Dream Spinner (Dream Team Book 3), Kristen Ashley [reading eggs books txt] 📗

felt badly about, but he couldn’t back down, because it was his opinion she shouldn’t back down.

He worried, her dad knowing that the time was nigh for her being over there, that text was him giving her shit.

“Your dad?” he asked when she was moving her thumbs over the screen in reply.

“Pepper,” she answered. “During your marathon turns to kick my ass in Pac-Man, I told the girls we were officially boyfriend and girlfriend in all that conveys. They’re pretty excited.”

At least there was something good coming over her phone.

They hit her father’s house, which was small, but in a good ’hood, and there was a fairly new model, relatively stylin’ Buick in the driveway.

On sight of the Buick, the question begged to be asked, why couldn’t the man use that to get his own ass to the grocery store?

Even if it begged to be asked, Axl didn’t ask it.

He parked.

They got out, and as Hattie made it around to his side, she rubbed her hands down the front of her jeans with nerves.

Watching her do that, the bad feelings Axl had during the text exchange came back.

And he reconsidered.

Was this knee-jerk?

He’d lost his mind when Boone told him her father had called her that name. Shy, sweet, adorable Hattie was not a whore. And no father should be flinging words at his child like that, but with Hattie in his life, he couldn’t let stand hers did.

But it was more.

He saw her weeks ago in that dance studio, slamming her fists into her thighs repeatedly, harming herself.

Because she’d been harmed.

Knowing what he knew about her history with her father, when he heard the abuse was still occurring to that extreme, his first instinct was to come between it and her.

But now, with her nerves, he was concerned he was the one doing her harm.

He focused on her pretty, flowery, ruffly, girlie-as-fuck top and her tight faded jeans, as well as her high wedges, and more importantly, how she could be cute and sexy at the same time, and tried not to focus on her anxiety.

He failed.

He took her hand when she made it to him.

“Hey,” he called.

Her eyes came to him.

And yep.

Now it was him that was causing her harm.

“I got caught up in my anger when I heard what your dad said to you,” he told her something she knew. “And because I did, I didn’t ask how you felt about me having a chat with him. But we’re here and we need to have that discussion. Now, I’m prepared to go in there and have that chat with him. Or this can be a meet-the-boyfriend thing and nothing else. But it’s up to you how I play it.”

Surprise flashed in her eyes before she leaned his way a little and said, “I kinda made it clear at the time I wasn’t a fan of what he said.”

He nodded. “Then I’ll make the meet-the-boyfriend play.”

“No one has ever stood up for me, except Mom. Aunt Pam and Uncle Dave, even my grandparents, I knew it concerned them, and when I got older, they spoke to me about it. But when I was younger, they never did anything. Not because they were weak, or they don’t love me. I think they felt their hands were tied. I think that because I could feel their frustration. Also, their relief when Mom left him, and I went with her when they divorced. My family showed me a lot of love and that was their way to make up for what he was doing. But they never stood up for me.”

He wasn’t sure what to do with that.

So he asked, “What are you saying?”

“I’m saying, we’re official boyfriend and girlfriend now. And we should have a deal. If you let me be me, I’ll let you be you. Free to be who we are, do what we think is right, even if it’s doing something for the other. In other words, if I had an issue with it, honey, I would have told you. And even as angry as you were, I sense you would have listened to me.”

At first, hell no.

Later.

He hoped so.

“But more,” she carried on, “I can’t say it sucked you were so angry on my behalf. It didn’t. Not even a little bit. And when you first told me you might come with me to share what you had to share, I wanted to see how that would go, when someone stuck up for me to Dad.” Her curls slid as she tipped her head to the side. “Does that seem childish?”

“No,” he said firmly.

She gave a small nod and went on.

“Even so, I think in a way we’re always little kids with our parents. And because of that, they always have the ability to do good things, make us feel better when life is crap, or we want them around when we’re sick because they give us comfort. But they also always have the ability to do bad, like what Dad does. On the other side of it, they always see us as their kids, and they’re the authority, so they might not listen. I think he knew he hurt my feelings when he called me that. I also think he felt badly about it afterward. But from experience, that won’t make it stop. Now I’m wondering, if someone else says, ‘Listen, that isn’t okay,’ if he’ll hear that and maybe realize it isn’t okay and stop doing it. Or at least try.”

“You have hope you can salvage shit with him,” Axl murmured.

“Well …he’s my dad.”

Yeah.

He was her dad.

“How about we see how it plays out?” he suggested.

She smiled at him, her unease not entirely gone, but it wasn’t as bad as before.

“That sounds like a plan,” she agreed.

He bent to touch his mouth to hers before they walked to the front door.

She let them in.

Once in, she called, “Hey, Dad!”

There was no response.

The place was nice, not anything like Axl imagined: run-down and unkempt.

Decent furniture. Clean.