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And I kept pulling out the sheets of paper I had printed in Dad’s office and staring at them, wondering how I could use them. Would he respond to blackmail? Would he let me out of this if I threatened to expose him?
I wasn’t sure what I had was enough to fully implicate him though. And if it wasn’t, all it would do was alert him to what I knew and unleash his fury at me.
So, I waited.
And worried.
School days were a blur of sullen faces and glares. No one openly taunted me anymore, but I had been written off entirely by most of the student population. If I still cared about playing their fucking games and trying to climb the social ladder, maybe becoming an outcast would’ve hurt. But I wanted no part of that bullshit anymore.
The one bright spot was the fact that, without my dad breathing down my neck, I was able to sneak away to visit the Lost Boys sometimes. I wanted to spend every second with them, but I didn’t want to push my unusually good luck, so I only ventured to their neighborhood a couple times a week.
Misael had decided to take his father up on his offer, and the rest of us went with him the first time he went back to the club to see Claudio. I stuck close by Misael’s side, joining the other two boys in glaring down Claudio as if daring him to fucking mess with us—to even think about hurting his son.
But the man with the friendly eyes and the tattoos seemed earnest enough. More and more, I believed that he’d had no knowledge of Misael’s existence, and I could see a heaviness in his expression when he spoke about it that made me think it was something he would never make peace with. Something he would never stop blaming himself for.
As the bitter winter air slowly began to warm into spring sunshine, we visited Claudio a few more times, and every time we did, I could sense Misael’s walls coming down a little bit more. It wasn’t in his nature to trust, or to believe in pretty words or promises. But Claudio was so steadfast in his insistence that he wanted to make things right, never wavering in that for a second, and I could tell that Misael was slowly beginning to believe.
I was glad.
I may never entirely forgive Claudio, but I couldn’t find it in me to hate him either. Truthfully, he could’ve kept his suspicions to himself, never stepping forward to claim that he was Misael’s father, and no one would’ve been the wiser. The fact that he hadn’t done that went a long way toward proving how much he wanted to be in Misael’s life.
None of the Lost Boys had happy histories, and although my upbringing had been vastly different than theirs, I didn’t exactly have a good one either. It seemed like the universe owed at least one of us a good parent.
A grin crossed my face as I stepped out of the shower, my thoughts turning to our last visit with Claudio. I wiped off the condensation on the glass and ran my fingers through my wet blonde hair. But when I wrapped a towel around myself and stepped into the bedroom to grab fresh clothes, the smile melted from my face.
Poppy was in my room. So was my mother.
They were speaking in low tones as Poppy rifled through a selection of dresses hanging on a garment rack and Mom ran an assessing gaze over each one.
My hands clutched at the towel I wore, my brows drawing together. “What the hell are you doing in here?”
“Language, Cordelia,” Mom said sharply. She was dressed elegantly, hair and makeup styled to perfection as usual, even though it was just nine in the morning on a Saturday.
“What are you doing?” I repeated.
“What does it look like?” She blinked up at me, appearing honestly surprised. “I’m choosing a prom dress for you.”
Prom. Fuck.
Despite the number of “prom committee meetings” I’d gone to over the past month, I had completely forgotten that the actual event was coming up.
“I’m not going to prom,” I said shortly, veering toward my closet even as my heart picked up its pace.
“Of course you are, dear. With Barrett. What would it look like if two soon-to-be newlyweds didn’t go to the most important social event at the school all year?”
“It would look like they don’t actually like each other,” I gritted out, wheeling around to face her. I hadn’t spoken to my mother much since the day of my engagement party—the day I’d realized she would take my father’s side over mine every time—but I still vividly remembered our last interaction in this room.
I wanted to leap at her again. I wanted to tear the dresses off the rack and shred them into pretty, colorful ribbons.
Maybe Mom could tell what I was thinking, because something almost like fear flickered in her eyes, as if she were dealing with a rabid animal that might attack at any minute. But she pressed her lips together, taking a dress from Poppy and stepping forward.
“You’re going, Cordelia. This is not open for debate. Your father has been lenient on you lately because he expects you to obey when it matters, and this is one of the times when it matters.”
“Yeah?” I shot back, my anger growing. “Did he tell you that in one of your little heart-to-hearts? Oh wait, I forgot, you still hardly even speak to each other!”
Her nostrils flared wide, and I could see hurt and resentment flash across her face. “What goes on between me and your father is none of your business.”
“Of course not.” I shook my head, a sneer curling my lips. “You’re just my fucking parents.”
