Fenn
It’s quieter than a church in here. I don’t pass a single person or hear a single voice on my way to Tresscott’s office. The sound of my shoes squeaking against the polished floor of the wide corridor makes me wince. It’s embarrassingly loud. Then my phone dings and it’s even louder, like an explosion amidst the stillness.
I put it on silent, then check the message.
Casey: Meet me at our spot tonight? We have lots to talk about.
She’s right. We do.
Me: Yeah, sounds good. And yes, we do.
Me: My phone’s on silent now. I’m about to talk to your dad.
The desk in the reception area is empty. I walk past it toward the commanding mahogany door and give a quick rap.
“Come in,” is the muffled reply.
I turn the knob and push the door open. Take one step onto the thick burgundy carpet before stopping in my tracks.
“Oh, fuck no,” I mutter when my gaze connects with my father, who’s sitting at Tresscott’s desk. “No way. I’m not doing this.”
I spin on my heel, prompting David to jump out of his chair. “Fennelly,” he snaps. “Stop.”
I don’t want to stop. I want to sprint out of this building, steal someone’s ride, and drive to another goddamn country. Canada. No, Mexico. Better weather.
Yet I also know running is pointless, so I resist the instinct and walk back into the office. I shut the door behind me and cross my arms tight to my chest.
Dad drags a hand through his blond hair. It’s streaked with silver these days. I’m surprised his new wife hasn’t coaxed him into coloring it. Or maybe Michelle thinks it’s distinguished.
“Why are you here?” I ask when he doesn’t speak.
That brings a spark of irritation to his eyes. “Edward Tresscott called me early this morning and told me he plans to suspend you.”
My breath catches. A suspension? That’s it?
I exhale in relief, wondering how on earth Casey managed to talk him out of expulsion.
“You look relieved,” Dad says coolly.
I shrug. “I am. Figured it would be much worse. How long’s the suspension?”
“Three days. You’ll report here to Tresscott every morning and do your coursework in a neighboring office. He’ll be keeping an eye on you throughout the day and checking your work after the last bell.”
“Fine.” I flick up an eyebrow. “May I go now?”
“No, you may not.” He’s visibly clenching his teeth. “Take a fucking seat, Fenn.”
A laugh slides out. “Busting out the expletives, huh, Dad? Someone’s having a temper tantrum.”
“Sit down,” he snaps.
I humor him, dropping my ass in one of the plush visitors’ chairs. Dad remains standing, his expression conveying a cloud of unhappiness. With a dash of disappointment thrown in there.
“Well? Let’s hear it. The lecture.” I lean back in the chair, unfazed. “It’s always fun to listen to you pretend to give a shit. You’ve been doing it a lot lately, you realize that? I get it. Trying to impress Stepmommy. But you’re wasting your breath.”
He curses again, uncharacteristically pissed. It’s jarring, considering his emotions have been in hibernation for so long. Maybe that’s why I keep poking the bear. I’m tired of sleepy and disinterested. I’m itching for a fight.
And Dad doesn’t disappoint.
“I’ve had enough of this,” he spits out. “Enough of you.”
“What else is new?”
“Stop. Just stop with this insolent, juvenile nonsense. You’re eighteen years old.” His face gets redder as he begins to pace, stopping every few seconds to level me with furious glares. “You’re a goddamn adult, and you’re climbing into girls’ windows at four in the morning like some horny punk! And not just any girl! Edward Tresscott’s youngest daughter! Have you lost your mind?”
I try to respond, but he cuts me off by slicing his hand through the air.
“I’ve put up with a lot of bullshit from you over the years. I’ve tolerated your smart mouth, turned a blind eye to the company you keep—”
“The company I keep?” I interrupt. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Gabe Ciprian’s a drug dealer! That Lawson boy’s been in and out of rehab since he was thirteen!” Dad advances on me, scowling deeply. “And don’t get me started on all the girls. All the parties. The condom wrappers strewn all over the fucking house. The booze. The fact that you’ve been expelled from every school you’ve attended, until I finally had to buy your way into this one. The one prep school nobody gets expelled from—and you nearly get kicked out of here too!”
He finishes with an angry huff, scrubbing a hand through his hair again.
“Am I allowed to respond now or are you still yelling?” I ask politely.
