I splashed water on my face, hoping it would clear my senses or at least get the color to return. After drying off, I fumbled for my phone in the back pocket of my shorts. Then I called Liam.
The phone rang until his voice mail picked up. “Liam, please call me. I need to know that Celia’s okay.”
I sighed and then broke down in more tears. Maybe Maiken was on his way to the hospital. I called him, but his voice mail answered too.
“Hey, can you call me?”
I slumped against the sink when my phone pinged.
Maiken: We’ll talk tomorrow.
My mind spun. What the heck did he mean we would talk tomorrow?
Me: I want to talk now. Are you going to the hospital?
Maiken: Liam called me and told me not to.
Me: Please go. I have to make sure Celia’s okay.
Maiken: Liam will give us an update.
Me: I’m sorry about tonight.
He had to think I was a freak. He hated when Marcus drank, and now his girlfriend was falling into the same dark hole as his brother.
Maiken: Get some rest.
Me: I’m sure I’m grounded.
Maiken: Yep.
Me: I’ll come over tomorrow when I take Apple for a ride.
Maiken: I won’t be around.
Me: Where are you going?
My heart plummeted. Surely one mishap on my part wasn’t cause for not seeing me.
Maiken: My mom is taking me shopping.
I sighed.
Me: Call me afterwards, then?
Maiken: Sure.
Me: I love you.
I fixated on the bright screen, waiting for a response, but none came.
Me: Are you still there?
My heart punched my ribs like I’d punched Sloane, and it hurt.
After a few minutes with no response, I called Maiken again. The line rang and rang and rang until his voice mail connected.
I hiccupped and hung up. I was too much of a hot mess to leave a message. He hated me. I was sure of it.
I checked my text messages again, but there was still no response. I tried one more time to get him on the phone. Again, he didn’t answer.
Tears poured out of my bloodshot eyes. I’d ruined everything, including my party and my chances of having any more parties. I might have lost my boyfriend, and my BFF had been rushed to the hospital.
Sobbing, I slid down the counter until my butt was on the floor. Then I brought my knees to my chest and buried my head in my hands.
Footsteps pounded outside the bathroom door. “Quinn,” Carter said before he knocked.
“Go away,” I cried.
“Dad wants you downstairs in ten minutes.” Carter’s tone made me shiver. He had a lot of the same qualities as our dad—deep voice, commanding presence, and strict in his morals when it came to what girls should and should not do. However, the one difference was that Carter didn’t give an inch. At least I could reason with Daddy. With Carter, there was no reasoning. I pitied his future daughters.
Regardless, I didn’t think any amount of reasoning with Daddy was going to work that night.
Take your licks and keep your mouth shut. Daddy might be lenient.
I would like to believe the voice in my head, but I knew I was in a world of shit.
I hardly had time for a shower, but I couldn’t go downstairs looking like I’d been dragged through pig shit and mud. So I jumped in the shower and rinsed off, although no amount of water would wash away what I’d done. Fifteen minutes later, I wound my way downstairs.
Momma’s voice trickled out of the kitchen. “Call when you have news. Oh, and Liam, give my best to her mom.”
I padded lightly down the hall until I was standing in the arched doorway between the kitchen and family room.
Daddy was sitting at our picnic-style table, drinking from a coffee cup. “How’s Celia?”
I slid off to the side so he wouldn’t see me.
“Not good,” Momma said.
I covered my mouth with my hand to stop the sob that was about to come barreling out.
“Liam will keep us posted.” Momma’s voice was filled with sadness.
“Quinn, I know you’re listening. Get in here now!” Daddy’s voice boomed.
I shivered as if I were standing naked outside in the dead of winter. I took one tiny step at a time and inched into the brightly lit kitchen. It blinded me, yet darkness encroached from all sides as I settled near the fridge, away from Daddy.
His brown gaze was soaking in fury. The wrinkles on his forehead were deep, and his nostrils were opening and closing like he was struggling for air.
I swallowed a lump of coal as I regarded Momma. Her lips were pursed, her features tight, and her gaze as hard as stone.
The silence was maddening, and the longer neither of them said anything, the more my insides spun. I didn’t think I had anything else to throw up, but my stomach was telling me otherwise.
I flipped my wet hair over my shoulder for nothing else than to expel some nerves.
Daddy finally spoke. “What do you have to say for yourself?”
The last time I had done anything to warrant Daddy’s wrath had been in the eighth grade. He’d warned me not to go near a new horse we’d had at the time.
“I need to break him before you ride him,” Daddy had said. “It’s dangerous. Do you understand?”
“But I can break him,” I’d returned.
“Absolutely not. He’ll kill you.”
I hadn’t listened to him. I’d wanted to show him I could break in the horse. However, the minute I took the horse out of the stall, he’d gotten spooked at a loud noise in the barn. I’d ended up with bruised ribs and an ego to match. Daddy had been irritated and scared that day, not glaringly furious.
“I’m waiting, young lady.”
Momma watched, her expression unwavering.
I locked my trembling fingers together in front of me. “I’m sorry.” That was all I could say. I had no other words.
“Where did you get the liquor?” Momma asked.
I bit my lip. “Some boy.”
“Name.” Daddy’s tone was hard and scary.
I couldn’t throw Jack under the bus. “A lot of kids had liquor. I don’t remember.”
Daddy let out a long breath as if trying to control his temper. “Someone told me that you threw the first punch. Is that true?”
Slowly, I nodded as I stared at my orange-painted toenails. It was useless to rehash what had happened. The damage was done. Someone had gotten hurt. I’d started the fight. I’d gotten tipsy. I’d ruined my party. It was no one’s fault but mine.
I inhaled deeply. “Just tell me my punishment.”
Daddy slapped a hand down on the table. The sound exploded as if a bomb had gone off. “Don’t take that tone with me. Let’s go back to last year when you and I had a conversation outside church the day after the party where the Maxwell boy was passed out drunk and bleeding. Do you remember what you told me?”
It was hard to forget Sloane’s party. Maiken had had to carry a drunken Marcus out. But as I dipped back to that Sunday, my heart stopped.
“I don’t want you going to anymore parties,” Daddy said.
“Why?
“Quinn, parties only attract trouble. I don’t want to see you get caught up with the wrong crowd either.”
“You can’t shelter me forever, Daddy.”
“I’m doing this for your own good.”