“Zip it, Blair,” he snaps, maintaining a neutral expression all through the Country Club until he can shove me into the passenger seat of his car. “You can’t fucking help yourself, can you?!”
I shrink in on myself, watching the speedometer climb as Dad drops the pedal to the floor, speeding out of the parking lot.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. What happened?”
“Youhappened. You’re nothing but a problem. I wish I never fucking had you!” He bangs his fist on the steering wheel. “What the fuck were you doing flirting with that lowlife at the bar?!”
“Calm down, Dad, I wasn’t... I...” Words catch in my throat, my palms slick with sweat as he accelerates, flying across Newport at almost a hundred miles an hour. “Slow down. Please slow down, you’re—”
“Is that your type?” He slams the brake when the lights change at the junction ahead.
Thank God I’m wearing a seatbelt, or I’d break my nose on the dashboard.
“Broke fuckers?” he continues. “He’s abartender! A nobody! If you’re whoring around, at least have some fucking standards!”
“You told me to leave you and Mr. Duke alone,” I stutter, pumping my fists open and closed the same way I’ve seen Cody do countless times. “I was waiting at the bar until you were done talking.”
“You were drooling all over the fucking bartender,” he snaps. “Your attention should’ve been on Archibald the whole time!”
I bite my cheek hard enough to draw blood. Year after year, Dad gets worse and worse. I’m used to being called names. I’m used to the insinuations, yelling, and insults, but tonight is the first time he’s admitted he wished he never had me.
Resting my forehead against the cool glass, I stare at the buildings lining the street as Dad pulls away from the traffic lights at half his previous speed. There’s no point arguing I wasn’t drooling all over the bartender.
Dad’s right. I’m wrong.
Story of my life.
He doesn’t speak the rest of the way. Not until he’s parked up beside my Porsche. “You want to act like a slut?” he snaps, undoing his seatbelt. “Look the part.” He licks his thumb then gouges it into my eye, smearing my makeup.
Then he rubs his sweaty palm over my mouth to do the same with my lipstick, before hooking his fingers in my cleavage and ripping my slutty dress open in one tug.
He yanks me closer, tearing out my hairpins to leave my hair a disheveled mess. My eyes sting with unshed tears. I won’t fucking cry. I refuse to give him the satisfaction.
Not this time.
“Get the fuck out of my car but leave the shoes,” he barks. “And your credit cards.”
TWENTY-TWO
Cody
“I DON’T KNOW...” CONOR MUTTERS, staring at the invitations. “This feels too fancy, don’t you think?”
Colt snatches one from the box by my coffee table, turning the black and gold card as he trails his finger over the engraved script. “I think it’s the right amount of too-much-out-there for Logan.”
“Fuck you,” Logan booms, a big smile stretching his face.
He shouldn’t be here, but he was driving Theo up the wall with his questions, so in the end, we invited him to join the planning committee of his own bachelor party. He’s not complained once, so we’ve not kicked him out yet.
“How many have you printed?” Nico asks from the barstool, his broad shoulders squared, jaw tense.
The cloud over his head isn’t because of us, the fact we’re holding this meeting in my condo instead of the Country Club or his house, or that we’re drinking beer while he’s clutching a bottle of water.
The reason is Mia. More specifically that she’s out.
Well, notoutout. She’s actually in. At home, but not alone. She’s with Thalia, Rose, and Vee, planning Cassidy’s bachelorette party. Nothing out of the ordinary, right?
Well...
