Page 97 of The Hallows Queen

She nods. “Going for the timeless classic – spaghetti.”

I laugh. “Good choice.”

The waiter returns, and we order our food, then fall back into meaningless conversation.

I’m fading as the Xanax fills my bloodstream, and I hope my eyes haven’t started to droop and thin out. I don’t want her to know that I’m still taking pills, I don’t want to worry her, and I don’t want to ruin this trip. I know that I’m fine, and that’s enough for me.

After another ten minutes, I catch a familiar face in the blurry, peripheral vision over Penelope’s head. I blink a few times, trying to get the image to disappear like a hallucination. When my eyes focus over her head, and I realize I’m not imagining shit, my jaw grows tight and I laugh humorlessly.

“You’ve got to be fucking kidding me,” I growl, making Penelope stop in the middle of whatever sentence was slipping from her lips.

“What?!” she asks, nervous, squeezing my hand.

I shake my head, and my face burns with anger. “This cannot be fucking happening. Not now.”

“Hayden,” she says, trying to get my attention. “What is it?”

I blow a breath from my nose, my nostrils flaring.

“My fucking father.”

Chapter28

Penelope

I spin around so quick,I make myself dizzy, and find an older man standing just inside the restaurant with his arm around a blonde woman.

He’s the spitting image of my boyfriend, just greying and with no tattoos. He’s maybe an inch shorter than Hayden, dressed in a nice black suit and shiny shoes that screamwealth.

I turn back to Hayden. “Let’s just leave.”

“No,” he snaps. “He doesn’t get to ruin our evening.”

Before I can respond, Hayden’s face curls into disgust again, so I turn around to see what he’s watching behind me. His father has noticed us, and he’s walking across the restaurant right for us.Oh, Jesus take the fucking wheel.

I turn back to Hayden. “Please don’t do anything insane.”

Hayden laughs in response, and then his father’s voice is cutting through the tension and filling my ears.

“Son,” he says, his voice deep. “You’re in New York.”

I squeeze my eyes shut in embarrassment – not for Hayden or myself, but for his father, who just greeted his son like a long-lost acquaintance.

“I am,” Hayden responds, squeezing my hand on top of the table. “Good to see you, too.”

“What brings you to town?” his father asks.

Hayden clears his throat. “Just a quick weekend trip to see Travis.”

“Ah,” his father says, tone full of condescension. “What didthistrip cost me, Hayden?”

Before Hayden can say, or do, something stupid in response, I clear my throat and look up at the man, holding my hand out. “Hi, I’m Penelope.”

“James Monroe.” He shakes my hand, drops it, then looks back at his son. “Do you think money grows on trees, son? Do you think I don’t look at your credit card bills? Who do you think you are, renting a million-dollar boat in Hawaii for those white trash friends of yours?”

I stare at Hayden as his face turns red with anger.

“Don’t fucking talk about them.”

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