Page 72 of The Torment of Two

“Sloane knows,” I interject, “and she’s investigating.”

“It’s one of those followers,” Dad says, shaking his head in disappointment. “I thought your social media stuff was harmless. Apparently, I was naive. I want you to delete your accounts immediately.”

“Dad!” I shriek, also rising to my feet. “You can’t just take away my business—my job! It’s not one of my followers!”

“Until we’ve caught this sick piece of shit,” Dad snarls, “I won’t take any chances with my baby girl.”

Two also stands. “Sloane thinks it’s one of your buddies, man.”

Dad goes still and glares at me. “What?”

“They’re keeping their identity hidden for a reason,” I tell him with a sigh. “She thinks it could be a friend of yours or someone in a position of power in this town. Someone who can’t risk their reputation.”

Silence befalls the living room as Dad processes my words. Mom also stands, taking hold of Dad’s hand.

“Two, I think you should leave,” Mom says gently. “We have much to discuss with our daughter.”

“Yep,” he grunts, already striding for the door. “See you around, Golden.”

I hate that I don’t even get a hug or kiss goodbye, but now’s not the time to push my parents. They’re about to explode.

“A friend of mine,” Dad utters, shaking his head. “We’re going to find this asshole and I’ll ruin him in every way possible.”

As happy as I am to be out with my secrets and have Dad fighting for me, I know it won’t come without new restrictions.

I just hate that my freedom with Two is about to be yanked away.

Two

“Wake up.”

I blink away my grogginess to find Pops standing in the middle of my bedroom, arms crossed over his barrel chest and a furious expression on his usually easygoing face.

“Hey,” I say, sitting up and rubbing the sleep out of my eyes. “What’s up?”

His nostrils flare and he motions out of my room. “Get dressed. Meet me in the living room. We need to talk.”

“About what?” I ask, heart rate kickstarting to life.

He doesn’t answer as he stalks out of my room.

What the fuck?

Did I run over Dad’s rose bush again?

I hope I didn’t leave the space heater on in the shop.

I barely give myself time for a piss and to brush my teeth before I’m throwing on a T-shirt and jeans so I can find out what’s going on.

The house smells like cinnamon rolls, making my stomach grumble. I don’t dare go hunt down food, though, since Pops is clearly angry about something. In the living room, I find both my parents already there. Dad is curled up under a blanket sniffling and Pops is pacing in front of the couch.

Oh fuck.

Dread coils in my gut. Deep down, I know what this is about. But how? How do they know?

I glance over at Dad, who’s clutching a used tissue. He won’t look my way, which stings, and his eyes are red and swollen from crying.

This can’t be happening.

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