“Do you understand? Do you really?”

“You fucking know I do.”

He forces out a smile and looks away, over the traffic and the city. “ ‘Carry on my wayward son,’ ” he quotes, his dark eyes framed with the same dark circles he came out of prison with. “Remember that song? You rocked it.”

“Yeah, I rock everything I touch with my tongue.”

A chuckle. “ ‘There’ll be peace when you are done,’ ” he continues, raising his eyebrows in question.

“You damn well know I want my freedom too. We’ve talked about this before. I’ll move you back to Seattle when I’m done so I can see you more often. Just don’t give anyone reason to put you away—you hear me? Be smart about this, Dad, Jesus. I fucking worry about you. Just think things through.”

“Like you’re smart about that girl?” he counters.

Fuck, I knew he’d bring her up.

Every part of me is tensing to defend her.

But it’s no use arguing with Dad about her. I shrug and say nothing, my jaw tight.

“Son, she’s toxic to you. You might want to be sure she’s into you before you go and drop a good life for the life of your dreams, only to find out it’s all a castle in the air, boy.”

“She’s real to me” is all I give him, and I growl it out in a thick whisper.

He sighs and drops his face in his hands. “Sorry, just can’t forget how her bitch mother put me behind bars.”

“Dad, you got yourself behind bars. See? We reap what we sow. Nobody made you deal, nobody made you make that choice. Own it. I’m owning the choices I made too, and one of those put me in a tight spot. Nobody made me do it. I had to. We just have to do some things sometimes.” I scrape my hand down my jaw, because holy shit, those choices hurt.

“You made a deal with her, didn’t you? That’s why I’m out. That’s why I should still be there. That’s why my parole sucks—that controlling bitch probably knows you’re traveling with her daughter now and is still trying to meddle with you two!”

“It’s crossed my mind.”

He stares at me, his eyes widening. “So what are you going to do?”

“She’s not fucking up my life twice, she’s not taking two people I love twice. Just be good, Dad—tomorrow doesn’t have to be today. Mine isn’t going to be. I’ve made mistakes. I hurt people I cared about. I’m fixing it.” I pat my dad on the back and lean over. “Fix your life the way you want it. Think of another job, I’ll pull some strings. Just give me time to get us back to Seattle. And do your parole.”

“Mackenna . . .” He stops me as I pull open the terrace door. “You’re the reason I hang on. When we lost your mom . . .”

“You did your best. I know. Come on, let’s get you home. I’m taking you out later today.”

THIRTEEN

IT PAYS TO BE PATIENT, AND GOOD THINGS COME WITH SILVER EYES

Pandora

Two days he’s been gone, but he arrives back just in time for the concert. The cameras were everywhere in his absence. Olivia, Tit, and half a dozen of the other dancers were being nice to me. They even asked if I wanted to hang with them the other night. They were going dancing.

“Pandora?” they prodded.

“Thanks, but I’m staying in tonight,” I said.

The cameras are trained on me from the moment I step out of my room. They filmed me in practice with Yolanda, right down to filming me while I asked the twins if they’d heard from Mackenna.

I’m only free in my room, but other than when I’m calling Magnolia and Mother, and trying to answer some client e-mails to keep my work from piling up when I return to Seattle, it’s lonely.

Tonight I couldn’t watch the concert. My legs are too sore from dancing. I’ve been taking cold showers and using ice packs, but I can’t wear my boots and walk at the same time, so I tell Lionel I don’t feel well and will stay in the hotel during the concert.

So here I am, waiting out in the hall, sitting on the floor and leaning against the door of Mackenna’s room, staring at the scuffs on my boots, when I hear the elevator ping and the sound of the guys joking around fills the hallway.

It’s almost inexplicable, the way my heart turns over in my chest when I catch sight of him. He’s wearing a pink wig, much like the one he wore the first day I saw him, and he’s dressed in gold leather pants, and sporting little flecks of glitter on his golden chest. He wears his everyday uniform of chains, bracelets, and tattoos.

And I want to lick, kiss, touch, suck, and fuck the living daylights out of him. I also want him to take me in his arms and tell me he’s all right. That his father is all right. I want to tell him he’s lucky that he even has a father. Whether he’s fucking up his new life or not, at least his father is alive. Unlike mine. His father has a chance to say he’s sorry, make things right. My father was never able to even attempt to explain that the trip was “not what it seemed,” or that he wasn’t “involved with his assistant.” He never got the chance to tell me that, no matter what, he’d always love me.

The laughter fades when the three men spot me. There are two women accompanying them, each draped over one of the twins. Mackenna is alone, and when he looks at me, I know he is alone because of this—of the electricity suddenly sparkling all the way from where he stands, to right here, where I sit.