Fractured Things - Samantha Lovelock Page 0,60
out into the hallway.
“You good?” she asks.
“I’m good.” I nod, and the two of us head to our lockers.
Chapter Nineteen
Dragging my ass out of bed on Tuesday, I stand in the middle of my room and stare at my phone in embarrassment and frustration.
Seventeen text messages.
I sent her seventeen text messages ranging from ‘hi’ to ‘I’m sorry’ to ‘why the fuck won’t you talk to me’, and not one of them was answered. I also vaguely remember two phone calls and the earful I got from Sunday when she picked up the second one.
I’m such an ass. But so is Stella for not talking to me. How the hell can I apologize if she won’t listen?
I shower, throw on my school uniform, and go down to the kitchen. My father is at the table drinking coffee and reading the morning paper. He peers at me over the top of the pages as I drop into the chair across from him, and instantly his whole demeanor changes. Sighing, he folds his paper as carefully as he chooses his next words.
“Something the matter, son?” He knows damn well something's the matter and can probably hazard a pretty good guess as to what it is, but he’s allowing me to come clean on my own.
“She knows. I told her on Sunday.” My voice is hollow.
“I see.”
“That’s all you’re going to say? I see?” My frustration at the situation and anger at my own stupidity float just beneath my words.
“What else can I say, Poe? When you told me about Stella for the first time, I warned you. That news about Catherine came damn close to breaking me—I can’t even imagine what it did to her daughter. You needed to tell her right away, before you two really got close. As strange as it might seem, waiting until she cared about you as much as she obviously did only made things worse. Instead of dealing with only the news that her mother had passed away, she got the news and had to deal with your dishonesty on top of it. So not only did you give her bad news, you compounded it with being an untrustworthy ass.” His expression hovers between disappointed and feeling sorry for me. That look and him calling me untrustworthy pisses me off. Mostly because, in this case, I feel like he’s fully justified in both.
“So what the hell do I do now? I can’t just let it end like this.” I feel my grip on my emotions slipping, and my dad’s face starts to swim as tears fill my eyes.
“You have to give her time. And then you have to talk to her, try to explain, and hope she’ll listen. That’s pretty much all you can do.” Standing, he comes around the table to stand behind me and rests both hands on my shoulders. “I’m sorry son,” he says with a heavy sigh. “I really hope you two can work this out.”
His words are followed by a shrill cackle from the doorway between the kitchen and the hall. We both look up, startled, and see my mother standing there in all her bullshit glory.
And she’s laughing.
Laughing at me and what happened and what I’m feeling. If I didn’t hate the woman who gave birth to me before, I sure as hell do now.
“Shouldn’t you be trying to climb into a bottle of Grey Goose right about now? What the fuck are you standing there laughing at?” I push myself to my feet and stand beside my father, my hands clenched.
“Isn’t that sweet? Loser daddy telling his equally loser son ‘I told you so’.” She smiles cruelly and leans her shoulder against the doorframe. In her case, I’m pretty sure it's less about affect and more about actually keeping her upright. “I can’t be the only one who sees the hilarity here,” she pouts. “Where’s your sense of humor? Once again, a holier than thou Halliday has lost the Bradleigh bitch he uses to keep his dick wet. It’s like the best rerun of my favorite sitcom—watching Halliday men get screwed over by their whores.” Her grin stretches from ear to ear, and I take a step forward, ready to wipe it off her face. My father puts an arm out in front of me.
“Don’t bother. You go on to school son, and leave your mother to me.” Even in my current state of rage, pain, and frustration, the unexpected note I hear in his voice gives me goosebumps. Turning