Page 3 of Finding Delaware

Shit.

I had explicitly left it unlocked so that I could sneak back in. Dad must have locked it while getting a drink or something.

“Fuck you, Tay,” I mutter as I rummage through toolboxes, searching for a screwdriver. Obviously, Taylor isn’t to blame for the locked door, but blaming him makes me feel better anyway.

Pushing curls out of my eyes, I insert the screwdriver into the bottom of the lock and turn, using a paperclip to scrub the pins inside the keyhole until I hear it click open. A breath of relief leaves my aching lungs. I’d only picked a lock as practice, and this is the first time I’ve actually done it to get inside anywhere. My best friend Logan’s uncle, Devon, taught us howto do it a few months ago. He’s cool, only five years older than us, and loans out his four-wheeler whenever he visits from college. Solid guy.

As quietly as possible, I step into the pitch-black kitchen and softly shut the door behind me, throwing the deadbolt into place. Intending to grab a water bottle from the fridge before heading upstairs, I barely make it five steps before I’m blinded by the overhead lights flooding the kitchen, and I freeze.

Dad stands in the doorway to the dining room, arms folded and eyes narrowed behind the glasses perched on the edge of his nose. His short blonde hair is a mess, as if he’d been running his hands through it.

We stare at each other silently for a moment before I straighten up, flashing him my practiced grin.

“Hiya, Pops.”

“What the hell happened to your face, Huck?”

Oh, he’s mad. Dad hardly ever swears, and when he does, you know you’ve messed up.

“I, uh...crashed my bike?”

It comes off like a question, and he lifts a brow before rounding the kitchen island to open the freezer. Pulling out an ice pack, he stands before me, the bottoms of his plaid pajamas swishing against the polished marble.

Handing it to me silently, he simply stares as I place it against my swollen lip. His expression tells me he knows there’s more to the story.

And he’s not going to ask twice.

“...plus, I sorta got into a fight.”

He breathes out slowly through his nose, still watching me with brown eyes that match mine. “With who?”

I wince, teeth gnawing at my cheek. “Okay, don’t freak out, but...Taylor.”

“Maisie is going to be so pissed,” he murmurs as his lids close for a brief second, and inwardly I cringe at the mention of her name—my soon-to-be stepmother.

Sure, I’ve met her a handful of times over the last six months they’ve been dating, and yes, she’s nice in thatI’ll only be dealing with you for a year until you go off to collegesort of way, but something always feels off about her. But maybe that’s because of my history with her son.

Dad walks over to the farmhouse-style sink, grabs a washcloth from the drawer, and runs it under the water. “Come here.”

There’s a disapproving note to his voice that has me hanging my head, silently cursing myself as I shuffle over to him so he can clean the blood off my face.

Great. He’s upset with me.

I’m a shitty son. I’ll never be enough.

“Who started it?” he asks after a pause, and my eyes flick at him warily.

“Does it matter?”

“I guess not.” He tosses the rag into the sink before crossing his arms again. “Who won?”

A grin breaks out on my face, splitting my lip again, and he grins back. But it’s gone in a flash when his smile changes into a stern frown.

“You know you’re grounded until probably graduation, right?”

A scowl furrows my brows as I glance down at the floor. No way in hell am I going to tell him the reason why I punchedTaylor, not when everything is going to change tomorrow. All that would do is make things even more awkward than they already are.

“Why her, Dad?” I mutter, poking my tongue at my cut lip. “Out of all the people in this shitty town, why did it have to be her?”

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