Page 85 of Driven Daddy

“Is it because you haven’t written alone in a long time?”

She rested her forehead against the glass. “Some. I thought it would be freeing. Jenelle was a force when it came to work, and I was usually along for the ride. Not sure she ever needed me.” Her fingers fisted in her lap, and she faced forward. “I shouldn’t have said that.”

“No, you shouldn’t have.”

“And how would you know?”

“I think I know you a little better now. You’re smart and that mouth on you is full of more than sass. The way you took care of your fans?—”

“Readers.”

“They’re fans, Rita. There’s little doubt that you touched them with your words.”

“Jenelle’s words too.”

“You know, I saw a lot more people with a cover with the redhead and hot dude on it than the floral one. The famous one from social media.”

She laughed. “Hot dude?”

I turned onto Barrow Avenue and gave her a quick grin. “I mean, I’m hotter. And my brother certainly is objectively hotter than me. You know, if you like the Adonis sort.”

“I hope they do.” She twisted a gold ring on her middle finger. It didn’t quite match the rest of her style and made me wonder if it held sentimental ties.

I figured she was lost in thought because my joke fell fairly flat.

Partnerships were a precarious thing when it came to creativity. I’d seen plenty of writers implode on their own in the graphic novel game. Readers ran hot and cold when it came to a series. I’d known plenty of people who lost lucrative contracts because sales had dipped with disinterest.

I’d been lucky to hit the streak I had. And when I’d left the massive conglomerate who’d owned my soul for the first five years of my life, I’d been lucky that my story had still resonated with people.

Relying on my own creativity without an editor and the publishing machine behind me had been a huge gamble. When it paid off, I’d grown cocky that I could expand. I’d chosen well with my artists, but I’d failed on the mechanics of printing.

So it seemed both of us were flailing in our careers in different ways.

I pulled into my parents’ driveway. The minivan was at the top of the drive and the garage was open.

“Wild Springs. From my Sara Springs series, the one I fought for when we went to court.”

I turned to her, wondering just how twisted up she really was. “The series you really love?”

She nodded. “More than anything.” Then she opened the door and slipped out, taking her bag with her.

I got out of my side and shut the door. She was waiting at the front of my car, her fingers worrying the straps of her bag. I stepped up beside her and unwrapped her fingers, lacing them with mine. “My parents are really nice. Nothing to worry about.”

“So, not like you?”

I rolled my eyes. There was my Rita. I climbed the steep drive to the garage. My dad was puttering with his model trains in the garage, a cigarette hanging from his lips.

“Gotcha.”

My dad jumped and pulled the cigarette out of his mouth, trying to hide it under the table. “Dammit, Penn.”

I laughed and pulled Rita in with me. She kept trying to pry her hand free and I held on. For some reason, I needed to hold her close. After earlier, it seemed even more important to show her that she had someone on her side even if she didn’t always like me. “Pop, meet Rita Savage. Rita, this is my dad, Hank.”

My dad blew the last of his smoke out to the side and put out the cigarette with the tips of his fingers before pocketing his contraband. “Sorry about that.” He waved the smoke away. “Bad habit that my son perpetuates.”

“Thanks for throwing me under the bus, Pop.”

She swung a look at me. “You smoke?”

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