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I don’t share that my friend has one, too. Instead, I jump on the opportunity presented to me.

“If I had her number, maybe…”

“Here. I’ll send it to you,” Sera says before briefly switching focus from her laptop to her phone.

While I add the info from text to contacts, my dad drones on, “So that’s settled. You’ll accompany your sister—”

“Step.”

“—keep an eye on her, make sure she’s making good decisions.”

She doesn’t. If she did, she wouldn’t be with Guy.

“There are a lot of, um, dangers out there.”

“Like marshmallows,” I mutter.

Sera chimes in with, “That’s a great idea. You can watch Kota.”

“I’m not a babysitter,” I tell her without looking away from my dad.

“You don’t have to watch her, just what she’s eating.”

I break the connection to swing a glare over to Sera. That’s what will keep her up? Not if her daughter’s drinking, not what kind of company she’s keeping, not how she’ll get home. But what Kota’s eating. My dad’s right, there are a lot of dangers out there, more so for teen girls, but marshmallows are not one of them.

Unless there’s an allergy or something, then I don’t know, that’s its own thing.

It’s not like Sera’s even asking me, she’s telling me. Because that’s what people in her tax bracket do. They expect their orders to be followed regardless how ridiculous they are.

“You can take your new truck.”

I don’t give that a response either. I know he’s pissed at me for buying my Ram when Sera could’ve easily floated the three-grand price tag. But I wanted my vehicle to be mine and buying it with my own money was the only way to ensure that.

I’ll go to the fucking bonfire, but not for these two. For Kota. I do care what happens to her, and apparently, I’m the only fucking one.

I don’t know what my dad’s up to, pushing me to go tonight, but I know it has nothing to do with what Kota puts in her mouth.

Regarding my dad again, I consider what he could be getting out of this. It can’t just be familial bonding.

The corner of his lips quirking has me clenching my teeth.

Ignoring the fact that I didn’t verbally agree to go, he says, “You shouldn’t show up empty-handed.”

“Good idea.” Sera digs into her purse. “How much do you need?”

“Is a hundred enough?” he asks even though everyone in this kitchen knows a hundred fucking dollars is too much for a firepit on the beach. All Kota took was a bag of marshmallows.

Somehow Sera goes for it though, handing over a crisp Benjamin without so much as blinking. “Get at least a few bags of ice. Everybody always underestimates how much ice is needed.”

“No drinking tonight, yeah? You’ll want to keep your wits about you,” my dad tells me, his eyes sparkling.

I pluck the bill from my stepmom’s hand and leave the kitchen without a word.

“Do you think he’ll go?”

Hearing Sera’s whisper, I hesitate out of sight.

My dad’s reply is immediate. “My son will do whatever I tell him to.”