Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129354 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 647(@200wpm)___ 517(@250wpm)___ 431(@300wpm)
I turn to find him frowning at me. I frown back. “I texted you last night that I was staying with a friend in Boston.”
“And when I asked what friend, you didn’t text back.”
“Because you didn’t need to know more. You knew I was safe.”
“Is that a joke? Just because you stayed with a friend doesn’t mean you were safe. Who was this friend? Was it the boy who was here last week?”
I sigh. “You promised you weren’t going to do this anymore.”
“And you promised you weren’t going to be reckless.”
“How am I being reckless? Yes, sometimes I drink with my friends or go dancing. Sometimes I party—with your players, by the way.”
“As if that makes it better?” Anger flashes in his eyes. “The last time you went out with a hockey player, you almost destroyed your life.”
I experience a jolt of guilt. Dad would go apocalyptic if he knew I was helping Eric last night. Turning my back to him, I open the cupboard and grab a mug. “That was a long time ago, Dad. Five years, to be exact.”
“And yet you’re still sneaking around and staying out all night.”
“Dad.” I spin around. “Look at me.” I wave my hands up and down my body. “I’m in one piece. I’m alive. I’m not even hungover, because I didn’t drink last night. I stayed in Boston because of the storm and the power outages. I didn’t feel comfortable being out on the roads.” I slam the mug down in the middle of the counter. “I did the responsible thing and I’m getting shit for it. Do you to realize how ridiculous that is?”
“Really? So you were acting responsibly when you drove to Westlynn in the aforementioned storm and power outages to rescue Eric Royce from a crackhouse?”
I freeze. How the hell does he know about that?
As guilt climbs up my throat, I inhale slowly and remind myself that I have nothing to feel guilty about. I’m not obligated to tell my father every detail of my life.
He waits for me to say something. When I don’t, he spits out an expletive. “Louisa Royce called me last night. She didn’t have your cell phone number, and she wanted to thank you again for getting her son home safe. And here you are telling me you’re not doing anything reckless. Why are you seeing him again, Brenna? He’s trouble.”
“I’m not seeing him. He was in trouble and I went to help him.”
“Why? He doesn’t deserve your help. He doesn’t deserve shit.” The raw hatred in his voice is terrifying. Dad isn’t a Care Bear. He’s never going to shower you with kisses and compassion. But he’s also not coldhearted.
“Dad. Come on. Eric’s not an evil person. He’s just in a bad place.”
“And it’s not your duty to rescue him from that place.” He drags both hands over his scalp. His gaze is a little wild. “Do you know how worried I was after I got off the phone with his mother? Not knowing if you were all right?”
“You knew I was all right. I told you I was staying with a friend.”
“What friend?” he demands again.
“It doesn’t matter. But you know it wasn’t Eric, because Louisa wouldn’t have called to speak to me if I’d spent the night there. So please, just relax.”
“You want me to relax,” he mutters. “We have a crucial matchup this weekend, and instead of preparing for it, I’m worrying about whether or not my daughter is placing herself in danger.”
“I’m not placing myself in danger.” My throat tightens in frustration. I want to stomp my foot like a little kid, because I don’t understand him. Dad has two modes: he’s either ignoring me and completely disinterested in my life, or he’s screaming at me for shit that didn’t even happen.
I’m trembling as I pour my coffee. “I’m only going to tell you this once,” I say, and my voice is as shaky as my hands. “I am not involved with Eric again, and I never will be. He still calls me sometimes, usually to hit me up for money.”
I turn to face my father. His expression is harder than stone.
“I gave him money, one time,” I admit. “And then I realized it would become a habit, so I never did it again. He doesn’t phone that much anymore, maybe a couple times a year. Last night when he called me up, crying and scared because he didn’t know where he was…forgive me if it makes me a reckless fool that I didn’t want somebody I used to love to die in the fucking street.”
“Brenna,” Dad starts gruffly.
“What?”
“Just…” He blows out a ragged breath. “Tell me who you’re staying with next time you’re out all night. Don’t make me worry like that again.”
Then he leaves the kitchen.
JAKE: You ok?