"Dad, come on." When he just shook his head, I huffed and crossed my arms. "Awesome. Now you sound like Mom."
A loud clank filled the space as Dad put his mug down a little too forcefully, and I blinked. He looked down at his hand in surprise. But a second later, he was back to staring intently at me again from across the kitchen table. Dad's laptop sat open in front of him, whatever he'd been working on completely forgotten.
"Freya," he said again, "think about it rationally for a second. This is not a good plan. You must see that."
"I really don't."
"Aurora is fine. You guys talk all the time on the phone. And you know that if your Aunt Lillian or Clayton had any hint of her being in trouble, they'd be at her side in an instant."
He had a point.
Still, kids didn't tell their parents everything—a fact I probably should've considered before offering up the unfiltered truth. But I had never blatantly lied to my parents, not about anything that mattered, and I wasn't about to start now.
"Dad, you didn't see those posts and comments." I shook my head. "Some of them were vile."
My father's brows furrowed.
"You know how the internet can be. Part of what your cybersecurity company does is look out for the little guy, right? I'm just trying to do the same thing. Except this is for Ror."
"So, I'm just supposed to let you drive to...where did you say the concert was again?" he asked.
I shrugged. "Queens, New York."
Dad made a strangled sound in his throat while his eyes shot up to the ceiling, possibly asking what he'd done to deserve this.
"Are you okay?" I asked after a moment.
"Oh yeah, fine," he said, and the sarcasm was so thick you could've cut it with a knife. "My 17-year-old daughter wants to drive across state lines, hundreds of miles away, to go to a concert by herself. No biggie."
"Dad, I'll be 18 in a few months."
He made that sound again.
"And I told you. I'll meet up with Scarlett when I'm there. She's driving down from Boston."
"Which is how far away?"
"A little over three hours."
"And how far is it from here to Queens?" he countered.
"Well, I mapped it out, and it's not far."
Dad arched a brow, and I swallowed.
"Nearly eight hours," I murmured.
"Eight hours," he repeated.
"It's not much when you think about it. That's a workday. Not long at all." I plowed ahead regardless of his skeptical look."Even with stops for gas and bathroom breaks, I could leave early, make the trip in 8.5 hours, go to the concert, get a hotel for the night, and drive back the next day. I'd be home before you know it."
Dad opened his mouth, no doubt to ask more questions, but I spoke first.
"Tickets are already covered. Apparently, Scarlett got in contact with Sam who spoke to Hayden, and he set aside some tickets for us."
He still looked unconvinced.
"She's excited to see Aurora, and so am I."
