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“The hell I will.”
Caleb took a bite of his apple, standing there chewing a minute, looking like he was deep in thought, and then looked up at me as he swallowed. “I gave you instructions. I said eat something and start your homework. And you ignored what I told you even though we talked about exactly what would happen if you did. You made this choice yourself. I’m just giving you what you’re asking for.”
That was so logical I wanted to scream— and scream at myself for being so fucking obvious and embarrassing.
“That isn’tfair. I fell asleep.”
“Alright.” He nodded. “If you can sit there and tell me you had every intention of eating something and doing your homework and you would have done it if you hadn’t fallen asleep, then that’s fine. I know you’re tired after practice, there’s nothing wrong with needing a nap. You can start your homework now, and I’ll make dinner, no big deal.”
He challenged me to lie, dared me to almost, and I stared at the stupid apple sitting in front of me, avoiding the answer. He’d know if I was lying, I was sure about that, and worse than that, he’d probably go along with it if I did lie even if he didn’t believe me. Unfortunately, I had a goddamn conscience. And a deep fucking desire to be daddied— the hard, embarrassing way.
“Fine,” I muttered. “I wasn’t gonna do it anyway. Happy?”
“I’m happy you told me the truth. But I’m not happy you decided to ignore me. Eat your apple.”
I shook my head. “I don’t want it.”
“Okay, tell me what you want. I can make you—”
“I don’t. Want. Anything,” I told him, and my teeth hurt from biting down on the words so hard.
“Logan.”
I swear it was like hearing him say my name— all patient when he should have been pissed off— just detonated something inside me because my reaction was so instant and extreme it took me a second to realize it was connected to me when the whole bowl of apples went flying off the table.
The bowl clattered on the floor in an ugly, endless circle, which was better than breaking, but a horrible noise, and apples went scattering like rats all over the kitchen. I swear I could hear every ugly, crunchy splat when they hit the ground, the meat bruising inside the skin before they bounced away into the corners of the room.
Fuck me. I didn’t think I even meant to do that, but it hit my satisfaction button hard anyway and I hated that it did.
“Hey.” His voice definitely should have sounded angry then, but it was just startled. “What do you think you’re doing? Sit down.”
Standing up happened completely off my radar, and I blinked like maybe I was dreaming or sleepwalking or I didn’t even know what. But the table was still empty, and the kitchen was still a mess, and so was I.
“No. You can’t tell me what to do. Especially not when you’re not even here,” I snapped at him. And then I just leaned into being a fucking disaster with zero excuses because what difference did it make now. Why not cement the fact that I was a psycho.
I booted one of the kitchen chairs across the tile and it slid all the way to the refrigerator, banging into the front and sending a bunch of letters hailing down on the floor, and every one of them hurt. Then I turned and kicked another chair that just fell right over onto its back, no fight in it at all. I would have had to walk around the table to kick another one, and I would have looked stupid doing that.
Except guess what.
I looked fucking stupid anyway. Stupid and crazy and full of anger issues and all my fucking damage didn’t seem so fun now, did it?
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
“You done?” he asked me,and I stood there panting, looking around at the way he’d just let me trash his kitchen. Dishes and apples and overturned furniture, and he hadn’t made a single move to stop any of it and hestilldidn’t look mad.
Meanwhile, my body was raw and throbbing and claiming amnesia, all of it happening so fast and furious it barely registered. I didn’tfeeldone. I wanted to rip up the rest of the place, tear open the pillows and shake every book off the shelves and scream and break windows, and I felt fuckinghorrible. His place was so nice, and I liked it so much, and I’d tossed around shit that wasn’t even mine without even thinking about it, without knowing why, and that was thelastfucking person I wanted to be.
My head hurt, my eyes hurt, my throat hurt, and I was hot everywhere with legit shame. I wanted to say something ugly so he could kick me out and not feel bad about it, but I couldn’t even look at him, I was so embarrassed.
Also I kind of hated him for just standing there, not doing anything, not grabbing me and bending me over the table and lighting up my ass with any number of kitchen utensils I could recommend from the jar on the counter. What kind of guy did that, just watched someone have a meltdown in fucking silence? What kind of guy who liked to call himself Daddy let somebody get away with acting like an out-of-control fuck up?
Something was very not right here.
“Logan.” He was still calm and quiet when he said my name, but there didn’t seem to be anything left to blow up inside me. “I asked you a question. Are you finished?”
“Fuck you.” I didn’t evenmeanthat. And I for real just could have said no and kicked something else across the room and been less of an asshole.
“Why don’t you pick up those chairs and we can sit down, and you can tell me what the problem is.”
