Page 45 of Not Your Little Girl Anymore

I take a minute to myself, checking over my phone, only to find myself rereading the last message Alec sent me. Frowning, I feel like such a jerk for not responding to him. I didn’t know what to say. As much as I wanted to say yes, Dad told me after the funeral, we could catch up, and I have a sliver of hope that doing so will help me make up my mind about whether or not he was a part of my mother’s murder.

I’m so conflicted.

I hear Dad’s feet shuffling outside my door, and without thinking I grab the box from my bed and quickly rush over to my closet and toss it on the floor beside my shoes.

A sharp pain shoots through my heart the second I swing open my bedroom door and find Dad shuffling through his closet to pull out a clean police uniform.

He’s not planning to go to work, is he? Today of all days?

My fingers tighten around the door knob. “Hey, Dad.”

He doesn’t say anything as he slips off his tuxedo jacket, replacing it with his work shirt. My gut twists, matching the tight expression on my father’s face.

“Are you going to work?” I ask nervously.

Finally, he looks at me, staring at me in silence. There’s no smile. His eyes don’t light up how they used to. My muscles tighten slightly. I’m trying not to show how upset I am, but he notices.

“I’m heading in to help with a case,” he finally says.

I exhale, but my tense muscles don’t ease up. He sounds stressed, and I wish I knew why, but I don’t feel like digging too deep into something that seems to be a work matter. Even if I asked, he wouldn’t tell me.

“You don’t usually work on cases. Did you get promoted?”

Dad buttons his work shirt and adjusts his belt, attaching his police badge to it and strapping his gun to the side of his pants. “I have not, but the opportunity is there.”

He walks past me and down the stairs. I follow him, feeling like my emotions are going to burst outside of my skin all over again.

“How could you think about work at a time like this? We just buried Mom.”

He sighs and turns on his heels before opening the door. “You wouldn’t understand, Summer.”

Anger flows through me. I suck in a heavy breath to regain my composure. “I’m not a child.” I’m so tired of him treating me like I’m still a child. “You told me we could catch up after the funeral. What changed?” The words rush out of my mouth before I can stop them.

Dad looks at me for a beat before smirking, swiveling around, and leaving without answering my question. I close my eyes hoping it’ll stop the tears that brim my eyes, but it doesn’t. One sneaks out anyway, trickling down my cheek. I wipe it away quickly, gather my dress up with one hand, and run back up the stairs.

The sliver of hope I had shatters into a million pieces, leaving me left in a whim.

Instead of wallowing in self-pity, I think about the invitation Alec left open for me. My eyes scale out the window, the sun as bright as ever.I take a deep breath, knowing that I’m jumping out of my comfort, and I change my clothes, throwing on a pair of shorts and a loose tee knotted at the side. Using my small hand brush, I comb through my hair and clean up the mascara drooping down my face.

Then I stride across town, heading straight to Alec’s apartment.

***

If I stare at this building any longer, I’m positive someone will call the cops on me.

The clean red brick building towers over me as I tap my phone in the palm of my hand, questioning myself.

Why did I come here?

Oh, because he invited you.

But that doesn’t change the fact that I didn’t text him back to let him know I was coming. God, I feel so stupid. There’s a good chance he won’t be home. At least that would save me from this embarrassment.

I should go back home. Should. But if I do, I know that I will regret not seeing if he’s home. And then what? Allow myself to live in fear? I don’t think so. I’m sick and tired of living behind the fear my father planted in me over the years.

The last thing I want right now is to be alone, and in this moment it’s Alec’s presence I want to consume my time.

It’s like I need him or something.

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