And then, when you have even the slightest worry that someone intends to harm you, run.
Don’t worry about being wrong.
Don’t worry about looking ridiculous.
Just run.
But I don’t run.
Because I let my rage override common sense and hold me in front of this man as he grins like the victor in an arena.
If this comes to a fight, things won’t turn out the way he thinks.
“Get out.”
Some people might ask,What do you want?Or,Why are you here?
But I don’t care about those answers. All I care about is if he’s going to leave on his own or if I need to make him.
“That’s no way to greet your daddy.”
Like I ever called him that.
Dad at first.
Asshole behind his back since I was ten.
Piece of shit to his face since I was eighteen.
“Get. Out.” I speak the words slowly but with every ounce of hatred I hold for him.
He’s in my yard, at my house. This is my safe space, and he showed up here like our lives cross over in the way of normal families. We’re not normal. I moved states away so I’d never have to see his face again. I kept this address to myself, but it’s probably public record.
Knew I should’ve changed my name when I finally left their house. Maybe I should reconsider becoming Luna Keller. MaybeCharlie could share his parents with me for the next year, letting me live in a brief, happy fantasyland filled with parental support.
“I’m not leaving until we have a chat. A family discussion.” Bill Lamont leans back against one of my planters, and the wood creaks under his weight.
“That’s not a bench,” I hiss.
Mistake.
His eyes drop to the planter I spent a week carefully constructing. Then he glances back at me with a spark of triumph in his milky-blue eyes.
Almost thirty years old, and I still haven’t mastered the art of handling my father. The best thing to do is remain calm and dismissive. But the man even breathing air in my vicinity pisses me off, which means I accidentally reveal weaknesses. Like the fact that I care about my planters.
When I was younger, my dad would use Leo and Dash against me, knowing I would do anything to keep my brothers from hurting.
“Sorry, baby girl. I’ll leave these be, and we can have our little talk.”
“We have nothing to talk about.”
“Sure we do. But maybe you forgot because you didn’t mention it the last time you came to visit.” His gaze sharpens, trying to cut through me.
Disquiet trickles down my spine. Instead of asking the question he wants me to, I keep my mouth shut. Bill Lamont is too much of a showman not to get around to the big reveal, even without my prompting.
After waiting long enough, he laughs, as if I were a silly child. “I got the most interesting letter. About an inheritance. My inheritance.”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
