Free All For You (Boys of the South) by Marquita Valentine, The 12 NAs of Christmas

was me, willingly humiliating myself
for—” I swallow, unsure how to phrase things best, so
that I don’t make McKenzie sound awful, and I still manage to
protect my parents’ image of me.
    I shake my head.
That’s my problem. Image. All my life I’d been concerned with my image, and here I was,
after everything, still concerned with how my dad might view me from
now on.
    “McKenzie
Walsh.”
    I nod, and then drop
my gaze to my feet. “I wasn’t very nice to her in high
school, Papi .
You might say I was… no, you would say I bullied her. I humiliated her at every turn, and didn’t
stop others from doing it, even after I’d stopped.”
    “Why would you
do such a thing?”
    My head snaps up.
“Because I was a stupid boy who wanted a pretty girl to notice
me. I have no excuse, and I don’t want to be excused.”
    My dad begins
speaking in Spanish, something he saves for when he’s really
pissed or really happy. Suddenly, I realize he’s praying. He’s
asking God to forgive him for raising such a selfish child, to
forgive him for failing me as a parent. He’s asking God for the
Walsh’s forgiveness, especially the daughter’s, and I
can’t help but choke up.
    Lo
siento mucho de verdad, por favor perdóname.
    I’m
so very sorry, please forgive me.
    “ Por
favor perdoname ,”
I whisper, taking my father’s hand. “It’ll never
happen again.”
    He
looks up at me, his dark eyes sad and thoughtful. I can see my
reflection at the center of his disappointment. God, it hurts, but
it’s no less than I deserve.
    “I
hope so.” Then he rises from the chair, his hand slipping from
my grip, and heads inside.
    The
sun has set by the time I get up. My muscles protest, cramping a bit
because I didn’t cool down the right way, as I walk. I head
upstairs to my room and shower, changing into the most conservative,
dad-friendly outfit I own without heading into church clothes
territory.
    I
take out my earrings, but leave on my medallion. A guy needs all the
help he can get from above, after all. A quick check in the mirror
and I’m off to McKenzie’s, with a stop at Charlie’s
house first.
    I
knock on the door, instead of letting myself in like I would have
done, and had been expected to do in the past.
    Mrs.
Foster greets me, her brow scrunching. “Is there something
wrong, Weston?”
    “No,
ma’am. Is Charlie home?”
    “I’m
right here,” Charlie says, bouncing into the foyer with her
dog, Dozer, under her arm. “Where are you going in that—a
job interview?”
    “No.”
    Her
face dawns with understanding, and her lips thin. “Don’t
do this.”
    “Charlie,”
I begin, and then turn to her mom. “Mrs. Foster. We need to
talk.”

    ***

    “She’s
not here?” I stare up at Mr. Walsh, with what has to be the
blankest look in history. “But she never goes out.”
    “You
saying my daughter is some kind of—?”
    “I’m
not saying she’s anything but perfect and smart and beautiful.”
    Her
dad frowns at me.
    “And
really, really smart.”
    His
frown disappears. “Those flowers for her?”
    “Unless
you want them.”
    He
barks out a laugh. “You got big ones.”
    “Any
chance you’d like to share where she and Julia went?”
    He
glances at the flowers, and then back at me. I fight the urge to
cover my junk, in case he decides that my balls need resizing.
“Cunningham’s. Mac texted me about ten minutes ago,
asking about cab fare, so she wouldn’t get ripped off.”
    “Damn
smart girl,” I say, before taking off and tossing, “Er,
sorry, sir,” over my shoulder.
    “Don’t
tell her I told you where she was,” he calls out after me.
    I
race out of the driveway, almost halfway to my exit, when I realize
that Cunningham’s is for the twenty-one and older crowd. And
I’d left my fake ID at home.
    Grimacing,
I call the one person who can help me. Too bad he’s also the
one person who’s likely to tell me to shove it.

Chapter Eleven

    McKenzie
    “That
asshole,” Julia shouts over