Page 16 of Lords of Ruin: Owned

“ Dad,” I breathe, wrapped in his arms. “Long time no see, stranger.”

Dad and I haven’t really seen each other for three weeks. He leaves every morning at 4 am and returns at 9 pm, exhausted and not in the mood for more than a quick hug, microwave burrito combo before falling asleep with the game on in his bedroom.

Sometimes he is too exhausted to make it home and he’ll sleep at a motel or one of the trailers on the construction site. Seeing him, and I mean really being able to see him is rare and I cherish these moments more than any other.

“Hey, the early mornings and the late nights pay the bills.” He sighs, squeezing me tighter as he places a tight kiss on my forehead.

I pull away slightly, looking into his soft brown eyes. “I thought the mystery check helped.”

“It did. Still does, but rent is due every first, buttercup.” He winks letting me go as he looks down at my outfit.

“Wow,” he says, his gaze lingering on the dress draped over me. “That’s… different. Got a date or something?”

I huff a laugh, shaking my head as I turn back into my room and he follows. “Not exactly. It’s a long story.”

“Well, you look nice,” he says, his voice softening. “Really nice, Willow.”

I roll my eyes but can’t help the small smile that tugs at my lips. He sets his jacket on the back of my desk chair and takes a moment to glance around my room like he always does, as if committing every detail to memory.

“You’re not too busy, are you?” he asks, rubbing the back of his neck.

“Never too busy for you, Dad.” I motion for him to sit on the edge of the bed while I perch beside him, the awkward slit of the dress shifting in a way that has me tugging at the fabric.

He notices, his brow furrowing. “How’s school, buttercup?”

I hesitate, my fingers toying with the hem of the dress. “School is school.”

“Any news from that Rhode Island Art school?”

“You mean the Rhode Island School of Design?” I snort.

“Yup, any word for my little artist?”

I look over at the empty canvas across from my bed and shrug. “No, but it’s only the beginning of March. I should hear something soon.”

“You’ll hear that you got in.”

As much as I want to believe that, I can't deny the truth. Ever since I made that deal with the boys, my art has taken a backseat. I spend all my time trying not to be where they will find me, and all my nerves keep me from confiding in my art.

I’m afraid it will expose me, and whatever I paint will show my true feelings, which I can’t confront right. My mind is scattered and I can't seem to find any inspiration that isn’t there, which is why Miss Robinson demanded I come to art room to talk to her since I haven’t been in her room to work on my senior project in over three weeks.

“Maybe, but 17%, and I need a scholarship.” I whisper.

“If you get in, I will make it work.”

“Dad-” I sigh.

“Willow. Your only job is to finish school, and to go follow your dreams. You can’t work away all your creative genius.” His hand caresses my cheek and I turn from him not to see the tears of frustration in my eyes.

I nod and he shifts his focus, his voice taking on a lighter tone. “Well, I just came by to say thank you. For… you know.” He clears his throat, looking down at his hands.

“For what?” I ask, though I already know what he means. My stomach twists as I watch him, his weathered face etched with gratitude and something else—uncertainty.

He exhales slowly. “For the money, Willow. I don’t know how you managed it, but I’m pretty sure it was you. That deposit came right when we needed it most. Very convenient…” He trails off, shaking his head.

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep the tears at bay. “Dad, I?—”

He holds up a hand, cutting me off gently. “You don’t have to explain. I just wanted you to know it meant everything. We’re getting by, Willow. Because of you.”

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