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“Whose idea was this?” My mom cuts me off, raising an accusatory finger at Haze. He opens his mouth to speak, but I squeeze his hand so tightly he smacks his mouth shut. If he admits to being the mastermind behind this disaster, we’re done. And I mean done. She’ll never, ever let us stay here until we find a place.
“It was mine,” I lie.
“So… he had nothing to do with it?” She arches an eyebrow, doubtful. “It wasn’t his influence on you?”
“No, of course not. He’s always been a good influence on me.”
Will snorts. “Was that before or after he kidnapped you?”
I’m going to kill him.
Kendrick elbows Will in the stomach so hard, he knocks the breath out of him. I know he’s talking about the time Haze showed up at the penthouse, knocked out Kendrick, and threw me over his shoulder to take me to his hometown so he could protect me in his own messed-up way.
“What did you just say?” my father asks Will.
Thank God they didn’t catch that.
“Nothing,” Will coughs.
Kendrick runs to W
ill’s rescue. “He was just… talking to himself, Uncle Harry. He’s weird.”
“Yes, I’m weird,” Will agrees, and my mother rolls her eyes. It hasn’t even been one full day yet and she already hates having them around. Twenty bucks says she’s going to change her mind and ship them back to Maria.
Still as furious as can be, she drags a long and deep sigh, probably considering taking that baseball bat from her husband’s hands and finishing the job herself. My father, on the contrary, seems a bit… amused? No one speaks for the longest time. Until my dad offers Haze a grin.
“How’s that for a first impression?”
I let out a breath of relief, the fear in my stomach disintegrating. He’s not mad. That’s a start.
“I’m sorry I almost hit you with a baseball bat—Haze, is it?”
“Yeah. And no worries.” Haze gives him a small smile.
There is no way the first real sentence my father ever said to my boyfriend turned out to be this one.
“Are you mad?” I ask my parents, hopeful.
“No.”
“Yes.”
Both answers come out at the exact time.
My father said no.
And my mother said yes.
They exchange glances.
Awkward.
“Can we stay?” I plead.
“Your mother and I need to have a discussion, pumpkin.”
“There has to be a punishment for what you did,” my mother jumps in. “We didn’t raise you to be a liar.”
