She "accidentally" trips—hot liquid splashes across my shirt.
"Oh my god!" She grabs napkins. "I'm so sorry! Here, let me help. We should get this shirt off."
"Don't touch me."
But she's already pressing napkins against my chest, making a show of cleaning up the mess. Her hands linger way too long, and I grab her wrists.
"I said, don't touch me."
"What's going on?"
Holden stands in the doorway, looking between us with confusion.
"Nothing," I say quickly, releasing Bree's wrists.
"I’m such a klutz. I spilled my coffee on him. I was just trying to help clean it up." Bree is the picture of innocence. "He's being dramatic."
Holden looks at me with a weird expression. Not quite suspicious, but not entirely trusting either.
"Right," he says slowly. "Well, maybe use a towel next time, Bree."
"Of course." She smiles at him. "Morning, babe."
She kisses him, making a show of it, but her eyes are on me the entire time.
I leave before I say something I'll regret.
Upstairs, I change my shirt and decide to hang out in my room until they leave. My first class isn’t until eleven. And I want nothing to do with Bree and whatever games she’s playing.
I'm lying on my bed when I hear the front door open downstairs.
"Declan! Where are you?"
Shit.
My dad's voice echoes through the house. I consider pretending I'm not home, but that's pointless. My truck is in the driveway.
I drag myself off the bed and head downstairs. He's standing in the living room, still in his suit from whatever meeting he just came from. His briefcase sits by his feet. He doesn’t look happy.
Then again, he rarely does.
"Dad. What are you doing here?"
"Nice to see you too, son." He doesn't sound offended. He never does. Everything rolls off him like water off a duck's back. "We need to talk. Since you must have lost your phone, I thought I would come by."
"I've been busy."
"Too busy to return phone calls?" He raises an eyebrow.
"I said I'd call you back when I had time."
"Well, I'm here now, so we're talking." He gestures to the couch. "Sit."
I don't sit. "Dad, I don't have time for this right now. I have class soon."
"Declan." His voice sharpens. "Sit down. This is important."
I sit because arguing with him when he uses that tone is pointless. He's like a force of nature—you can't stop him; you can only try to survive him.
