Page 24 of The Enforcer

Chapter Ten

Kenna

Iwasn't sure where Joaquin and I stood by the time he left for California. The last thing I wanted to do was ask, but I couldn't help it. Just because we fucked twice and talked dirty on the phone didn't mean we were together. It didn't mean he was mine - even though he liked to think he claimed me when we were fucking in my room the day I broke up with Walter.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to be either.

Being with Joaquin seemed impossible. Sure, it was fun to sneak around behind everyone's back, pretending we barely knew each other. It was fun having a dirty little secret and keeping our voices down and our looks as inconspicuous as possible. It was fun for me to dress up in tight clothes and watch as Joaquin tried not to stare and make it obvious he was checking me out, even with my dad right there.

But that didn't mean either of us wanted to be together.

The thing was, I was falling for him, whether I should be or not. It wasn't as though my heart knew how to stop myself from falling, or took the time to consider how fucked up I was going to be for falling in love with my dad's best friend. It never took the time to consider what a bad idea this was and what this was going to mean for me and for any guys that came after Joaquin. My heart was a selfish bitch.

My dad and I were making snacks - nachos, those tiny little hot dogs and chicken wings - before Houston's game with San Francisco. I had never been to California before. I hadn't ever cared about going there before, but now, I thought it might have been cool to take a walk on the shores, feeling the Pacific Ocean tickle the top of my feet. I wondered if Joaquin liked the beach or if he preferred being inland.

The game started and I went back to the kitchen, grabbing some drinks for us. We watched with enthusiasm. We couldn't take our eyes off the screen. Joaquin wasn't out there as long as I would have wanted him to be. I understood why - the guy was close to retirement age, but he could throw a punch the way any twenty-year-old could.

He could fuck better as well.

When it was over, I kissed my father and headed to bed. I slid out of my clothes and into pajamas. I didn't know if he was going to call the way he did when he got to the hotel. I didn't know if he was going to text. He might not do any of those things at all.

But I still hoped for it.

I was drowsy.

The text never came. The call never came.

I fell asleep, and that was that.

- --

When I went down for breakfast the next morning, my dad was sitting at the dining table, ramrod straight, my cell phone in front of him.

My heart dropped.

I didn't have to look at my dad to know that he knew.

I was fucked.

He looked up when he heard me coming down the stairs. I could see every muscle strained against his skin. I could see betrayal in his eyes. I knew I put that there. Joaquin and I both did.

It was only then that I realized that Joaquin and I knew were wrong for our illicit relationship because he was my father's best friend and that was a line one didn't cross. But looking at my father, I realized it was so much more than that. We didn't just anger him - which was both expected and warranted - we hurt him. Both of us.

I felt guilt shoot through my system like a firework, reaching the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

"Kenna?" he called. I knew he heard my footsteps. I wasn't going out of my way to hide myself, even though I probably should have if I wanted to avoid an awkward lecture, the judgmental look in his eye, and even more of this guilt in my system.

But this was what being an adult was, wasn't it? It was about owning up to your decisions. It was about taking responsibility and facing the consequences. It was about claiming those choices, especially if one didn't view them as a mistake. And as much as I hurt my dad, as much as I felt guilty for hurting him, I still didn't think what I did with Joaquin was a mistake. It was selfish, certainly. Perhaps it was a bit naïve, only because I still didn't know what it meant - if it meant anything at all. But besides that, it wasn't a mistake.

Not to me.

"Yes, Daddy?" I asked, stepping into the kitchen. I tried rolling my shoulders back in hopes that would improve my confidence.

It didn't. If anything, it made me feel stiff and uncomfortable.

"Sit." He nodded to the chair across from him. The same spots we had been in yesterday, before I forgot my phone. Before he knew I was fucking Joaquin. "We need to talk."

Every part of me wanted to scream in protest. I didn't want to face him. I didn't want to deal with the consequences. But I forced my feet to move. I forced my rigid body down onto the bar stool. I forced myself to look my father in the eye.

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