be shocked, which feels so, so good. “I sort of figured since you gave us coordinates to find you that you’d recognize these as latitude and longitude.”

“Don’t forget the date.” Cam points to another set of numbers. “That really completes the picture, you know. Because now we can show your parole officer where and when you were in Colorado, which I’m guessing will be news to him.”

“You little—” He lunges toward Cam, getting a fistful of his shirt. One he promptly releases when Cam wraps his hand around my dad’s wrist and twists his arm.

The muscles in Cam’s forearm flex as he holds my dad in place, and coupled with the casual way he flicks his head to get his blond hair out of his eyes, like it takes so little effort to wrangle my dad that he’s bored or annoyed… I almost forget the mission. Almost.

“Touch me and we’ll add proof of assault to this collection.” My dad follows Cam’s gaze to the parking lot, where our roommates are all holding up their cell phones.

“You cheap son of a bitch.” My dad turns his venomous glare on me. “I’ll go to the press. They’ll eat up a story about the promising young athlete who abandoned his own father in his time of need.”

“Nothing your rap sheet won’t clear up.” I lift a disinterested shoulder. I’m really selling this.

“It could still cause a scandal. Ruin your draft prospects. You really want to take the chance that people won’t see you as some selfish punk?

“Haven’t you realized by now? The only person whose opinion I care about is his.” I tip my head toward Cam. “And he loves me.”

“You really are a fag, then?” I’m expecting my dad’s eyes to narrow into little slits, but they’re actually wide with shock. And maybe a little fear since Cam chooses that moment to tighten his grip on the wrist he’s got hold of.

“A proud one, yeah,” I admit.

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