Page 28 of The Enforcer

Chapter Twelve

Kenna

It had been a couple of days since my father's big blowout with Joaquin. I had been upstairs the whole time and couldn't hear what had been said, but judging by my father's refusal to even look at me, let alone talk to me, I knew it wasn't good.

I couldn't sit around the house and let the tension mount. I couldn't wait around for Joaquin to tell me how he felt. Maybe he decided he wasn't going to see me again - which would suck, but I understood.

I decided to register for a couple of classes at the college down the street and see if they were things I liked and wanted to go to school for. I still hadn't found out who I was yet, but I knew I loved fiercely and I knew I made no apologies for that love. If I could discover that over the course of a couple of weeks, I was looking forward to figuring out more of who I was.

The last person I expected to see when I got home from registering for winter classes at Houston Community College was Joaquin. And yet, there he was, standing in the foyer as I opened the door, as though he heard me unlock it and was waiting for me.

Immediately, I glanced around.

"Where's my dad?" I asked him, not sure I trusted myself to speak out loud. After my dad reacted to finding my phone and all those pictures and words that I still wouldn't take back, I knew there was no way Joaquin would have been here if my dad hadn't asked - told - him to come.

"Out," Joaquin said. "I'm not sure for how long." His hands were on his hips, his dark eyes burning into mine like embers against a fire that had just been put out.

"What are you..." I let my voice trail off because I wasn't sure how to ask the question without coming across as rude. The last thing I wanted was to imply that I didn't want him here. That was the furthest from the truth. I just needed to know why he was here, how long would he be staying, and what he felt about the prospect of him and I together.

"I had to see you," he said. "Your dad..."

"I'm sorry," I said, shaking my head. My gaze dropped to the floor and I pressed my lips together to keep the words from coming out of my mouth. Only a child would forget her phone. Only a child would have her father looking through it for whatever reason. Even if he claimed he was worried about my nonchalant handling of my breakup, that didn't give him the right to go snooping through my phone. "I should never have left it out. I assumed he wouldn't -"

"I get it." He held up his hand, not like he was trying to stop me, more like he was trying to placate me. To understand me. "It's not your fault. I wish I had been here so you didn't have to deal with it alone."

I shrugged, finally meeting his gaze. "He blamed you more than he blamed me," I said. "I told him I was the one who came after you, but he didn't care."

“Yeah, I don't know if I would if I was your father," he said.

That felt like a slap in the face. The last thing I wanted him to picture himself as was my father.

"But you're not," I reminded him. "You're not my father."

"I know," he said.

There was a moment of silence that passed between us. I wasn't sure if it was heavy or awkward or tense. I just knew it was quiet.

"So, what are you doing here?" I asked again, because he never really answered my question.

"I had to see you," he said.

"Yes, but for what?" I didn't mean to imply I didn't want to see him. I did. I wanted to see him more than anything. But I also knew that my father was furious with both of us, but primarily Joaquin. I didn't want to be the cause of their broken friendship. They had been friends long before I was even a thought, long before my dad met my mom.

"I just..." He glanced away.

I nodded my head. I understood what he wasn't saying. Just being around him was enough for me to feel okay.

"This whole thing between us," he said.

"I don't want you to worry about it," I said, cutting him off. I knew it was rude to interrupt but I couldn't bring myself to wait for him to say something like, I care about you, but or I want to be with you, but. I understood it. I understood why he was saying these things, but that didn't mean I wanted to hear them. "I'll just move on. I'm sure we both will. Dad will probably be able to forgive you and -"

"No, he won't," he said. His voice made me draw my gaze back to his. I tilted my head to the side. "He won't forgive me."

"He told you that?" I asked, unsure. My dad was a forgiving person. I knew if my mom showed back up at our door, he would probably be open to taking her back. Which was bullshit in my opinion, but that was my dad, nonetheless.

He shook his head. "Your dad won't forgive me because I can't just move on from this, Kenna," he said. It took a lot for him to say it, too. I could tell by his tight voice, his stiff shoulders, the way his hands were jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

My heart stopped. I tried to swallow but I couldn't. My throat was too dry. I needed to move, so I shifted my weight, but that didn't do anything. I was still paralyzed.

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