He walks slowly, holding something I can’t quite see yet. He says nothing as I frown at the dark shape in his hands. What can I possibly be? And then suddenly it hits me like a punch in the gut. He is holding the black sweatshirt that I wore last night.
Does he know?
It’s entirely possible that I own a black sweatshirt. And everyone knows that I go running. My mind races with every possible direction this conversation can go in. I’m not ready for this conversation but I have to have it. I have to if I want to keep the man I love.
“Lucy,” he says he stares at me. His eyes are dark and full of questions and emotions as he crosses to the table and looks at the lovely stack of banana pancakes I laid out for him, complete with silverware napkins and fresh-squeezed orange juice. “Lucy, I have to go,” he says frowning and laying the black hoodie on the table not looking at me.
“Wait,” I yell as he turns on his heel and begins to walk away.
“Keep the shirt,” he calls over his shoulder, grabbing his jacket from the hook on the wall, and closing the door behind him. My chest is ti
ght as the air fights to escape but finds no route.
He knows. He knows it was me there last night. Which means he knows my father was involved too.
Tears form in my eyes as I pick up the terrible sweatshirt and bundle it up tightly before heaving it across the room. It hits the counter at full force knocking off the coffee pot sending it shattering to the ground.
I am not the kind of girl who has explosive fits of anger. Normally, I will take a deep breath and tell myself to calm down. The whole breathing deeply sounds silly but it works. There is just something about this whole situation though. Something dark and horrible because I know that no matter what I say and do I will lose him. There is no way he can look the other way. To Kenton, the law is black and white. There is no gray area, no middle ground. There’s only right and wrong, prison or freedom, I have no way of making this up to him.
Sliding my hands over my face I close my eyes and press my back against the wall. Hot thick tears burn my throat clawing their way through me.
For the first time in my young life, my heart is breaking. And I have no way of fixing it. Except for this time, it is partially my fault.
I know I can always tell my dad no, but last night I didn’t. I did something incredibly foolish because I wanted to help him. Because in my heart I am still his child, and I don’t know how to put myself first in a way that matters. I always give so much of myself to everyone else, and now it is me who will pay the price. Not my father.
I can’t let him go back to prison. I will have to take the fall to save him.
I might as well because far as I know, only my name is the one that he knows. It’s a conflicting situation right now. On the one hand, I want to run to Kenton, grab him and shake him and tell him that I love him, and I would never do anything to betray him like this. But at the same time, I already have.
I chose my father.
Lowering my head down to my knees I rock as I pull at my hair. Heartbreak rips through me, leaving me trembling on the kitchen floor. It is a pain I have never felt before. Not this deeply anyway. I know heartache, but this is what it feels like to have your heart shatter into a million tiny pieces.
Closing my eyes hard and rocking myself back-and-forth I know what I have to do. I’m going to confront the selfish bastard that put me up to this.
Chapter Twelve
LUCY
My fist pounds hard on the apartment door. I don’t just knock three times to be polite, nor do I slam my hand on the door. In frustration I consciously ball my hand into a fist and start pounding on the door like a madwoman. A neighbor comes out and looks down the hall to see what the noise is then decides to quickly look away. Everyone knows my dad is bad news, and no one wants trouble, especially with him.
Even if he is supposedly a reformed drug lord, people never really grew out of the fear of putting their nose where it doesn’t belong. Soon the only door that hasn’t opened yet to check on me is my own fathers.
“If you don’t open the fucking door, right now, I swear to God I’m going to break the damn thing down!” I scream, pounding my fist so hard that I can feel my knuckles bruising. They will definitely be purple tomorrow. I only hope that I haven’t broken one. If I do, and Annie’s going to kill me. There’s no way I can stack shelves with broken hands.
Suddenly the door jerks open and my father stares at me with confusion, frustration, and fear.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” he demands looking at me and shaking his head back-and-forth. “Why are you acting like this?”
“I let you ruin everything again!” I scream shoving him back hard, which does little to actually move him. My father though not rock-solid emotionally or even as a principal figure has a solid physical build himself and is difficult to take down in a fight. I know this because I have seen him in several fistfights in my life. All of them traumatized me because who wants to see their father knocked around?
“What the hell are you talking about?” he asks.
“I listened to you again and wished I hadn’t, again. My life was going great... fantastic even. And now, once again, everything has fallen down around me, because of you! How can you be this way? How can you be so fucking selfish?” I rant.
“Hey, watch your mouth,” he snaps.
“How can you do this to me,” I cry, raising my fists again, preparing to punch him in the face. He dodges the first one but my right hook changes course and comes up under his chin and snaps his head back. His eyes wide for a moment.