“Did you call my parents?” I ask softly, unable to look at him.
He doesn’t respond for several rash beats of my heart. “I called your sister.”
“They don’t know,” I say, squeezing my eyes shut. “About anything, not really. Not LA, not Death’s Teeth. I’ve been lying about how things were since I left home.”
His brows arch. “Well… Maybe it’s time to let them in on your secrets?”
Glaring at him sends a sharp pang across my face. I wince, grunting against it, and shake my head. “You don’t know what he’s capable of.”
“Pretty sure I just got a glimpse.”
“No, that was only the tip of the iceberg. If I tell him I’ve been lying this whole time…” Tears well up in my eyes as I imagine the concern that will etch into my father’s gaze—and the disappointment.
It’s the fear of that which haunts me most.
The acknowledgment of failure.
Dad’s foot taps against the floor. His impatience grows the longer I make him wait, and the less patient he is, the more he’ll press for information. I’m not sure what all Quincy’s told him so far, but the fact that he showed up without Mom doesn’t exactly bode well for me.
Or this town.
Sighing, I try to roll my shoulders, but the movement causes me to double over in agony. My ribs are sore, my chest tight and inflamed.
“Elle,” Sutton says, brushing his fingertips across my cheek. They come away wet with my tears. “If you’re in trouble?—”
“He’s not going to hurtme,” I say, the thought almost enough to pull out a laugh.
“I might hurt him though,” Dad says from the living room. “Depending on how long it takes you to get in here.”
Shoulders slumped, I withdraw from Sutton’s touch and cross the room, perching on the edge of the coffee table. Dad doesn’t say a word, his six-foot-five frame too large for the leather couch, even as he tries to make himself smaller for me.
My fingers tremble violently as I twist my thumbs together, staring at them between my knees. I wait for some kind of lecture or words of wisdom but then remember that’s Mom’s MO. Dad waits in silence for a confession, content to sit as long as necessary—especially when it’s something he already knows.
And Kallum Anderson knows everything.
A part of me wonders if that’s how I’ve gotten away with the lies for so long. Has he been waiting all this time for me to come clean?
When I look up, heart in my throat, he’s staring back. His eyes aren’t harsh or soft but a neutral emotion that feels somehow worse.
I fucked up.
Percy’s gaze flickers in my mind, and an ache spreads from my rib cage upward. Painful reminders of what I’ve done—what I didn’t do.
Choking on a sob, I lean forward and rest my forehead on my father’s knee. Every emotion I’ve been covering up over the last decade resurfaces like an activated geyser, blurring my vision.
His hand comes to the back of my head, large and sturdy. My sob escapes, puffing past my lips, unable to be contained. Relief I haven’t let myself feel in ages floods my system, and I buckle.
I cave.
For the first time since I was a little girl, I cry in my father’s lap and spill every single secret I’ve been keeping.
56
SUTTON
It feelslike encroachment to be in the apartment while Elle breaks down in front of her father. I want to stay and provide some comfort or soak up my own from her, but there are other matters I need to tend to first.
She’s safe with him, that much is obvious.
