Fighting Fate (Granton University #1)(57)

Realizing how truly sorry he must’ve been to actually clean up her mess, she sat at the table and cried some more, wondering how in God’s name she was going to make it through another ten days like this.

She couldn’t go to Kayla without stirring up a huge fight she wasn’t ready to have. She couldn’t call Tess or Bailey because they knew nothing about her home life and she wanted to keep it that way. She couldn’t call home, since she was home.

She couldn’t turn to anyone.

So she just kept on and suffered through. Her father stayed scarce for the most part, staying out of her way. She only saw traces of his comings and goings and heard him walking through the house late at night when she was in her room, trying to sleep.

When Kayla called the day after Christmas, Paige finally answered and made up some lie about how she and her dad had gone for a drive around the county, talking about old times. Kayla had oohed and ahhed as if it was the sweetest thing she’d ever heard. Then she’d invited Paige to come with her to meet her boyfriend.

It seemed so easy to act as if she didn’t know anything about Kayla’s involvement in Trace’s death, so Paige pretended ignorance. Confronting her didn’t seem so important anymore. She said nothing about it and came up with a convincing lie for her cut cheek. When she met with Kayla to meet Archer, she said she’d tripped over a laundry basket in the dark when she’d been going to the bathroom one night.

Kayla had no reason to suspect a lie, so she rolled her eyes and threw an arm around Paige’s shoulder. “You can be the most graceful person I know sometimes. But put a laundry basket in your path at night, and you’re a total klutz, sweetie.”

Paige forced a laugh and bumped her hip against Kayla’s. “Yeah, you gotta watch out for those night-stalking laundry baskets. Now where’s this guy I’m supposed to meet?”

As the two girls neared the front entrance of the restaurant where they had agreed to hook up with Kayla’s boyfriend, the door opened to reveal a short, stocky blond with a goatee.

Face lighting with pleasure, Kayla pointed. “He’s right there.”

Archer Bloom was nothing at all like Trace. He was laid-back and calm with a polite, almost dry attitude. But he knew how to make her best friend glow.

Paige studied them snuggled together in the booth across from her and tried to feel happy for Kayla. But the pangs of bitter blame kept lapping at her ankles and occasionally she wanted to snarl and demand that her best friend never get over her brother, not after what she’d done to him. Not after whom she’d kissed.

Heat boiled into her belly as she tried to picture Logan and Kayla kissing. A part of her knew she wasn’t feeling indignant on Trace’s behalf. She was straight-up jealous. Kayla knew what those amazing lips felt like. And Paige never would.

That was in no way fair.

Closing her eyes, she shoved the blame, and anger, and jealousy back down deep inside her and tried to act as if nothing was wrong. Thank goodness Kayla was so wrapped up in her boyfriend she didn’t notice, because Paige knew she wouldn’t be able to come up with a good lie about what was wrong if Kayla had noticed.

Again, she survived.

The days passed until New Year’s Eve. The approaching first anniversary of her mother’s death wasn’t any easier to deal with than the first anniversary of Trace’s death. But when Kayla invited Paige to spend New Year’s Eve together, Paige almost felt sick from the déjà vu. She agreed, though, because it was a good—okay, her only—reason to get out of the house for a while.

The party was awful, thrown by a bunch of Trace’s old friends. The people who didn’t shy away from her tried to give her their best regards as if he’d just died yesterday. Kayla seemed too busy with Archer to notice Paige’s discomfort, so Paige took off about an hour before the ball dropped.

It was fifteen minutes after eleven when she slipped into the front door, not brave enough to face the back entrance tonight. But when she stepped inside, the sight of her father sprawled on his stomach on the living room floor, face planted in the carpet, almost made her throw up.

She yelped out a horrified screamed and jumped backward, bumping into the wall of the foyer. But as soon as she yelped, the mass on the floor lurched. She screamed again, not expecting him to be alive.

Paul rolled onto his back with a curse. “What the hell are you yapping about?” He groaned and clutched his head as he struggled to sit up.

Her hand pressed solid against her thumping chest, Paige closed her eyes. “What’re you doing on the floor?” she demanded right back, her fear urging on her angry tone. “I thought you were dead.”

He scowled at her. “What? You thought I offed myself or something?”

Glaring right back, she hissed, “Well, isn’t that what you’ve been doing for the past three years? Drinking yourself to death?”

He opened his mouth to snap something back but stopped in the last second. His gaze settled on the bright purple bruise on her cheek just under her left eye, and he cringed. With a whispered curse, he collapsed backward and rested his spine against the couch as he cradled his head in his hands.

Paige continued to huddle against the closed front door, not sure if she dared go near him.

“Paige, I…” His voice sounded broken.

She slid down the wall, wilting to the floor so she could sit too. No matter what had become of their relationship, he was still her father. She couldn’t ignore that.