Chapter One
Seraphine
Cheating on me with his sister? How could he do that to me?
I grip the steering wheel so tight my fingertips tingle. I blink away tears, then glance in my side mirror before changing lanes. A car horn blares, and I swerve to the right to stay in the lane I’m in as the car on the left speeds past me, giving me the middle finger.
“Fuck!” I shout, slamming my hand against the wheel.
Biting on my bottom lip, I take a breath and press the button to roll my window down. This time, I stick my head out to look behind me before switching lanes. If the back seat of my car wasn’t stuffed full of my belongings, I would have been able to see the car coming seconds before, but I couldn’t fit everything in my trunk.
Once I’m safely in the lane, I put the window up and blast the heat. It blows out lukewarm and it’ll take forever for the car to reach the temperature it was at before I let all the precious heatout the window. My car is old and works only half the time, but it’s all I’ve got.
I’m in a long-sleeved thermal shirt and jeans—the same thing I was wearing when I walked in onthem.There was no time to change or even consider changing. All I wanted to do was get my things and get the hell out of there. I never thought there could be anything worse than being cheated on until I walked in on my boyfriend cheating on me with hissister.
Okay, stepsister, but still. She was one of the people I thought I could trust. I’d met her only a handful of times, but she was always so nice. I thought my boyfriend would be safe with hissister. But I was so very wrong.
How messed up is he? Not to just cheat on me, but to cheat on me with hisfamily? My God, it’s awful. It hurts. I’m angry. I’m stressed out. My mood swings from furious to sad like a pendulum. Every time I think about the fact I’m on my way to my father’s house, those moods double. It’s the last place on the planet I want to be, but I don’t have the funds to stay anywhere else, and I have no other family or friends to help me. The only person I can blame that on is myself. I burned bridges when I shouldn’t have.
Harrison, my ex, was always busy with school. I had to work around his schedule for us to spend time together, and after canceling plans too often with friends, they stopped talking to me altogether. I can’t blame them; I’d have done the same. Of course, I regret it now. Staying with any of my friends, even if it meant sleeping on a couch, would be better than going to myfather’s. Hell, sleeping on a park bench is looking nice at this point.
Once I’m there and settled, I’ll have to go over my expenses and see if I’m able to afford an apartment on my own. Maybe picking up extra shifts at the spa will help. Or a second job. It’s expensive to live in Seattle, but I’ll figure it out. I have to. Staying with my father for a long period isn’t good for me. I can’t spiral into the dark place he always seems to send me to when I’m around him. He’s a black hole, destroying everything around him. If I had any other option, I’d take it. Well, any optionotherthan going back to Harrison.
I pull up in front of my father’s house, parking on the street because he’ll complain if I take up the driveway—even if it’s big enough for three cars and his truck only takes up one of those spots. With a groan, I drop my head to the steering wheel and let out a shaky breath, not ready to walk on eggshells so soon after my life has been upended and my heart shattered.
I loved him. I loved Harrison. We planned a life together… We had plans!
This is going to royally suck. I did everything I could to get away from my father, and it’s probably why I jumped into a relationship with Harrison so quickly. Maybe that was a mistake. Maybe it was all too much too fast for him… but he could have told me. He didn’t have to cheat on me and destroy my life. I mean, how fair is that? Telling me things weren’t working out and that we needed to break up would have been better. It would have given me time to figure things out. I wouldn’t have been blindsided.
Harrison sucks at communication, always has. That’s just a guy thing, I get it. But he not only sucks at it, he hates it. Which doesn’t make sense, considering he’s in school to be a lawyer. How is he going to do that job without talking to his clients and relaying information? He needs to have effective communication skills if he wants to make it. Yet, he can’t even communicate with his girlfriend?
Turning the engine off, I grab my purse and get out of the car, leaving everything in it for now. Dad won’t help me bring anything in, so I’ll have to bundle up to get it done. Hopefully, he won’t complain about me using one of his jackets to do it. I have no idea where any of my things are, and I may freeze in the process of looking for something to keep me warm.
I knock on the door when I reach it, looking down at the sad potted plant off to the side. A lonely stick poking out of dry dirt. It’s been in that same spot since I left over two years ago. It’s a nice warning of what’s to come when you walk into the house.
The door is pulled open, and I look up, forcing a smile. He doesn’t return it.
“Hi, Dad.”
He’s a big man. Tall, wide shoulders, beer belly. He sweats so much that it’s probably a medical condition, and smokes so much I don’t know how he’s still alive.
“Get in here before you let all the damn heat out,” he grunts, gesturing for me to get inside.
I’m hardly in before he’s slamming the door shut behind me, scraping my arm in the process.
“You interrupted my show, Seraphine.”
He’s the only one who calls me by my full name, and the reason I hate it.
He looks exactly as I remember. Greasy hair that’s too long. Only thing different is the bald spot on top of his head is bigger. The beard on his face is a few days old, and he’s wearing the same ratty red plaid shirt I remember from when I was a kid. Mom bought it for him, and I swear a day hasn’t gone by without him wearing it since she died. Don’t think he’s washed it once either, so it stinks to high heavens. And he’s gained some weight, so it’s tearing at the seams.
I want to love my dad, truly I do, but he makes it really difficult. The worst part is he never used to be like this. I remember what he was like before Mom died, and this isn’t it.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t know,” I say in a quiet voice I don’t even recognize.
“It’s just after three. How do you not know?” he snaps, stopping in the doorway to the kitchen. “It’s the same show I’ve been watching for ten goddamn years.”
He shakes his head as goes into the kitchen. The wooden chair scrapes against the tile floor, and there’s clanking of silverware against porcelain.
