My Fake Husband Black, L. (year 2 reading books TXT) 📖

crime scene team about getting DNA results, I was counting blood pressure pills into a tray. Instead of deciding whether to put a pink streak back in my strawberry blond hair at my salon appointment, it was a messy bun for me. I wriggled my hot pink toenails inside my cozy socks. No more pedicures and strappy sandals and sexy first dates. Okay, my dates were never really that sexy. Mostly they were intimidated that I was a cop. The truth was, I came home because I wanted to. Would I miss some of the fun of living in the city? Sure. But I didn’t regret my choice.

I poured some pineapple juice and took it to my dad with his pills.

“Hey, sweetheart,” he said, “got my OJ?”

“Daddy, it’s pineapple. You know that. We have to watch your potassium and your phosphorus. They’re rough on your kidneys.”

“I already gave up my lunch meat. You know I love my lunch meat. And all that crap your mom made me eat—whole grain this and brown rice that—turns out it was all bad for my kidneys.”

“Daddy, you know that didn’t cause this. And you’re back to white bread now. Be happy. The rest of us have to eat our whole grains you can just chow down on good old Wonder bread. Now here’s your juice. Drink up.”

“I taught you to ride a bike. Don’t give me that crap about drink up like I’m five years old,” he grumbled, teasing me.

“Cool. Then don’t act like you’re five and I won’t. Jeez, was I this annoying when I was little? Bottoms up.”

“You were the messiest kid I’ve ever seen. Damon, now he was a model child. Tidy and quiet. Played with his army men or his puzzles, always picked up his toys…”

“Yeah, I’m the bad seed. That’s why you love me. Now take your pills. I’m driving you to dialysis later.”

“Big fun. What do you say we skip it and go have a beer, don’t tell Mom?”

“Nice try, big guy,” I laughed. “We gotta get your blood cleaned out or whatever.”

“Yeah, you’ll read a magazine, learn some new recipes, and I’ll sit back there freezing my ass off and waiting for hours while they poke me with needles.”

“Oh come on. A recipe? What am I? June Cleaver? I got the latest Guns & Ammo issue on my phone and I’m rereading my favorite JD Robb. Ain’t nobody here looking for low sodium casseroles to make you, Daddy.”

“I can’t even have potatoes,” he moaned.

He swallowed the pills and drank the juice. “Wait, is this the one I can’t have pineapple juice with? There’s one pill—cholesterol maybe—that your mom says it’s dangerous if I drink citrus anywhere near it. You checked the label, right?” he said.

“Shit,” I said, pulling out my phone and scrolling through my notes.

He hooted with laughter, slapping his knee. “I had you going there for a minute.”

“You old fart! You scared me to death,” I shook my head, “There’s no contraindication for pineapple juice on any of these.”

“I was just screwing with you, Miss Bossypants,” he laughed. I rolled my eyes.

“Dad, you’re a hot mess. It’s no wonder Mom needs to get out of the house more,” I teased. I kissed his head and took the juice glass to the sink. “Now be good or I’m gonna make you do pull-ups.”

“I’m not supposed to do those—”

“Excuses, excuses,” I teased. “Who was it that put that chin-up bar in the basement when I was nine and told me I had to do ten a day or no allowance?”

“It worked, too. Inside of two weeks you’d gotten strong enough to do a regulation pull up and hold it steady.”

“So don’t give me any crap about following doctor’s orders or I’ll put your ass on that bar. No potatoes till you give me ten chin-ups a day.”

“I’m pretty sure the doctor wouldn’t go for that.”

“Snitches get stitches,” I laughed. “Isn’t that what you taught me?”

“Damn it. I never thought you listened that good,” he chuckled.

Still, seeing the yellowish, papery look of his skin, hearing the rasp to his laugh was like a punch in the gut to me. It was good to joke around with him, to see flashes of his personality. I made a note to check Netflix for some action movies later. He always loved those, and I was sure Liam Neeson was saving a train or an embassy that my dad would enjoy.

“Want me to get you the tablet so you can watch something? The Weather Channel?” I teased.

“I thought I might look up Backdraft,” he said.

“Oh God, no more Backdraft. No more Frequency. No more fireman movies!” I said with a roll of my eyes.

“Easy for you to say. There are a million movies about cops. Lethal Weapon. Training Day. Beverly Hills Cop. Firefighters, we only got a couple. It’s hard to make a good comedy out of men risking their lives to save people from a blaze,” he said, needling me good-naturedly.

“And cops don’t put our lives on the line? Really? If somebody breaks in your house, you gonna call a fireman? Nah, that’s just if your kitten gets stuck in a tree,” I laughed.

“Well, if you call the cops, you gotta get them to get up from the booth at Dunkin Donuts long enough to climb in the squad car. I swear, I never knew growing up what all them lazy kids were gonna do with their life. About half of them ended up on the RFPD force,” he said.

“You are so full of crap. I’m out there keeping the peace in Charleston, making the streets safe and busting drug dealers, and you talk about your glory days holding a water hose,” I laughed.

“Yeah, I bet Charleston fell apart when you left. Bunch of drug dealers and hookers dancing on top of cars with you gone. You kept it all under control,” he said wryly.

I laughed again. There was nobody like my dad for talking shit about anybody who wasn’t a