“I’ll pick you up at six?”
“Sounds good,” she smiled, unbuckling her seat belt and reaching for her tote bag as she opened the door. She climbed out, shutting the door, still grinning with amusement as she backed away from the Jeep. Pivoting, she walked up to her front porch, pausing to look at me over her shoulder once before she disappeared inside.
A gentle tapping sound roused me. Cracking my lids open, I shut them just as quickly, waiting until the disorienting fog of grogginess lifted before I opened them fully. Silence greeted me—no tapping or knocking. In fact, I wasn’t even all that certain I’d heard it in the first place.
Last night, I’d stayed at the beach until almost three o’clock in the morning, when I was sure both of my parents would be sleeping. I’d spent those hours debating on whether I should come out and tell them about Asher immediately or wait until after the funeral.
I didn’t want his first time meeting my family to be under such sad circumstances. Mom had a lot on her plate with Gramps’ death and the funeral arrangements, and I was hesitant to drop one more thing on her. She wouldn’t be mad—anger wasn’t an emotion she basked in, but she might be disappointed and heartbroken to have missed the first eight years of her first-and-only grandchild’s life.
Fuck. I knew the feeling. It had haunted me all night. Harper was the only girl I’d ever wanted a future with—the only one I’d ever entertained the brief thought about starting a family with, and she had raised my child without me,becauseof me. Because of who I’d been. Because I had thrown away what we had, I’d thrown awayherfor music and fame.
I could handle my father’s anger—it was pretty much inevitable. I pissed the man off by just breathing the same air as him. I fully anticipated that he’d take this opportunity to go on a tirade about how much suffering I’d caused my mother and him and what a colossal fuck up I was.
The knocking resumed, more persistent and very real this time, and interrupting my ruminating. “Yeah?” I crocked, voice raw from lack of use and sleep.
“Are you decent?” came Connor’s muffled reply.
“Yeah. Come in,” I called out, staying beneath my blankets. The door opened, and she slipped inside, leaving it open. She crossed over to my window, yanking open the blinds, allowing more light to spill into the dark cave of my bedroom. My eyes snapped shut, my brow furrowing with resentment at the blinding wakeup. “Was that necessary?” I asked dryly, blinking until my pupils adjusted.
“Yup.” She flopped down on the edge of my mattress, facing me, arching her brows at me. “Dad thinks you were out drinking last night.”
“I wasn’t.” I scowled.
“I know,” she said, mimicking my tone. She sighed, moving so that she was sitting beside me with her back against the headboard, pensively contemplating me. “How are you?”
I sighed, sitting up and wiping the grit from my eyes. It’d been a miracle that I’d managed to fall asleep at all. My thoughts had spun so twistingly out of control that I’d fallen straight into a dream of a memory, awakening with a ceaseless ache in my chest.
“Processing.” I finally gritted.
“Well?” Connor asked a moment later, when I didn’t elaborate. “When are you going to tell Mom and Dad?”
I turned my head to address her, a heavy sigh falling from my lips before I could explain. “I’m going to wait until after the funeral. It’s tomorrow, and I don’t want to stress Mom out anymore.”
“Why do you think it’d stress her out?” she inquired, her auburn brows raising with surprise.
“She’ll be disappointed, probably. And even if she isn’t, Dad’s reaction will stress her out,” I answered, disheartened. She nodded, agreeing with me. “I should probably have a contingency in place for when the shit hits the fan.”
Connor shot me a sympathetic look. “Such as?”
I rolled it over in my mind for a minute, considering her question. It was something I’d been pondering myself. “I don’t know yet. I need to talk to Harper.”
She nodded again. “That’s a sound start. Mom and Dad will be home from the store soon, so you should probably get up, anyway. It’s only going to fuel his idea you’ve been drinking.”
“Yeah,” I bobbed my head, agreeing with her. Not that I cared what he thought.
“Okay, I’ll leave you to it,” she stood, retreating down the hall.
I grabbed my phone off the nightstand and hit the home button. A few new text messages from the boys, and about seven thousand Twitter and Instagram notifications. The label had probably broken the show cancelation news to fans.
I felt bad, of course—finally tripping up with music was just another add-on to the fail pile—but that guilt was nothing compared to the lives I’d missed out on. I couldn’t leave now, not before I’d had a chance toknowmy son.
Setting my phone back down on the nightstand, I threw off the covers and padded over to my duffle bag to pull out clean clothes.
Tucking my clothes under my arm, I headed for the bathroom, pulling the door shut behind me and locking it.
I turned the tap on and stripped out of my clothes, stepping under the water before it was even lukewarm. The cold pellets of water helped chase away the lingering exhaustion. I rolled my neck as the slowly warming water hit my tense muscles. My thoughts focused on the universalwhat nowquestion as I washed.
It was glaringly obvious that I couldn’t remainhere, under the same roof as my father. I had enough to deal with without having to tip-toe around him and his moods, and I’d never had it in me to do that, anyway. I was too combustible.
