Free The Keys to Jericho by Ren Alexander Page B

him full on, I scowl. “I think it’ll be a good thing to be farther away from him .” We both laugh, but when I realize that we are, I shift my gaze to the marina, and bite my lip to hinder it.
    He asks, “Well, what about you? You’ve never mentioned if you have someone special in your life.” I should’ve just stayed on the subject of Duquesne and Calder.
    “I don’t.” I take a bite of my pizza, but don’t taste it. I just mechanically chew, praying he shuts the hell up.
    “You never had anyone in your life that you didn’t tell me about?”
    Lowering my pizza, I turn to him and disbelievingly scoff, “Really, Dad?”
    “What? You never have any girlfriends that I know about.” He shrugs and props his left hand on his thigh. “Well, that you’ve told me about.”
    I irritably sigh, nearly shredding my napkin, wiping my hands. “There’s nothing to tell you.”
    “I doubt that.”
    Turning my head away, I roll my eyes. Where in the hell did I go wrong to fall into this shithole interrogation?
    Impulsively, I turn back to him. “What about you ? How come you never have someone to introduce to Hadley and me? Don’t you ever date? You’ve been single for 27 years!”
    Appearing surprised I asked, he uneasily shifts away, clearing his throat. “I date.”
    “Then why have we never heard about them?”
    Avoiding my intrusive glare, my dad anxiously threads one hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, and with the other, he rubs his shoulder, looking the most uncomfortable I’ve ever seen him. He quietly admits, “Because nothing’s ever panned out, I guess.”
    “In 27 years ?”
    He shrugs, dropping his hands to grip the tailgate tightly. “Yeah. Maybe that’s why your mother left me. Maybe I am just that unlovable.”
    I’m truly speechless. I did not expect that.
    As I’m left gaping at my father, a black Subaru Impreza WRX STI pulls in beside us. Dash and I went car shopping two weeks ago. After looking at his list of potential cars, I anticipated a long and drawn-out experience, but once he got behind the wheel of this car, it was the first and last car he test drove. The high-boost 305-hp turbocharged/intercooled Boxter engine is what sold me, but apparently, he liked the wing spoiler, “wide and low” body, and the gas mileage. How unexciting.
    His grin and sucker practically exit the car before he does. He pulls on the stick, yanking the red candy out of his mouth. “Hey, Jericho. Mr. Beckett.”
    “Dashiell.” Dad glances at me, looking slightly aggravated, yet somewhat relieved that we’re not going to continue our riveting conversation. I’m sure he wanted to continue dissecting my life, but didn’t seem to like my prying into his personal life. Now he knows how it feels. I don’t stop my smile, which provokes a frown from him.
    I see Dash’s arrival as a reprieve, and I relax, grabbing another slice of pizza and nodding at the box as he walks over. Tossing his sucker onto the cardboard lid, he grabs a piece and leans against the tailgate in between my dad and me.
    I ask, “You done counting pasties?”
    He shakes his head with a slanted grin. “You just wish you lived my rock star life.”
    “Only if I can take your place gluing them onto your mom.”
    My dad actually laughs, which surprises me, and I can’t help showing it. Then, he says, “Tell me something, Dashiell. Did Jared ever have any girlfriends in school?”
    Dash’s mouth sags open, but it’s only a momentary lapse. “A few. A couple space cadets, and one psycho who only spoke Spanish when she was upset. She wasn’t even Hispanic.”
    Dad asks, “Is that right?”
    I clarify, “That was Anya and she was speaking Russian.”
    Dash probes, “Was her family Russian?”
    “Hell if I know.” I take a drink of my root beer, wishing it were a real beer. Many real beers.
    My dad states, “I never knew about any of his girlfriends. I thought you’d tell me a huge roster.”
    “Oh, well, that’s his list