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“Put the knife down,” I bark.
She jumps, dropping the knife on the counter. Her guilty gaze darts to mine, then she turns and flees like a scared little mouse.
Jonathan looks up from his phone, having missed what just happened. “Kennedy.” He turns as she runs to the stairs, then he cuts an accusing look at me. “What the fuck did you do?”
I turn the sink on and quickly rinse my hands. “Turn the stove off,” I tell him before hustling after Kennedy.
My stomach is in knots as I race up the stairs after her. She’s already out of sight. I don’t know whose room she went into, but when I try Jonathan’s, the door is locked.
“Kennedy, open the door,” I call through it, my hand on the knob.
“I’m not hungry, just eat without me,” she calls back.
“Open the goddamn door,” I say calmly, even though I feel anything but.
“Please leave me alone.”
“No. Open the door and let me in, or I’ll rip the damn thing off the hinges.”
“I can’t,” she says. “I can’t.”
“Yes, you can.” I keep my voice calm to reassure her even as my heart pounds wildly in my chest. “Just open the door and let me in. Please. I just want to talk.”
“I can’t. I’m too embarrassed.”
I keep my tone firm but reassuring. “You don’t have to be embarrassed, sweetheart. Just open the door for me.”
I wait a few beats without saying anything and finally there’s a mechanical click. I turn the knob, and the door opens.
I walk inside my son’s room, refusing to think about what happened in here last night. I’m relieved to see Kennedy sitting on the floor, seemingly okay, just upset. She’s sitting against the wall with her legs pulled up to her chest, trying to be as small as she can.
I sit down on the floor next to her. She’s been struggling to keep her composure since the moment I entered the room, but when I settle in beside her, she bursts into tears.
“I’m so sorry,” she says without looking at me.
I sigh, grabbing her and pulling her into my arms.
“I’m so sorry I hurt you,” she says tearfully as she wraps her arms around me. “You were so good to me and I messed everything up.”
“No, honey,” I murmur, my grip on her tightening protectively. “You didn’t mess anything up.”
“Yes, I did. I hurt you, and I hurt me, too. I ruined everything.”
I close my eyes, holding her tight and letting her cry. This is fucking torture. “I’m so sorry you’re hurting, sweetheart. But you didn’t ruin anything.”
“Yes, I did. You hate me now.”
Hearing she thinks that is like a knife in the gut.
“I donothate you,” I say fiercely. “I could never hate you, Kennedy. I fucking adore you. I love you. I will always love you. Nothing could ever change that.”
She shakes her head like she doesn’t believe me, crying a little more and then sniffling. There’s a break in the tears and she says softly, sadly, “I’m not a virgin anymore.”
“I don’t care. I mean, I’m sorry if you regret that fact, but it doesn’t matter to me. You haven’t done anything wrong, okay?”
“I’ve doneeverythingwrong,” she whispers.
“No.” I kiss the top of her head. “None of this is your fault, and I’m so fucking sorry you’ve gone through it. If I would’ve just answered the goddamn phone—I was right there, but I don’t look at my phone when I’m driving, and it was on silent so I didn’t hear it ringing.”
