“Bronco might want me gone but I’m not going with you!” I shout right back through the door. I’m over men using me.

My father sighs so loud I can hear it through the thick wood door. We both know I’ve got nowhere to go.

“Tracy, I want you to listen to what I’m saying. You’re coming with me or you’re going to jail.” His tone is so serious that my heart sinks. What is he talking about?

“Jail? For what? Trespassing? I said I’d leave just not with you.”

“You might not be the brightest, but you’re not dumb either. Your fingerprints are all over the things that have been going down at the Circle C over the last two years. It was only a matter of time before the sheriff caught on. Not to mention the IRS.”

“Oh gosh.” I stumble back a few steps from the door. He’s right.

My fingerprints are all over the place. Sometimes he would make me sign things and I wouldn’t read them. I was stupid to do it, but I was scared. He was all I had at the time, and now I’m starting to see that maybe all a person should ever have is trust in themselves.

With how quick Bronco left out of here, what am I supposed to believe? He must think I’m a part of my father’s mess, but I shouldn’t be shocked. My own mother took off without so much as a goodbye just like Bronco. For some reason, this feels worse.

“Now come one.” He bangs even harder on the door this time, making the whole thing shake. I jump back another few feet and try and think of what to do. “I’ve created a distraction and we need to get the hell out of here. I got the money, now come on!”

I stare at the door, but there’s one thing I’m really not understanding. Why did he come back for me? I honestly didn’t think my father loved me. Not in the normal sense a father cherishes his daughter. Part of me has to know so I can’t help but ask.

“Why are you here? What did you come to get me for?” I step closer to the door because I think it might haunt me if I don’t know the reason.

“You’re my daughter.”

His voice softens, but it’s fake. I know my father, and I’ve learned to read him over the years. He’s the master at playing games to win sympathy. He wears many masks, but I see through all of them. When I don’t respond, the silence stretches. I let it linger, seeing what he’ll do next. He hates the quiet.

“You belong to me!” he finally bellows, letting the truth ring out between us. The front door shakes again, harder this time. The wood groans, but it doesn’t budge. He must have thrown his whole body against it.

I decide I need more things between us, and I rush back toward the bedroom. I search for a landline the whole way, but who would I call? Am I actually in trouble and about to be arrested? Bronco comes to mind, and I close my eyes, imagining his coldness from this morning before he walked out the door. It was so different than how he’d gazed at me before.