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“Yeah, well, I’d prefer you didn't.” To my surprise, he takes two slices of meatloaf and heaps a mountain of potatoes onto his plate.
When he picks up his knife and fork, I sigh in disbelief. “Why is that, and would you mind giving me your attention while we talk about this?”
“Which is it? You want me to eat my dinner, or do you want to talk about this? Can't we do both? I'm starving.”
“Okay.” I suck a deep breath into my lungs and release it slowly, not that it does much to calm me down. It’s how I have to be, or else this is going to evolve even further, and fast. “Exactly why do you think I need to stay here?”
He shrugs while pouring ketchup on his meat. His gaze refuses to meet mine. “How else will I know you’re safe? You, of all people, should understand how dangerous the world is. How many things can go wrong. Anything could happen. You could be driving to work one day, completely innocent, and end up dead.”
“That could happen to anybody at any time. You can't expect me to stop living my life just because you know how bad the world can be. Death happens. It’s inescapable.”
“We both know you flirt with danger a little too much. Letting yourself be associated with that family is bad news.”
This again. I’m about to stab myself in the eye with my fork. It will never stop, and I don't expect it to, however the constant reminder of Callum is not what I need right now. Isn't it bad enough he already plays a part in every thought I have? I either spend the day wishing I could be with him or regretting the last time we were together and hating myself for making it so easy for him to get to me. To do whatever he wants. To make me beg him for it. Nonetheless, here my father sits, unwittingly throwing that in my face.
I have to fight off the anger threatening to leak into my voice. “Tatum is my best friend. That's not going to change, no matter how you feel about her father or what he may or may not have done.”
“May or may not have done?” He slams his silverware on the plate and pushes his chair away from the table before launching himself out of it. The overhead light swings, making shadows dance across his face while he leans in.
I have to force myself to face him head-on. No cowering, no shaking, no tears. “Dad, you can talk about evidence all you want, but unless you have it and it's indisputable, you still don't know for sure that it was him. It could have been anybody! Walking around saying you have evidence when you don’t, is illegal.”
All he does is scoff, but that's okay because it gives me time to recall what we initially discussed. “How did you know I was looking for an apartment? Did you just assume or…?”
“I didn't have to. You left a lease agreement on the coffee table a few nights ago. When I was out with Ken, remember?”
I shouldn't react, only there's no stopping it. My shoulders slump, and I close my eyes. I could kick myself for being such an idiot. “I didn't mean to do that.”
“I didn't think you did,” he snorts. “You're way too secretive for that.”
“I'm not trying to be secretive.” It's a lie, probably an obvious one, judging by how he laughs.
“Anyway, you don't have to worry about it now. You won't be moving into that apartment or any apartment until I say so.” With that, he plops back down in his chair and digs in like a man who hasn't eaten in weeks.
I stare at him as ice forms in my veins. “What do you mean? Why won't I be moving in?”
With his mouth full, he grunts. “I called them today. Told them you weren't interested.”
There’s no way to make myself believe this. It's too unhinged, even for the man sitting across from me. One I hardly recognize. How can this be my father? Sure, he was always overprotective to the point of driving me crazy, but he never did things like this. “How could you do that? How could you make that decision for me?”
“I know better. Eventually, you're going to see that. I know what you need, and what you need is to be home.”
“You don't know the first thing about what I need. In fact, I’m thinking you never did.” It's my turn to push back from the table, only this time, I won't sit down and gorge myself. My throat is so tight I doubt I could swallow a single bite of food. Despair and bitter rage battle for control while I shake beside the table.
