And I’m about to go face those monsters head-on.
“Can I help you?” the receptionist calls out.
“Nope,” I throw back at her.
She narrows her eyes at me. “If you don’t have a room here, you can’t be here. And if you don’t leave, I’ll call security.”
Grinding my teeth, I spin around and approach the desk. “I don’t have a room, sweetheart,” I say, my tone oozing annoyance. “But my parents do. You might know them. They’re Loraine and Eli Averson.”
Her expression immediately falls. “How do you know the Aversons?”
“Like I said, they’re my parents.”
She swallows audibly. “Oh. I didn’t know.”
“Well, now you do.” I pat the counter then walk off, leaving her to think I’m going to tattle on her rude behavior. Like if I did, my parents would care enough to get her in trouble. They don’t. If I told them what happened, they’d get pissed off at me for being dressed the way I am now.
Once I make my way out of the lobby, I take the elevator up to the sixth floor and find the room. I pause in front of it, taking a collective breath before knocking. I know I need to keep my shit together, but nervousness jitters through me. I wish I was stronger than this, but I’m not. At least not with my parents. And I’m really fucking worried about what my mom is going to tell me.
My nervousness only grows when my mom opens the door. She’s tipsy—that much I can tell—her eyes a bit glassy, and her breath reeks of wine.
And I thought I was bad.
Still, despite the fact that she’s drunk, she appears as put together as she always does, not a wrinkle in her dress, her hair perfectly curled.
Always look perfect, she used to tell me. Even if you aren’t.
She eyes me over with eyes that I suddenly realize look nothing like mine. Then she frowns and shakes her head, stepping back into the room. “You can come in.”
Sighing, I step over the threshold and shut the door behind me. Then I walk into the room. Or, well, suite. The bed is made and, other than the wine and empty plates on the table, there’s no sign she’s been staying in this room, which leaves me wondering … “Why are we meeting in a hotel room?” I ask as I stand in the middle of the room, on edge.
Something is off. I can feel it.
“To avoid the risk of this conversation ever being overheard.” She makes her way over to a table near the large windows in the far corner of the room and takes a seat. “Sit down. We need to talk.”
Wariness floods my body. I don’t budge. “What about?”
She narrows her eyes at me, her lips parting, but she’s cut off by the sound of the toilet flushing.
I tense, my gaze darting to the bathroom door as it opens. When my father walks out, I’m not sure whether to be relieved or get even more tense.
“These towels here are like sandpaper,” he says as he tosses the hand towel that he’s drying his hands off with onto the bathroom counter. “Honeyton is really going downhill …” He trails off when he notices me standing there. His entire face shifts then, going from casual to hard in the matter of a second, but he usually looks at me this way. “So, you’re here.”
I shrug, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my jeans to hide my uneasiness. “I was told to be, wasn’t I? Well, more like threatened into coming here.” It’s a bold move to say that to him.
Unlike with my mom, my dad is a lot harder to stand up to. But I’m tired. Fucking exhausted. Have been for years now, and things are only getting worse, something I was reminded of last night when I helped Holden and Ellis deal drugs to some rich assholes.
“Yeah, well, sometimes threatening is the only thing that can get through that thick head of yours,” my father responds in a cold tone. “Well, that and a good beating.”
The muscles in my jaw pulsate. I want to hit him. So badly. Have for the longest time. But I know where that’ll lead. And no, I’m not talking about getting arrested. That’s not my dad’s style. Too many people would find out. No, he’d handle it a bit differently, probably by hitting me back and then some. Maybe it’d be worth it. Maybe getting beat would be worth that swing I’d get in, that satisfaction of knowing that, for once, I hurt him.
“West, get that look off your face and come sit down,” my mom orders in an uneven tone, like she knows exactly what my thoughts are.
I stare at my father for a slamming heartbeat longer, and he stares right back, daring me.
My fingers twitch to do it, to hit him like I hit Blaine.
“Go ahead,” my father dares, stepping toward me. “See what happens.”
“That’s enough,” my mom hisses. “If you two start fighting in here, someone could overhear and call the police. And then you’ll never be elected.”
My father grinds his teeth while carrying my gaze. He doesn’t want to be the first one to look away. Neither do I.
“Fine, you want to be the tough guy, then go ahead,” he murmurs, glaring at me. “I’ll be the adult here.”
As he looks away, I get this twisted sense of satisfaction over it.
I fucking defied him, and it felt so damn good.
That feeling is quickly extinguished when I sit down at the table and my mom informs me of why she brought me here.
“We need you to sign these papers,” she says as she opens a folder. “Your dad is a notary, so we don’t need anyone else present.” She shoves a pen at me.
I take the pen from her and confusedly stare down at the papers as she slides the folder in my direction. “What are these?”
“That’s not for you to worry about,” she tells me in a curt tone. “Just sign the papers, and then you can go.”
I’m so beyond confused.
“But I thought you …” I glance at her, unable to get the words out.
I thought I was adopted. I thought that’s why you brought me here. To talk about it.
“You thought I what?” She plays dumb, but I can tell she knows what I mean.
My father moves up behind me and leans over my shoulder. “Just sign the damn papers, you fucking idiot,” he says in a low tone then grabs my hand and tries to force me to do so.
A while ago, I might have, but I think I’ve reached my breaking point.
I jerk back, jumping to my feet, which makes my dad stumble back as my chair topples over.
“What the fuck is wrong with you?” he growls out, his face bright red.
“I’m not just going to sign some damn papers because you guys said so.” I pick up the papers. “When I read them over, I’ll decide if I will sign them.”
I’ve never seen him as livid as he looks in that moment, his face red with anger, his eyes dark and full of warning that he’s about to break me. But this time, I’m not going to let him.
I dodge around him with the papers in my hand. He tries to grab me, but I shove him away, and he’s so shocked by the move that it takes him a moment to recover, which gives me enough time to run out of the room.
Since the hallway is empty, he chases after me. I run, heading for the stairs instead of the elevator since I’d have to wait for it.
“West,” he growls out as he sprints after me.