Run To Me | BAK sequel

7.

Words: 4.4k

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"So you actually meet him?"

You twiddle the spoon that sat in your tea, holding it by the butt as to not burn your fingers. The metal spoon was hot but the cup was even hotter and your fingers still hurt from where you'd picked up the cup before, forgetting to use the handle.

Your father sat ahead of you, a scolding cup of coffee in his hand and frown on his face. But beneath that frown was curiosity. He may not have been the best father- not even close but it was the little things like the fact that he hadn't allowed you to drink coffee knowing what caffeine did to you and instead had a hot cup of tea prepared.

He wore one of the sweaters you remember seeing as a kid had to wonder if he still had it because it was his favourite, or because it was your mother's favourite. It was the one she used to throw on after a long day, drown out the scent of his cologne in her perfume and trudge around the house with it hanging around her thighs.

You remembered her even without having to look at the old photographs on the entryway table and the way her caramel coloured hair hung in waves, sometimes it was frizzier than others as it sat just below her shoulders, more often than not in braids. Her eyes were always kind, never anything less and you had to wonder how someone to soft- so gentle ended up being married to a mobster.

"What else could I do? I can't run from him. We have no money, plus, I could move to New Zealand and he'd still find me."

Your dad tilts his head briefly, having to agree. "How was he around Rosie?"

"He was good, noticeably nervous at first and didn't really talk much but he softened up, bought her drink and got a few laughs out of her." You say, pulling the cotton blanket further up your chest and cursed the fact that your father refused to get any heating installed.

The house was still as cold as it was when you were a kid and you remembered why you owned so many sweaters and leggings. The halls were still as dark and gloomy as ever, but still not as narrow and your old room still stood as it always did- plus, sunny orange duvet laying wrinkled on the bed and desk still containing old high school yearbooks and school textbooks that you never looked twice at.

Even a selection of pictures of you and your first boyfriend remained hidden in the back of your drawers, as well as photos that were taken at parties and sleepovers.

"A quiet mobster is never a good one-" He tries to repeat.

"-Means they're thinking deeply into something, I know." You take a sip of the tea, wincing when it burns your top lip and tongue. "Rosie was good too once she opened up and even gave him a picture."

"She did? Gosh, that's not like her." Your dad's eyes widen in shock as he places the coffee mug down on the rustic table, the thing resting on a selection of children's books.

"Yeah." You laugh, remembering what had happened two days ago. "He taught her a bad word."

Your dad doesn't seem shocked. "So what do you think will happen now?"

"I really don't know. I mean a part of me knows that he deserves to be in her life and a big part at that, I feel like he wants to be as well but the other part still feels really on edge."

It was still undecided as to whether or not he wanted to be involved and exactly how involved but you'd be lying if you said that you hadn't felt a few of those familiar feelings creep back in two days ago when he sat ahead of you. They were feelings that you thought had long been buried, but just as quick they'd managed to spring back into action.