“And what exactly did he tell you, Dad?” I say, crossing my arms defensively.
“He’s made his concerns known for a while now. Since you started at West Point. But he said after this weekend, he couldn’t watch you self-destruct anymore. Said you had a party and that drugs were involved.”
“What?! That fucking liar.”
“That boy is a wreck worrying over you, Remington! He’s probably still out looking for you. You’re all he has. Why would he lie?”
“Because I caught him doing drugs! It was his party and his shitty friends!” I hold out my arms, showing him the healing cuts and bruises. “He pushed me through a freaking glass table!” I scream. There were a dozen witnesses. Maybe more. But knowing Ryan and his friends, they are going to say whatever suits them. I’m completely helpless. It’s my word against so many others. The world is so unfair. It’s a juvenile thought, even naïve, but it hits me in that hollow place in my stomach where I keep the bad shit. And it stays there, digging deeper.
“Ryan said you were drunk and fell into the table.”
I throw my hands up in the air.
“Well, you just have an answer for everything, don’t you?” I shake my head. Un-fucking-real.
“Tell me something, Remington,” Dad says darkly, his brows creasing. “Is he lying about you running around with an older man, too?”
“You have got to be kidding me!” I yell, not even trying to control my outburst. This is insane. I stand up because I need to do something with my body, and I’d prefer it if that something isn’t tossing the coffeepot in his face.
“Answer the damn question!” he roars.
I’m pacing back and forth in the small kitchen that feels like it’s physically preventing me from running away. There’s no way I’m throwing Pierce under the bus. I’ve never really had to lie to my dad, but for this? It’s not even a question. He thinks I’m a liar, anyway. Might as well act the part.
“No,” I say evenly. “I called my friend Christian—my very gay, very teenage friend—and he picked me up. He let me stay with him so I didn’t have to be around Ryan. He’s changed, Dad. He hurt me. More than once.”
“Whatever happened with you two, I’m sure he didn’t mean it. It sounds like this was a big misunderstanding. You know how he is when it comes to you. He’s just being an overprotective big brother.”
“Because he wants me, Dad! There’s nothing brotherly about his love. Trust me.” I’ve completely lost it. Knowing how Ryan has been treating me will only break my dad’s heart, but I’m beyond thinking rationally at this point. And I’ve got a broken heart of my own right now.
“Don’t you say one more goddamn word. I don’t know what’s going on with you two, but I won’t have you talking like that. Your brother has been through a lot. The last thing he would do is hurt either one of us.”
There’s no getting through to him. I see that now. I hold my head between my palms, legitimately afraid that it is about to explode.
“If you want to stay oblivious, then that’s fine. But I’m not going to stick around to watch.” I slip on my shoes near the door.
“You’re not going anywhere,” he says, crossing his arms.
“Happy fucking birthday to me,” I croak out through the tears fighting their way to the surface. And with one look at my dad’s face—the way he sighs heavily and squeezes his eyes shut like he’s mentally kicking his own ass—I know. He’s not here for my birthday. He didn’t even remember my birthday.
I shake my head disbelievingly and open the door.
“Remington, wait,” Dad says almost sheepishly, rubbing at his forehead. But I can’t wait. I’m losing Ryan, and not only does my dad seem unconcerned for his own daughter, but he’d rather pull the wool over his eyes than to admit that Ryan needs help.
“Remington,” he says again, sharper this time. “You can’t go out in that!” He gestures outside where the weather fits my mood. Dark, stormy, haunted.
With one hand on the doorknob, I look at him over my shoulder. “Watch me.”
I pull open the front door, the heavy, metal screen already banging against the side of the house repeatedly. The wind is howling, but the air is hot and oppressive. My hair whips in front of my face as I try to figure out my next move. But I already know where I’m going. It was never a choice.
Pierce.
I take off running toward the bus stop. I don’t care that I have nothing on me except a few wadded-up bills in my pocket or that the rain is coming down hard and I’m only in a tank top, my cut-off jean shorts, and my Chucks. I don’t care that I don’t have my phone, and I’m running around a seedy part of town alone at night. None of it matters. I can think only of getting to Pierce.
The bus ride is a blur. No one talks to me or looks at me curiously. No one wonders why a young girl is soaking wet and visibly upset on a bus alone at night. This is Vegas. I’m probably the most normal thing this bus has seen all day. I stare out the window, seeing but not really absorbing until skeevy gas stations and liquor stores start to turn into gated communities and manicured lawns. The long ride does nothing to calm me down. With every minute that passes, I feel more desperate, more defeated.
Pity party for one, your table is now ready.
The rain turns to hail that pings against the bus, and the driver swerves to avoid a three-car pile-up at an intersection. Thunder sounds in the not too far off distance. Finally, the bus rolls to a stop a mile from Pierce’s place. I take a deep breath before stepping out into the monsoon. I run in the general direction of Pierce’s house, splashing through the flooded streets, and once I get to the gates outside his neighborhood, I realize I don’t even have the code.