Regretting You(84)

I know exactly what she’s doing. She’s playing nice, hoping all will be forgiven if she spends her birthday dinner with me. She figures if she doesn’t put up a fight, then I won’t put up a fight when dinner is over, and she wants to leave with Miller.

She’s not leaving with him. Not a chance in hell.

Clara finishes her food and stands up. She walks her plate into the kitchen. When she comes back, she looks at Miller. “You finished?” He’s midbite when she pulls his plate from him regardless.

“There’s still cake to eat,” I say, pointing at the three-layer chocolate cake in the center of the table.

Clara stares at me. Hard. She grabs Miller’s fork from him without breaking her stare, and she digs it into the center of the cake, then shoves a bite into her mouth.

“Delicious,” she says wryly. She drops the fork and takes Miller’s hand. “Ready?”

“Where do you think you’re going?”

“A ball game,” Clara says.

“It’s not a game night.”

Clara tilts her head. “You sure about that, Mom? I mean, you weren’t even sure it was my birthday this morning.”

“I knew it was your birthday. I was just momentarily shaken by the fact that your boyfriend slept in your bed last night.”

Clara smirks. “Oh, we didn’t sleep.”

Miller mutters, “Yes we did,” from behind her.

I look at Miller. “You can go now. Tell Clara good night.”

Clara looks at Miller. “Don’t leave yet. I’m coming with you.”

Miller looks from me to Clara, like he’s torn. I’d feel bad for him if I wasn’t so angry at him.

“Miller, it’s probably best if you just go,” Jonah says.

Clara rolls her head, stopping it when her eyes land on Jonah. “If he’s leaving, you should go too. You don’t live here.”

Jonah seems over her attitude just as much as I am. “Clara, stop.”

“Don’t tell me to stop. You aren’t my dad.”

“I’m not trying to be.”

I’m standing now. This is going way too far.

Miller turns and heads for the door, as if he senses the bomb is about to explode, and he doesn’t want to be injured by the shrapnel.

Clara backs her way to the front door. “It’s my birthday. I’m protesting my punishment on the grounds that it was your example that forced me to break the rules last night.” She opens the door. “I’ll be home by curfew.”

I start to walk around the table in a rush to the door, but Jonah grabs my wrist. “Let her go.”

I look down at his hand clamped around my wrist. “You can’t be serious.”

Jonah stands up, forcing my eyes upward because he looms over me. “You need to tell her the truth, Morgan.”

“No.”

“You’re losing control of her. She hates you. She blames you for everything.”

“She’s sixteen. She’ll get over it.”

“She’s seventeen. And what if she doesn’t?”

I can’t have this conversation with him right now. “She’s right. You should go too.”

Jonah doesn’t protest. He grabs Elijah’s things, and they leave. Jonah doesn’t even say goodbye.

I stare back at the kitchen table—at all the uneaten food and the near-perfect cake.

I slump into a chair, grab a fork, and take a bite of it.





CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT





CLARA


I’m leaning against Miller’s truck with him when Jonah comes outside with Elijah. I turn and stare toward the road so I don’t have to look at him.

As evidenced in class today, I get a lot angrier when we make eye contact. And even though he was nice enough not to punish me, and then later gave me his phone, I realize he did both of those things out of guilt because he knows what he’s done. And now he’s here, having family dinner with us like my father never even existed.

I hear him as he’s buckling Elijah into place in the back seat of his car. Then I hear the door close. I blow out a quiet breath, relieved he’s leaving, but then suck in another rush of air when I realize he didn’t open his car door. I glance toward the front of Miller’s truck to see Jonah making his way over to us. My posture grows rigid when he stops two feet in front of me.

He places both his hands firmly on my shoulders and then leans forward and kisses me on top of my head. “You’re better than this, Clara. We all are.” He backs away. “Happy birthday.”

When Jonah finally pulls out of the driveway, I roll my eyes and push off Miller’s truck. I lean against his chest, just wanting to feel the soothing sound of his heartbeat against my cheek. He presses his chin against the top of my head as he wraps his arms around me. “Is this how it always is?” he asks.

“Lately, yes.”

Miller’s chest rises and then falls, just once. Heavily. “I don’t know if I can do this.”

I pull back and look up. “You don’t have to come over anymore. I wouldn’t even blame you.”

Miller is looking at me regretfully. “I don’t mean dinner with your family.”

I stare at him a moment—long enough to make out irritation in his expression. I take a step back. His arms fall to his sides. “It’s my birthday.”