Page 27 of Reckless at Westbrook High

“Smokin’ a joint.”

He sighs at my honesty, probably rolling his eyes. “Can you please explain to me why your ex–girlfriend is currently ordering room service to my front door and watching some girly ass chick flick on my couch?”

“She’s not my ex-girlfriend,” I mutter, blowing my smoke up to the stars. “She’s my fiancé.”

He chokes on what sounds like fresh air, quiet a minute before he speaks again. “I’m sorry, what?”

I shrug even though he can’t see it, playing it off despite the stupid tears filling my eyes. “We’re getting married at the end of August.”

Silence follows and I pull my heels up to my ass, waiting for him to tell me how much of an idiot I am, how weak and pathetic I am for allowing her back into my life after what she did to me.

He doesn’t say any of that, though.

“Did Damon tell you Derek’s missing?”

My brows snap in the center and I straighten up, confused. “What?”

“Turns out he checked himself out of the hospital yesterday despite the fact the doctors told him he needed to stay a few more days. I can’t find him.”

“Did you call Maverick?”

“Maverick’s a prick,” he throws back, still pissed at his little brother after nearly forty years of hate and resentment. “He has no idea where his son is, and honestly, I’m not even sure he cares anymore. Derek’s.. well, he’s fucking Derek, you know?”

“I know,” I say quietly, locking my jaw at the thought of him out there, hiding from us in the shadows. “You think he’s gonna come after Callie again?”

“I don’t know, son,” he sighs heavily, still exhausted, it seems. “I hope not.”

“Me too, dad.”

A long silence follows and I tense, already anticipating his next question before he asks it.

“You love this girl, huh?”

I shake my head, squeezing my eyes shut so hard it burns, but I can’t tell him the truth.

Not now, not ever.

I told her I’d marry her after my eighteenth birthday, let her live with me and buy her whatever she damn well pleases for the rest of my miserable life, but no one else can ever know why. We’ll tell people we’re for real, allow everybody at school to talk shit about me behind my back for getting back together with the girl I publicly told to go fuck herself on the first day of junior year, and she’ll live happily ever after as Freya fucking Kingston, just like she always wanted.

“Yeah, Dad,” I lie, the words burning my throat like a shot of acid. “I love her.”

“Okay,” he says simply, although I’m not entirely sure he believes me. “Then you can consider me letting you keep your car and your credit cards your engagement gift.”

I laugh lightly at that, relaxing a little bit for the first time in hours when I hear footsteps coming up behind me. “You heard about the video?”

“You mean the one of my half naked son making a dick of himself in front of.. three point one million people and counting?” he asks, probably raising a brow at thin air. “You gonna rat him out?”

“I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about.”

“Of course you don’t,” he deadpans, knowing I’m full of shit. “You coming home soon?”

“Nah, I’m gonna hang out here a while.”

“Alright. Be careful and–”

“No fighting.” I finish for him, rolling my eyes at his dramatics. “Night, Dad.”

“Night, Wren.”

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