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My eyes hold his, pleading with him to just tell me. To explain who we are and why we’re here.
“Where have you been?” I ask, hopping up onto a bar stool.
“Meeting clients in Manchester.”
“Clients for what?”
His eyes narrow in suspicion. “What’s with all the questions?”
“I just want you to tell me something. Something real. Moving here, it’s made me realize that I don’t even know you.”
“What? Don’t be silly, sweetheart. You know me better than anyone.”
“Do I?”
He studies me for a moment, concern glittering in his eyes.
He hesitates for a beat before finally giving me something. “I was meeting some businessmen who are interested in investing in something I’m a part of.”
My heart pounds in my chest as I hear the honesty in his tone. I think it might be the most truthful thing he’s ever said about what he’s done. So the fact that it’s still chock full of lies really fucking burns.
“Just tell me the truth,” I whisper, hating the emotion that creeps into my voice.
“I’m sorry.”
I hop off the stool and back toward the door, already having had more than enough of this.
“You can’t do it, can you? Even now, even being here, you still can’t tell me the damn truth.”
“Stella, I don’t—”
“Don’t worry, Dad. The girl who did that…” I throw my arm out to indicate toward my car. “Her name isn’t Greek.”
I flee before he can find a comeback. I slam my door closed when I get to my room and drag my dresser in front of it. I don’t want to see anyone—not Dad, and certainly not Seb if he’s stupid enough to make a return appearance.
Walking over to my bed after closing my curtains, I unzip my gym bag that Seb brought with him, ignoring the little voice in my head that tries telling me what a sweet move that was. From both Toby and Seb. They clearly spoke after the event.
My breath catches when I pull back the zipper and find my pink switchblade resting on the top of my school uniform. But it’s not that which really captures my attention. It’s the note.
Give her hell, Princess.
I’m still sitting with his note in my hand and a giant lump in my throat when the familiar pounding of Dad’s feet on the stairs gets louder.
Great.
“Stella,” he booms, his fist thundering on the door.
“Go away. I don’t want to talk about it now.”
“Come on, sweetheart. I—”
“You had your chance. You blew it.”
I let the note flutter to my bed as I flee to my bathroom.
“I didn’t think. Shit—”
“No, you’re right. You didn’t think,” I snap back before slamming the door and turning the shower on in an attempt to drown him out.
