Page 8 of Chasing Wild Heart

“Will you do that for me? Please?”

Shit.I halt suddenly in panic, forgetting about shoving my other arm into my coat.What did I miss?

My mom exhales the universal “disappointed, tired mother” sigh, interpreting my delayed reply as a resounding no.

“Dash, he’s your father.”

I roll my eyes and resume shrugging into my coat. The sense of dread long gone.

“He’s really hurting,” she insists as I step outside into the early evening and welcome the cool air sweeping over my heated emotional state.

Devastated the third Mrs. Black finally realized he wasn’t a rich silver fox,I think dryly, finally taking my mom off speaker and holding the phone to my ear.

Despite the last bits of sun fading, I walk toward a local diner a few guys on the team had recommended. Under normal circumstances, I’d hop in the car and waste five minutes of gas, but I’m hoping the chilly stroll will keep my mental health in check.

“Just think about how you felt when you and Tara separated,” my mom pushes, not waiting for a reply. “How many years were you two together? Weren’t you sad when it ended?”

Six years. Not really,my mind answers honestly.

“The breakup with Tara isn’t the same thing as Nicole leaving Dad,” I point out, balancing the phone between my ear and shoulder.

“But he was there for you, Dash.”

I bite back my growl because his version of “there for you” was saying, “You’re too good for her, son,” before clapping me on the back and throwing back shots of whiskey.

In reality, Tara deserved better. She held on for so long, waiting for the day I pull my head from my ass. I stayed because I was a selfish asshole. Well, I’m still a selfish asshole, but I’d like not to be. Some would call that recognition growth.

“He could really use some support from you and your sisters,” my mom insists, an air of frustration mounting in her normally calm voice. “I don’t understand why you’re all so mad at him all the time. You need to let go of his past mistakes.”

Oh, that will never happen.I flatten my lips to keep myself from saying those words out loud.

I’m one hundred percent sure my sisters won’t forget any of the disparaging remarks he’s made in recent years. Marianne is a dirty slut. Genevieve is a fat pig. Cordelia is a nerdy freak. And I’m a pussy because a small boo-boo on my foot stopped me from running.

“Mom, you know it’s not that easy, especially when he’s never apologized.”

A bright neon sign in the window of a dive bar I’ve visited a few times catches my attention, tempting me to walk in and stay for awhile. Except my stomach complains with a rumble, and I need more sustenance than stale popcorn and peanuts. I make a mental note to stop by on the way back from dinner.

“Dash, he says things when he’s upset,” she protests. “He doesn’t mean to hurt any of you.”

Bull-fucking-shit.

“I love you, Mom, but I gotta go,” I rush out apologetically, knowing I’ll snap at her if I stay on the line a minute longer.

“But Dash–”

“Love you! Bye!” I kill the call and speed walk on fumes the last two blocks to the restaurant.

As much as I love my mom, I will never understand why she allows herself to be a fucking doormat for a man who’s always been an asshole to her.

I puff out my cheeks and yank on the diner’s door a little too hard, causing the attached bell to chirp too loudly.

I suck in a deep breath and exhale slowly when I step inside the quiet and practically deserted space. Giant framed pictures of the city dot the pale yellow walls, creating a casual and relaxed vibe.

Two female staff members huddle at the long bar, one behind it and the other sitting on a stool in front.

“Hello!” the server, likely a student at the university, perched on the stool greets before hopping off and grabbing a menu from the host stand. “Feel free to sit anywhere.”

Empty wooden booths line the walls while small square tables fill the inside area. An older couple quietly dine at a table near the bar, and another sit near a window.

---