Page 68 of The Hook Up
“You said yourself he’s not dangerous,” she said. “And you’ll be fifteen feet away, well within earshot.”
Uncertainty played across his face. He glanced back at the bathroom door. “If I stand here and make the call, I can head off Henry. I’ll be two minutes, three tops.”
“Okay.” Ellie nodded and started toward the door. “I’ll babysit your father. If he starts to run out the door with any valuables, I’ll scream bloody murder and call 911.”
Ty’s expression looked so haunted that she wanted to turn back and comfort him.
“I’m kidding, Ty.” She touched his arm and he felt stiff as a statue. “It’s okay. I’ve got this. Make your calls.” She turned and marched down the hall, straightening her spine to show she wasn’t one to be trifled with.
“Thanks for waiting, Mr. Hendrix,” she said. The old man had seated himself on the sofa, and his gaze swept over Ellie’s body as she strode through the room. She suppressed the urge to cringe. “While Ty gets my son situated, can I grab you something to drink?”
The old man frowned. “Getting your son situated,” he muttered, his tone mocking. “Lemme guess—that’s code for calling my fucking parole officer.”
From the end of the hall, Ty’s voice rumbled. “Do not swear in this house!” he shouted. “Especially not in front of Ellie or Henry.”
Knowing Ty could hear every word of the conversation gave Ellie a renewed sense of safety. She took a deep breath and hoped like hell Ty’s call went fast.
“So your name’s Ellie,” he said. “You’re fu—you’re hooking up with my son?”
Ellie bit her lip and decided not to dignify that with a response. Even so, part of her wanted to argue. Wanted to shout, “this is more than just a hookup!” because that was true now.
The thought calmed her down. “I know there’s milk in the fridge,” she said. “Or I can grab you some water.”
“Can’t I get a beer?”
“I—uh—I don’t think there’s any beer.”
She had no idea, but offering alcohol to a criminal seemed like a bad idea.
She moved toward the refrigerator, keeping an eye on Johnny the whole time. As she opened the door, she heard the old man snort. “No beer,” he muttered. “Bullshit. My boy’s just like his old man—loves a good IPA. I taught him to open beer bottles myself when he was still in diapers.”
Ellie nodded, pretty sure that sort of childhood memory explained why Ty was so upset by his father showing up. Had Ty managed to reach Anna? She located a can of Coke in the fridge and pulled it out.
Pushing the door shut with her hip, she popped the top on the soda, then headed back to the living room. “Here you go,” she said. “Let me know if I can grab you a glass.”
“Hmph,” the old man grunted as he took a noisy slurp. “So, what do you do, Ellie?”
She shot a nervous glance down the hall as she heard a toilet flush. Would Ty be able to stall Henry? “I’m in sales,” Ellie said carefully. “How about you?”
The old man snorted again, a sound familiar enough that it took her a second to place it.Ty.He made that noise all the time when he scoffed at something.
“I take it he hasn’t told you about me.” John folded his arms over his chest and stared her down.“I was kind of a shit when he was growing up. Apparently, he’s still sore about it.”
Ellie gave a bland nod, not willing to betray anything Ty had told her about foster homes or the deadbeat dad who spent more time in prison than he did at Little League games. Coming face-to-face with that dad now made her grateful Henry’s father wasn’t this bad. Chuck might have little involvement in their son’s life, but he wasn’t a criminal. That was something.
“I’m aware of Ty’s childhood,” Ellie said mildly. “So, what brings you by for a visit?”
There was that snort again. “I’m not here for a fuckin’ tea party, doll.” He took a noisy slurp of soda then belched. “Just trying to track down my daughter. I saw she’s marrying a lawyer.”
Ah. Realization dawned. So that’s what this was about. He thought Anna had money. Or access to free legal help or something. Rage bloomed in Ellie’s chest, and she fought the urge to tell him exactly where to shove his intentions.
“Weddings are nice,” Ellie said, still trying to keep things light.
John eyed her again, and Ellie kept her spine straight, not willing to let him see she was nervous.
“You want a word of advice, sweet tits?”
Fury fizzed in Ellie’s veins, but she ordered herself to stay calm. “Please don’t call me that,” she said evenly. “And no, I don’t particularly want advice.” She folded her arms over her chest and kept her breathing even. “I’m not inclined to take tips from anyone who uses the term ‘sweet tits’ to address a woman he’s just met.”
