I stiffen in my chair.
“We have an empty penthouse after Archer and Georgia moved out. Before, I didn’t mind staying at the townhouse. Grace is cool, but now, I’d like some room to start a family. We won’t move out until Grace has another roommate, and she mentioned to Cassidy there was talk of you doing that. Is it something you’re really considering?”
I cover my face with my hand. “Looks like I’d better talk to Grace.”
It turns out, Lincoln asking me to take their roommate position was perfect timing.
After I left Twisted Fox, my dad’s landlord, Roger, called, notifying me that my dad wouldn’t leave. Unbeknownst to me, he’d evicted my father months ago, and he was done with allowing him to squat at his rental, free of charge.
Muttering every curse in the book, I got into my car.
Thirty minutes later, I’m pulling into the driveway of the rental my father apparently isn’t paying for. He’s on the lawn, arguing with Roger … and next to them stand two police officers.
Great.
This isn’t the first time I’ve dealt with the police regarding my father. I’m sure it won’t be the last either.
All eyes are on me as I step out of my car.
“You called him, you son of a bitch?” my dad snarls to Roger before flipping him the bird with both hands.
Roger, a thin man with balding hair, pushes up his thin-framed glasses. “What was I supposed to do, John? You won’t leave!”
My father stomps his foot like a third grader who lost the kickball game. “This is between us.” He swings his arm out. “Yet you called the police and my son.”
“The neighbors called the police because you were throwing stuff out the front door and threatening to beat me up,” Roger deadpans.
My temples throb as I join the group. “Dad, leave him alone. It was his last resort. This is your fault for not paying your rent.”
He should be grateful Roger has put up with him this long.
“Thank you.” Roger exhales a long breath.
I nod, a hint of sympathy in my eyes. My dad is a lot to handle and never makes life easy on anyone. He’s a landlord’s nightmare, and he can’t keep a place to save his life. When I was growing up, we moved at least three times a year, jumping place to place, dodging landlords.
I turn to Roger, ignoring my father’s outburst behind me. “Where do we go from here?” My mouth turns dry in regret as I pull out my wallet. “How much does he owe?”
My father’s shit-talking stops. He sees a way out now, another scheme not to have to pay his rent and have me cover for him—again.
“He’s three months behind,” Roger replies with a shake of his head.
“Two months, motherfucker!” my dad yells to my back.
“Three months,” Roger states. “He kept promising to have the money to pay the back rent, but then I realized that wasn’t happening. That’s when I delivered an eviction notice a month ago, and he still won’t leave.”
“Three months … so six grand?” I ask.
Roger nods. “If you don’t count late fees.”
“Can I pay it?” I’ll have to dip into my savings, but I don’t know what else to do.
Roger shuffles his feet against the grass. “Don’t worry about that. It’s his responsibility, not yours. Even if he paid every cent he owes, he can’t move back in. I won’t deal with him anymore, and I rented it to another tenant. I already have to deal with him trashing the place—cigarette burns and stains on the carpet, holes in the walls, and the bedroom door is somehow missing.”
“It’s not that bad!” my dad yells, stepping closer to Roger and thrusting his finger in his face. “And I’d better get my goddamn deposit back.”
I grab the collar of my dad’s shirt and jerk him back before the cops do. “Go pack your shit, and let’s go.”
“Screw that!” Spit flies from my dad’s mouth as he speaks. “My TV is in there! My bed! I ain’t letting him sell that.”
“No one is taking your shit,” I say, raising my voice. “We’ll get it moved either to my place or a storage unit.”
My dad smirks at Roger. “Damn straight, we will. Don’t be putting your hands on my things.”
I pinch the bridge of my nose. “Dad, get your ass in your car and drive to my place unless you want to be sleeping on the street tonight.” I turn to Roger. “I’ll arrange for his shit to be picked up.”
With a slew of curses, he does as I said, slamming his door and glaring at us.
“I’m sorry, Roger. I’ll mail you a check for the back rent,” I tell the middle-aged man before turning to the officers. “Thanks for coming out.”
Jesse, the chief of police who’s dealt with my father one too many times, tugs at his ear. “As rude as this sounds, I hope this is the last time I see your father.”
“Same,” I say.
“Maybe him finding a place out of town will help him stay out of trouble,” he continues. “Get him away from the bad crowd he hangs out with. If he goes to jail again, he might be in there a while.”
“I’ll see what I can do.”
Jesse slaps me on the back. “Be safe, and good luck, Finn.”
I step outside to my patio and call Grace. As much as I want to talk face-to-face, I’m keeping an eye on my dad until he calms his ass down.
There’s a sense of relief that I didn’t have to give Roger six thousand dollars but then came the predicament of finding my dad somewhere to stay. His credit is terrible, so it’ll be a struggle to find someone to rent to him, especially if they reach out to past landlords for references.
My only options are to throw him out on the street, drop him off at a homeless shelter, or make my apartment his homeless shelter. Since I’d feel like an ass going with either of the first two, I choose the last. The problem is, we’d last maybe ten minutes living together before a fight erupted. I can let him stay there, and since Lincoln told me he and Cassidy were game for crashing at the penthouse, I can see if I can stay there until I find a new place for my father.
Let’s pray that my dad doesn’t fuck my place up like he did the others.
The first person I call is Lincoln, telling him that I need somewhere to crash and asking if he and Cassidy were cool to sleep at the penthouse for a few days. Cassidy is with him, and they say they’re fine with it.
My next call goes to Grace.
“Hello?” she answers.
“Hey.” I plop down on a patio chair, crossing my ankles in front of me. “How are you feeling?” It’s the first question I always ask now.
“Pregnant,” she replies with a laugh. “But not too bad. I just devoured ten Oreos, so that always helps.”
“Oreos always save the day.” I chuckle and scratch my cheek.
Asking for favors isn’t something I’m good at, nor is it something I do on the regular. At times, I have an ego issue. Not the type of egotistical guy who has a big head on his shoulders and thinks he’s the shit. I hide behind a false ego so people don’t see my struggle.
“And you?” she asks, breaking me away from my thoughts.