A slow smile spreads on Zach’s face. “Likewise.”
“So, good night,” I say, and take one step toward the house before Zach grabs my hand and pulls me toward him.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he growls, wrapping his arms around my hips and kissing me.
Butterflies flutter in my stomach as his hot lips press against mine. I rest my hand on his shoulder, returning his kiss. He grips me tightly and our dual desires cut through the heat of the night.
“Zach,” I mutter, pulling away. “I don’t even have your phone number.”
He slips a hand into my front pocket and retrieves my phone. “We’ll have to change that, then.”
I clumsily take the phone and unlock it so he can type in his name and number.
Slipping the phone back into my pocket, he pulls me in for another kiss. My heart pounds as I feel the heat of his body pressed up against mine.
Drunk on desire, I could do this all night like I’d told him back in that bedroom.
“Zach,” I whisper, my conscience kicking in. “It’s late. I’ll text you in the morning. Okay?”
“Perfect. ’Night, Harm.”
Walking toward my porch, I turn to watch him leave.
The porch door creaks like it always does, and I head inside. The house is dark except for the glow of moonlight seeping in.
I set my phone on the dining room table and grab a glass of cold water before bed.
Chugging my drink, I nearly drop the glass when I hear my name spoken through the shadows.
“Harmony Lane.”
The hairs on the back of my neck stand up as I spin to see my dad standing at the dining room table, rings under his eyes.
“Dad,” I choke out, trying to hide my shock.
“It’s almost three a.m. What on Earth are you doing out until this hour?” he demands.
There is a seriousness to his voice that I haven’t heard in years.
I blink a few times, my eyes fluttering. My dad is supposed to be driving his truck across country tonight. “I, uh . . .” I clear my throat. “I went to a party with Sebastian and Cole after my show.”
“Oh?” He arches an eyebrow. “And who was it that dropped you off? That didn’t look like Sebastian or Cole.”
My dad is the nicest man alive. I’ve never seen him utter a mean word. But when he’s in his mad mode—it happens maybe once every three years—steer clear.
And I can tell I am navigating dangerously close to mad mode.
“Someone else gave me a ride home from the party,” I say, playing it off like it’s no big deal. “We all kind of went our separate ways.”
My dad blows out a big, frustrated breath, running his hands through his graying hair.
“Harmony, you can’t just come crashing in like this so late. I worry about you. You know that. And I don’t like you getting a ride with him.”
I tilt my head and take a step toward my dad. “Him?”
“I heard his motorcycle. And your mom told me all about how you were with him late last week too.”
My stomach lurches.
“My mom? You mean, my stepmom,” I bite back. Okay, I didn’t mean to say that—it’s a tad mean, and I try to be kind to everyone. But I’ve been reaching a boiling point lately, and I think I might be past it. Ire swirls inside as I imagine the conversation they must have had, my stepmom tattling on me like a second grader telling on a classmate.
“We’re not having the stepmom-versus-mom conversation right now,” my dad interjects, his voice firm. “This ‘Zach’ character is not the kind of boy I want you hanging out with.”
Anger flares inside me, and I drop my gaze. Turning my back, I put my glass in the sink and mutter soft enough that he can’t hear.
“How do you even know who I was with?”
“If it really matters, my drinking buddy’s son is the bartender at The Hungry Burger. And he said last week when he left you two were canoodling, chatting after the show when no one else was there.”
A knot of frustration rises up in my chest. Put another tick in the ‘negatives of small towns’ box for tonight. My dad somehow knows everything I’m up to, even if it’s in the middle of nowhere.
I know what’s probably coming next from Pop. Go to your room. Think about what you’re doing under my roof and how you’re acting.
And for as long as I’ve been here, I’ve played the good little daughter who always does what she’s asked and doesn’t ruffle feathers.
But right about now, I have an epiphany. I’ve been doing exactly as I’m asked, when it comes to every little thing in life. And how’s that working out for me?
I’m twenty-three, scraping by for money, getting my songs stolen by my ex-boyfriend, and now when I have an actual connection with someone, I have to feel guilty about that?
“Dad, it’s none of your goddamn business.”
“Excuse me?!” he shoots back, taking my phone from the table and clutching it in his hand. His hand is trembling. “Who do you think you are talking to me that way?”
“Fine,” I say, louder now. I put my hands on my hips and look him in the eye. “I said, I’m twenty-three years old. It’s none of your business who I’m dating—or not dating—or getting rides home with. Especially when Lisa is getting too drunk to give me rides home. That’s the whole reason I started hanging out with Zach in the first place.”
His eyes flame in the shadows, and he flexes his jaw. “Don’t you dare say that! Harmony, you know how it works here. My house, my rules. If you want to act like a fool, get some applications out and apply for a real job.”
I clench and unclench my fists, his words feeling like knives twisting in my stomach.
“So music,” I fire back. “That’s not a real job?! Happy to know what you really think about what I do.” I can feel the rush of emotion coming. I try to block the waterfall of tears forming behind my eyes.
“That’s not what I’m saying.” He uses his pointer finger to emphasize his words. “Keep playing music. By all means. As a side thing. In the meantime, get a job somewhere—”
“Oh, because Blackwell just has an abundance of well-paying jobs I can walk into at age twenty-three—” I snap.
He cuts me off with a raised finger, anger written all over his face.
Closing his eyes, he pinches his forehead with his forefinger and thumb. “I love you, Harmony. I just want you to be responsible. And happy.”
“And not hang out with someone I have a connection with,” I retort.
“Zach is a known convict. He’s bad news. Everyone in this town knows that. And I do not want my daughter hanging around with someone like that. Hold on, I need to check something. I’ll be right back.”
I take deep breaths, forcing myself to keep my emotions in check. If I start crying, I’ve lost this argument. I squint as Pop walks to the back of the house and out of sight. I hear the back door open and then shut again a minute later. His footsteps get louder as he comes back into view.
“Sorry, thought I heard something,” he says. “Harmony, I know this comes out harsh. But it’s coming from a place of love, I promise. I don’t want you hanging out with that boy. Here’s your phone.”