Page 21 of Colliding with Ten

The muscles in his face twitched, but instead of answering, he shook his head and walked away. Heart pounding, I grabbed the remote and shut it off. AJ was right. This was stupid, and I’d had enough of the circus.

I punched my pillow, trying to relax into the mattress. Then it vibrated. I growled, realizing it was my phone. Frowning, I pulled it out. The screen lit up, and my stomach dropped at the name.

Dad — 1 missed call. 1 new voicemail.

Nothing good could come from this. I should’ve deleted it and pretended I didn’t see it. Instead, I hit play on speakerphone because I’m crazy.

“Ayla.” My father’s voice filled the room. “I saw what happened tonight. Terrible business. I hope you’re not seriously hurt.”

There was a pause, just long enough to sound compassionate, but I wasn’t fooled.

“But this—” he exhaled, a sigh, “—this is what I was talking about.”

My jaw tensed as I stared at the far wall in the phone's dim light.

“You’ve always had so much potential,” he continued. “And you’re wasting it. Running around, dancing on the sidelines, putting yourself in situations like this. It’s beneath you, Ayla. You’re smarter than this.”

I swallowed. The dimmed room around me blurred.

“I tried to give you direction. A real future. Instead, you walked away, a year before graduation.” He sounded irritated as he dropped his tone. “Do you have any idea how that looks?”

He only cared about appearances—his and the family’s. He never cared how I felt. My lips quivered as I swallowed back the bile in my throat.

“I’m disappointed because you’re still refusing to correct your course.”

Correct your course? What was I, a plane drifting off radar? One turn of the wheel and I’d be back where he wanted me.

“Come home. Come back to California. Finish the Business degree at USC. We can talk about next steps once you’re healed. But this—” another pause, “—this little rebellion has gone far enough.”

Little rebellion? My fingers gripped the phone until it creaked.

“You don’t need to prove anything,” he added, as if he hadn’t spent my entire life making me feel otherwise.

The voicemail ended. I lowered the phone onto my stomach and stared into the dark. The ice pack warmed, and the pain worsened beneath the wrap.

I laughed, but it cracked and turned into a sob. I wasn’t ashamed, but I was angry. I picked up the phone, considering deleting it and forgetting.

Instead, I played it again. And again. Until the tears stopped. Until I could think through the pain in my head and heart. The night stretched on, and my will hardened.

The next day, I woke up late, my muscles sore. I had forgotten why. Then I moved my leg. Oh. Right. I groaned and pushed myself up. After washing the dried tears from my face, I padded into the living room with my brace strapped on and my hair frizzy because I hadn’t wrapped it in a bonnet the night before.

The curtains were cracked, letting the morning light across the floor. Micah sprawled across the couch, his arms flung over his head, still in yesterday’s clothes.

“Why are you still here?”

He jerked upright. “What, oh. Hey, sunshine,” he said, rubbing his face. “How are you feeling?”

“Fine. But that doesn’t answer my question.”

He grinned. “Had to make sure AJ didn’t mess up the ice.”

“How does one mess up ice?”

“You’d be surprised.”

“She’s using cold packs, numbnuts,” AJ said, walking into the living room. He crossed the room and pressed a quick kiss to my forehead. “How’s the knee?”

“Still attached. So. Winning.”