Misfits Like Us (Like Us #11)(73)

He lowers his narrowed eyes onto his son’s clothes that I’m wearing. “I have a fifteen-year-old daughter in this goddamn house. What if she walked in and caught you undressing? Or Jesus Christ, what if she saw your dick dangling?”

“I—”

“What if my wife saw you? Did you not think about it?”

No, I thought about it. “I would’ve locked the door if I could’ve.” I rake a hand through my hair. “I just thought I’d be quick enough. I’m sorry. It was a bad idea.”

Can’t take it back now, though.

Luna must not be here. It’s another thought. She can’t be here or else he would’ve included her in his list.

I stare at him, and he’s just staring straight into me. Not gonna lie, it looks like he’s trying to devour my soul, and maybe I’d be frightened if I didn’t just come from Colin’s house. I’d rather be here, facing Loren Hale’s parental wrath, than be back there.

A million times over.

So I can’t even be slightly scared.

Maybe that irks him. I don’t know.

His brows cinch, thinking longer. “What was that on your shoulder?”

“Wawa’s logo—”

“No, the front of your shoulder. Near your collarbone.” He motions to his shoulder, where the spot would be on mine, but it’s covered by the Hale Stark shirt. “It was red.”

It was a burn mark. The cigarette burn. “A beauty mark. It alright if I start the dryer?” I ask him, tentatively.

He nods stiffly. “Your clothes won’t be dry before Homecoming.”

“I’ll just wear what I’ve got on,” I tell him. “Xander let me borrow his clothes. I didn’t want to be late for the dance.” I try to take a breath while I push start on the dryer. It rumbles to life, the noise breaking some tension.

“Why are your clothes even wet?” His accusatory tone sets me on edge. “Why is your hair dry?”

“Long story.” And thankfully, I don’t have to skirt around the truth and think about dishing out lies because Xander slips into the laundry in a fancy blood-red suit with matching slacks, silk tie, button-down, and pocket square.

The monochromatic style is dope. He looks like a million bucks.

“Uhhh, Dad?” He frowns. “You mad?”

“This isn’t what happy looks like, bub.” He uses a nickname that Wolverine calls his friends. Xander told me its origin when I heard his dad say “bub” to him, thinking he meant to say “bud” like he does with Maximoff. Xander’s not on We Are Calloway much, so I wasn’t surprised I’d never heard it on the show.

“I told Donnelly he could use the dryer,” Xander explains fast. “His clothes were wet. I didn’t think that’d be an issue.”

Lo tries to relax his pissy face. “It’s not.” He averts his gaze from me, tells his son he looks great, makes a couple dad jokes, and then asks, “Is Easton on his way?”

“About that…” Xander slouches against the washer, taking a large swig of Sprite. “He’s not coming.”

“He’s not?” I’m in the same confused boat as Xander’s dad. Just yesterday, Easton and Xander were talking about the suits they bought together. They’re dressed as “the blood in the ocean” for the Under the Sea theme. Shark bait.

I thought it was clever.

“Did this just happen today?” Lo asks.

“Yeah, this afternoon. After Donnelly left my detail.” Xander scratches at his head. “Easton’s parents are super strict, and they caught us smoking in his bedroom last night. So yeah, he’s grounded.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa,” Lo says with an outstretched hand. “You were smoking?” For a split-second, his glare cuts to me, like I put the cigarette in his hand.

I should go, and I’m about to leave, but Xander says to me, “Wait, stay,” and then to his Dad, “It was a cigarette. Not pot.”

“Did you give him cigarettes?” Lo’s asking me.

I shake my head, a knot in my stomach.

“Easton bought them,” Xander interjects. “I know you hate smoking and shit, but they’re just cigarettes. One isn’t going to kill me. What’s the big deal?”

“It’s a bad habit. Take it from an addict, bad habits aren’t things worth starting.”

“But Farrow—”

“I’m not talking about Farrow. I’m talking about you.”

Xander groans. “So what, you’re going to ground me too? Over a fucking cigarette? Seriously, Dad?”

I shouldn’t be here.

I should go. It’s all I’m thinking, but the more Xander eyes me like I’m his friend standing alongside him confronting his dad, the more I hesitate.

“No, I’m not going to ground you,” Lo says sternly. “You think I’m the bad guy, Xander, but I’m not. I know you’re going to smoke. I know you might even try pot like your brother and sister. But I’m still going to tell you smoking is bad for you. I might even send you photos of rotted, diseased lungs. Because I love you, and I’m going to wish a long healthy life for you. Okay?”

Xander exhales deeply, no longer on the defensive. “Yeah, okay, I get it.”