“I would love an explanation,” Dad retorts. “Love one. Because I can’t even imagine what you were thinking messing around with your headmaster’s daughter.”
“Casey’s my friend.” I shrug again. “She had a nightmare, and she called me because she was upset and needed to talk.”
“And you couldn’t talk to her over the phone?” He sounds frazzled. “You had to break into her house?”
“I didn’t break in. She let me in.”
“You were there at four in the morning, without her father’s permission. She’s seventeen years old.”
“She’s my friend,” I repeat.
“Are you saying there is absolutely nothing physical going on between the two of you?”
I’m usually a pretty good liar—liar of omission, anyway—but I’m off my game this morning. And my split second of hesitation costs me.
“Goddamn it, Fenn! What the hell is wrong with you!” Dad shakes his head in reproach, practically oozing contempt. “Is this really who you want to be? An underachieving fuckup who drinks like a fish and thinks with his cock?”
“Sounds fun, actually.”
He barks out an incredulous laugh. “You’re not even taking this seriously, are you? I flew out here on an hour’s notice to talk some sense into you—”
“I didn’t ask you to come,” I interject, my voice cold. “That’s on you.”
Dad stares at me for a moment. Then he sinks into the adjacent chair, burying his face in his hands. He sits there, in that oddly defeated position, for what feels like a full minute. I even consider sneaking out while he’s not looking.
But then he lifts his head. “I’m ashamed of you.”
Up until now, his criticism bounced off me like I was wearing a bulletproof vest.
This time, he does some damage. Direct hit. My chest clenches.
“I’ve given you leeway, Fenn. Tried to be patient. Understanding. Because I know how much you miss your mom.”
I set my jaw.
“But you’ve gone too far—”
“Because I snuck into a friend’s bedroom?” I demand in disbelief.
“Because you show no remorse for any goddamn thing you do, or any goddamn thing you say. You do whatever you want, whenever you want.” He stands up, shoulders drooping. “I’m ashamed of you,” he repeats.
“I don’t care.” I stand too, done with this entire bullshit conversation.
“You should care. Because I’m your father, and I’m the only family you have in this world, Fennelly.”
Our gazes slowly connect again, and I flinch at what I see in his eyes. Condemnation. Disgust.
“Your mother would be ashamed of you.”
My arm snaps out before I can stop it. It’s a knee-jerk response, the instinct to defend myself from the wave of pain his words trigger.
There’s a cracking sound as my fist connects with my father’s jaw.
He rears back in shock. We’re both shocked. My knuckles are tingling, and I stare down at my hand, blinking, confused. It’s like that hand doesn’t even belong to me.
I’ve never hit him before. He’s never hit me. Hitting was never a part of our relationship.
Dad’s chest heaves as he draws several deep breaths. He drags the side of his thumb over the spot where I’d struck him, then rotates his jaw.
“Dad. I’m…” Sorry. I want to tell him I’m sorry.
But he’s already stalking past me. “Get your goddamn shit together,” he says without turning around.
“Where are you going?” I call after him.
“Home.” He still doesn’t turn. I have to dart toward the doorway to be able to hear him. “I’m going home to my wife. And you will serve your suspension without complaint. I’ll see you at Thanksgiving.”
Then he’s gone, and I almost keel over, my legs suddenly too flimsy to support my weight. I stumble over to a chair and collapse into it, mimicking Dad’s defeated pose with my face buried in my hands, one of which still aches.
I punched my father in the jaw.
Christ.
Your mother would be ashamed of you.
As I sit there, hunched over, pulse weak, I can’t stop from ruminating over everything he’d said. His words run on a loop until I’m unable to fight the conclusion that takes root in my mind.
He’s right.
I am a fuckup.
Mom would be ashamed of me.
And I have no business letting a girl like Casey love me.
I groan into my palms. Goddamn it. What am I doing with this girl? I’ve known since the first time I had a real conversation with her that she’s too good for me. She’s the girl who rescues injured animals and keeps them in shoeboxes by her bed. She’s the girl who forgives when she shouldn’t and forgets when she ought to remember.
I should have just let it end. It was over, damn it. She dumped me. Rightfully so. But instead of letting it be, I pushed and poked and fought to get her back, and for what? So she can be with a fucked-up asshole who drinks too much and is best friends with a drug dealer who might have almost killed her?
She deserves better than that.
So much better.