Red Leather (Book 2)

Chapter 27

Chapter 27

Now it was time to say goodbye.

I knocked softly on the door, letting myself into Daddy's study. My hands shook slightly as I let the doorknob free. "Daddy?"

Daddy swivelled around to face me, stopping whatever he had been doing. His expression was one of curiosity and affection. "Come in, Poppy. Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

That's exactly what I should have been doing, seeing as the party was in 2 hours. I tugged at my bathrobe and adjusted it tighter, before heading straight to him. As I had done so many times when I was a little girl, I perched on his lap and hugged him as tightly as I dared, closing my eyes and savouring one of the last moments I would ever spend with him.

Daddy hugged me back just as enthusiastically. "Happy Birthday, love."

Indeed. Daddy had given me my present just hours ago – a sleek, sexy red sports car with my name on the license plate, a gift so utterly useless that I wanted to weep. My sports car would stay behind, too.

Daddy had always brought a comfort to me that only a father could. When that bunny had laid dead on my feet, the mutilation being my first taste of life and what it was really like, I had run straight into Daddy's arms, hoping and praying that he would never, ever, ever put the pieces together. Being bailed out of jail and having to come home to him – having to come home to the disgust in his face, the shame in his eyes – was one of the most terrifying things I'd ever witnessed. And it was for that exact reason that Daddy would never be allowed to see me again.

Just as if I were a kid again, Daddy rocked me back and forth, back and forth until I felt sleepy. It hadn't always been me taking comfort from him. It seemed a lifetime ago, but Daddy had relied on me for strength when the woman he had been dating – Susan? Suzanna? – tumbled and crashed into oncoming traffic one afternoon. Little did he know that I had caused the crash.

Little did he know anything at all.

"It's gonna be great, Poppy." I felt rather than saw Daddy's smile. He knew how much effort I'd put in in order to make my night spectacular. "You deserve it all. I'm so proud of you."

I tightened my hold on him, just as a lump appeared in my throat. "You've always called me Poppy. Why?" My voice cracked, but I was unashamed.

He hummed softly, thinking for a moment. The clean, laundry soap smell I had associated with him filled my senses, and I was almost lulled to sleep, knowing that I would wake up in my bed and tucked in beneath the sheets just as Daddy used to do. Sometimes he would even read a story, though I always felt that fairytales lacked an aspect of violence.

"You really want to know?" he asked lightly, rubbing my back in that comforting way of his. "It's pretty stupid."

"No, I do," I insisted, pulling back a little to see his face. I went so far as to command him. "Tell me."

He smiled a smile that was uniquely his – green eyes crinkling, mouth relaxed and grinning unabashed. Only the crow's feet around his eyes differed. Daddy was slowly aging, yet he seemed as strong and otherworldly as he'd always been. No matter how many atrocious things I did, no many how much blood I had spilled, I would always be his little girl.

"Bossy as always," he teased, poking me in the ribs.

I squirmed impatiently. "Tell me!"

"Okay, okay!" he laughed. "There was a poem I read in med school. One that I really, really liked."

"A poem?" Daddy had never spoken of poems before. I didn't even know he liked poetry.

He breathed out slowly, trying to remember something. "Well, I've completely forgotten how it went now. Put it was a poem about war."