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And just like that, Dash’s smile is gone, and I’m contemplating patricide once again.
“Dad,” I turn my head to glare at him. “Don’t—”
“He’s on parole.”
I’ve lost count of how many times my father’s words have sent the kitchen into shocked silence, but I am goddamn tired of him acting like a drama queen.
The Kellers are clearly trying to sink into the walls and disappear from this awkward situation. Charlie stands still, narrowed gaze fixed just over my shoulder on Dash. My mom’s hand hovers in front of her mouth as if she’s trying to stop herself from speaking.
I wish she’d put that effort toward shutting her husband up.
“Yeah. I know. He told me before I even asked him to help me with Pumpkin.”
“Parole? What are you saying?” Mom’s voice trails off on the question.
“He was in prison, Ginny. Should probably still be serving his sentence if there wasn’t such an issue with overcrowding.” At some point my father stopped leaning against the counter, rising to his full height, giving the sense of him looming over the entire room.
Cold skitters over my skin as Dash lets his arms drop from my sides.
“Prison? But…for what?” My mom asks before I can figure out a way to defuse this situation.
“Grand theft auto. Prince here is a fair hand at stealing cars.”
“Cars?” The horror in my mom’s voice echoes through the kitchen.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the almost imperceptible sag of Dash’s sharp shoulders.
Fuck defusing. I’m the bomb.
And here comes the explosion.
“Yes! Cars!” I shove off Dash’s lap and stand in front of my boyfriend, fists against my hips, legs spread wide, shielding him from whatever my father plans to say next. “He stole cars. He was found guilty. He went to jail. Heservedhissentence.” If glares could burn, my father would be trapped in an inferno. “You’d think a judge would respect the legal system, wouldn’t you? But I guess Dad doesn’t believe in reform. He thinks Dash should be punished for the rest of his life!”
I take a menacing step forward, and my father’s cold exterior cracks just slightly.
“Now, Paige—“
“So, go ahead. Judge him. Deny him your acceptance. Withhold your respect.” Somehow, I’ve ended up directly in front of the man I’ve held up as a moral standard for my entire life. And my rage is all the fiercer because he just shattered that illusion for me. Today, my father revealed himself for what he truly is. A close-minded, judgmental, hypocrite.
My voice shakes and I jab a finger into his chest. “And remember, everything you think about him, everything you say about him,” I glare straight up into my father’s frowning face, “applies to me.”
“No—”
“You hate someone because they stole a car?”
“Paige—”
“No. This is good to know.” I retreat, arms raised, holding back tears of rage or sorrow. Likely both.
“I guess my father hates me.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Dash
Paige’s declaration rings through the kitchen.
I try to figure out what her words mean and come to the conclusion that I’m missing something.
