Would I trade Ingrid for the dad I wish I had?
The answer is a resoundingfuckno.
If that’s the case, then I shouldn’t have any issues calling Elowyn. Or responding.
At the very least, being there for her.
“We’re ready to go,” Ingrid says behind me.
For a long second, I keep my gaze focused on the way the setting sun throws shadows across the canyon.
Then, I turn to face her.
She’s still wearing sunglasses. Still trying to put distance and walls and emotional space between us.
Good.
“I’m ready if you’re ready,” I say.
She smirks and turns to walk away, but I reach for her arm.
Her skin is warm beneath my touch, and I momentarily forget that I fucked up.
But Cash has no problem reminding Ingrid.
“Are you talking to him now?” he asks her as he gives me a judgy look.
I roll my eyes. He’s so immature.
Ingrid slips her arm out of my grasp.
“I’m tired,” she says, tone clipped.
It stings a little, but I know I deserve it.
I deserve her wrath.
Ingrid and Cash walk in front of me, and it reminds me of what life used to be like. Back when she was obsessed with him and he was… letting her have her independence.
Back when I was stuck in the backseat watching her out of the corner of my eye.
I lived for the moments when she’d glance my way without even realizing it. When she’d give me something small and insignificant to hold me over until the next time I saw her.
We reach the car and she grabs the front seat while Cash opens the driver’s door.
Guess I’m in the back.
As usual.
Cash makes small talk with Ingrid while I look out the window, watching as the sun dips behind the horizon.
Maybe I should say something, but then my phone vibrates and I see Ingrid’s sent me another message.
I hate fighting with you.
I don’t respond right away because I don’t know what to say. That I hate fighting with her? Except we’re not really fighting. She’s giving me the silent treatment.
Before I can think of something, she sends another message.
