Page 132 of Panic-Button
I thought that word was pretty self-explanatory. “Is he dead?”
“That would depend on your definition of dead.”
“Is he still breathing?” I growled out of frustration. Did everything have to be a vague answer?
Preston sat back and rolled his eyes over my face. “Why the sudden interest in Nash?”
“You’re wearing his jacket.” It was a half lie. Preston was wearing his jacket, but he didn’t need to know how I knew that. Or what happened the day I became tainted in my father’s eyes.
Unfortunately, I neglected to take into account my opponent’s intelligence. If there was one thing Preston Whitley was good at, it was reading people.
“How do you know it’s his jacket?”
I never thought my father would be my saving grace, but when his car pulled up beside us, I was happy for the distraction. Seeing him, however…
He climbed out of his car and stared at me with the same look of disappointment I’d seen every day of my life. I could feel the weight of it pressing down on me as Preston got out and walked around the car to open my door.
It wasn’t fresh air that smacked me in the face. It was the putrid stench of Old Spice and judgment that made me want to gag.
Preston held his hand out for me. “Come on, Little Bird?”
“Little Bird,” my father snorted.
He thought nicknames were the devil’s work.
I slid my palm into Preston’s and stepped out while he turned his attention to my father. “Is there a problem, Pastor?”
“I have many problems, young man.”
No, he didn’t. He had just one. Me.
“Marnie.” He nodded at me.
“Daddy,” I said back.
For some reason, when his eyes landed on my bare legs, I found myself tucking in closer to Preston.
“I see college hasn’t helped your sense of decency.”
Preston’s grip tightened on my hand. For a second, I thought he was going to punch my father in the face.
“Let’s just get this over with,” Preston said.
“Very well.” My father spun around and headed for the church entrance.
Preston pulled me to follow, but not before leaning in to growl a warning. “Call him daddy again, and I’ll slit his fucking throat.”
“That’s what he is.” What else did he expect me to call him?
“Not anymore.”
“That’s ridiculous.” I rolled my eyes. “You can’t opt someone out of parenthood.”
It didn’t work that way. Blood was blood. There was nothing you could do to change DNA.
“Tell yourself that when you see your back in the mirror.”
I chose to ignore that comment and marched into the church.
