Page 29 of Hate To Love You

“Walking rage. I like it,” he says.

I bite my tongue because I’m trying not to laugh again. I half wince, half snort, half send a spit shower out of my mouth when I laugh. I clap a hand over it right away, horrified by my wet lips. I wipe at my mouth with the back of my hand and wince. I hadn’t done that since I was a kid, back when Apollo made me spit drinks out all the time. No one could ever make me laugh the way he did. Unexpectedly. All the time. And so freaking hard. He was the only one who could ever make me do the pants-peeing, eyes-tearing-up, face-turning-red, belly-aching laugh.

“Give me a little bit of time, and maybe I’ll join you.”

“I’d like that.”

I stay turned to the window for a long time. Minutes later, I turned and faced the empty space where Apollo was standing. “I might like it too,” I whisper into thin air.

Ugh, might like it rage.

CHAPTER 11

Apollo

“I hope you trip and crack your thick head open, you turdlinger of an old fool, the ass end of an ox, donkey ass, pig-headed, dundering douchebag!”

Gasps. There are gasps from all of us.

“Dad!”

Patience stares at her dad, her mouth agape like she can’t believe he just said any of that. I’m pretty shocked too. I didn’t know Gerry and my dad knew the word douchebag or were willing to put it out there. Turdlinger. That’s inventive.

I don’t know what happened. Last night, we all went for a walk, and everyone seemed fine. It might have trended more to the quiet side, but then everyone had an early night, and I thought sleep was the answer.

Well, sleep was not the answer.

I woke up to yelling downstairs. Patience and I nearly crashed into each other in the hallway a second time, but this time, we were both dressed. I would have appreciated how ironic it was that we both looked like we’d thrown our clothes on in three and a half seconds, and our hair was messy, but I was too busy sharing aghast expressions with her.

We couldn’t get downstairs fast enough. Our dads had already moved outside, and we’re all out here now, standing in the front yard.

I still don’t know what happened, but it’s clear my dad has had enough.

I don’t think he’s ready to leave, but he storms down the driveway toward his rental, kicking at imaginary rocks on the cobblestone driveway. He’s not going to disappear for good. Maybe just take a drive to cool down. He doesn’t have his bags with him, and he’s too economical to ask me to send them later, no matter how much money I might have. He keeps on scuffing the front of his shoes at nothing at all on the cobblestone driveway, but you can only kick cobblestones so hard before disaster strikes. He catches his toe on the corner of a rock—virtually impossible, but I guess not completely impossible. He stumbles, and we hold our breath in another collective gasp, but that’s it.

Nothing major happens. My dad doesn’t fall, he doesn’t pitch forward, and he doesn’t skin his hands or knees. No other chaos happens. No blood.

I let my breath out slowly and noisily.

“Thank god,” Patience whispers beside me. “Dad!” she exclaims. “What were you thinking?” It sounded to all of us like Gerry was cursing my dad.

Shit. My dad is storming back over, and he looks the extreme opposite of happy.

“You!” Oh god, here we go with the finger-pointing. Now he has cursed rage. Driveway rage. Old feud rage. “You! You cursed me! You actually muttered curses out loud, and I stubbed my toe. I could have died!”

Gerry rolls his eyes. “That’s a little extreme.”

“Still,” Patience mutters. “That was rude, Dad. Apologize.”

“I won’t apologize for anything! Nothing. Nevvvvarrrrrrr! That’s pirate speak for never.”

“Ahhhh!”

Before my dad can close in on Gerry, I grab him around the middle, and Patience steps in between the two.

“Dad.” I block his view, and since I’m bigger than him now, I can do that quite effectively. “Come on. Let’s go inside and relax for a minute.” Coaxing him doesn’t work as he looks around me and shakes his fist at Gerry.

“You stick-up-the-ass, cursing crazy old coot!”

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