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He glares, his face twisting in more confusion and more hot frustration. “Why are you lying?”
My pulse is racing faster than when we were running. “It’s not a lie—”
“It’s not the goddamn truth,” Lo sneers.
This rubs me wrong. “If you think you know the truth, man, then why even ask me?”
“To see if you’d lie to me!” Lo shouts, his frustration grating against mine. “Do you know how hard it is to trust you? Do you?” He steps forward. “I literally am trying here. I’m giving you a perfect opportunity not to be a lying bastard—and you’re not taking it.”
“We didn’t hook up in the attic!” I shout, scaring the birds. I eye them as they flap out of the treetops. Sorry, birds. “And I don’t know what you know, but whoever told you we did that—they’re lying to you.”
“No one told me,” Lo studies me for half a beat, like maybe he does believe me. Maybe he is trying. “You said that my problem has been me. Fine. Spoken. Could be somewhat true. I get in my head. I’m paranoid. I can be my biggest nightmare. But all I want is to make sure that my kids are safe and happy, and maybe I’m not the father I’d hoped I’d be some days. Maybe other days, I’m still trying to be better. Because they deserve that. But do you know what your problem is?”
I breathe harder.
“It’s not that you’re shit,” he tells me, the venom in his voice almost rocking me backwards. “It’s not that you grew up in South Philly with barely a dollar to your name. It’s not that you’re no one special. It’s not that when I die, people will remember me, but when you die, they will fucking bury you without care or fanfare. It’s not any of that.”
I swallow a rock.
He leans forward. “It’s that you’re not goddamn honest with me.” He pauses, giving me the time to explain, but words are lodged in my throat. He’s assessing me. “And I can’t even tell if you’re angry. I can’t even tell if you hate me.” He points at his chest. “I would hate me if I were you. I’ve threatened to rip away everything you love. I would be right where you are and saying, go eat shit and die, you worthless prick. But you’re not even doing that.”
“I’ve been angry about it,” I say truthfully. My body flames with tension, and I wish I’d stretched better before we hit the trail.
“This is angry?” He gestures to me like I’m either lying or it’s a joke.
It’s neither.
Papa Cobalt doesn’t pop off often, but I doubt Lo thinks I’m in the leagues of his genius bestie. But honestly, I think I’m pretty cool, calm, and collected if I do say so myself.
I glance down the trail, taking note of our surroundings. “You might think it’s pathetic that I’m not up in your face, but you’re not heckling me at a bar and talking shit about my friends, the Birds, Wawa, the Phillies, or shouting at me to move to L.A.—so I’m not gonna intensify the situation and take a swing or call you a piece of shit.”
“But you think I am one?”
I frown. “Do you want me to hate you?”
“I want you gone,” Lo hisses. “So far gone. And if you hate me enough, if I make your life a living hell—if you can’t go to sleep without fearing me and what I’ll do, maybe you’ll just quit so I don’t have to pull the trigger.”
I shake my head on instinct. And I’m not even shocked he’s been trying to get me to quit. I’ve known he’s wanted me to just walk away for a long time.
It might’ve been a mistake coming to Lo for help. I’m gonna hand him the perfect ammunition to fire against me and terminate my life here.
He doesn’t know it yet, though.
“You’re doing anything you can to protect your kids, and I’ve understood that,” I tell him. “Just like I’ve understood how you could think I’m trouble. I was baptized in a bathtub, you know that? The Catholic church didn’t even want me because of my parents. I’ve been unwanted by almost everyone the minute I took a breath on this Earth, and it’s just something I’ve come to expect.”
Lo processes this for a tense second. He nods slowly and seizes my gaze in a vice. “I’m going to ask you again. Be honest with me. Did you and Luna hook up at my birthday party?”
Not this again.
I struggle to maintain eye contact. My pulse is out of whack. Words aren’t forming because the self-preservation in me is screaming, shut up, Paul!
He’s pissed. “Her green lip gloss was on the corner of your mouth. So how the hell did that get there?”
