Whatever It Takes (Bad Reputation Duet #1)(10)

I see him.

I see him hurting her.

I see him causing her these tears.

My mom who never asks more of me—when what I am is subsequently less.

I clutch onto the doorframe, watching as my dad crosses his arms over his burly chest.

He says to her, “We’ll never finalize this fucking divorce if your lawyer keeps putting this off.”

My mom inhales a shaky breath. Her nose flares and she fights tears again, straddling more sadness than rage.

No. Tell him to fuck off, Mom. Tell him you don’t want him. I bite my tongue, hoping she’ll stand up for herself.

“Please, Rob…” she cries. “Just come back home.”

My stomach is queasy. I just want her to kick him out, to grow the strength to rip apart the thing that causes her pain. Come on, Mom. You can do it.

I wish I had the bravery to help her, but my feet cement to the floor, weighed like shackles of tar-filled balloons.

Through his teeth, he sneers, “I’d rather burn in fucking hell than be with a woman who spent over seventeen years repeatedly lying to me.”

A chill races across my arms, and I swallow a lump.

“It has nothing to do with you, Rob.” Her voice trembles, and then tears burst forth in a guttural cry. It pierces me through the chest, and I stagger one step. I’m blown back.

Meanwhile, he just stands there.

He just watches in disgust.

How could he—

“You abandoned your son,” he says so passionately, so soulfully and hatefully that his face turns blood-red.

And I go utterly cold.

“Your fucking son,” he repeats with glassy eyes. “The one that I knew nothing about!” He points a finger at his chest. Vibrating—he’s vibrating in anger and pain.

I’m shaking with it too.

I don’t understand…

My dad licks his lips and adds, “How does the fact that you saw the father of your son on twelve separate occasions for two decades, not affect me?”

No.

I rock back.

He’s to blame.

Isn’t he?

He has to be.

Tears crest my eyes as I try to block out the truth. No.

Think about it, Willow.

I don’t want to. It’s easy believing one way for so long, to put all of my emotions in this one drawer that makes the most sense. It hurts having someone yank open the drawer and dump out its contents, destroying what I know is real.

She’s my ally.

She’s my confidant and my friend.

She’s my mom.

She wouldn’t lie. She wouldn’t abandon anyone. She’s my mom…the person who spent five hours helping me with a science fair project in eighth grade—who took me to the midnight showing of Avengers, even though she had work early in the morning.

She’s kind-hearted and loving. She’s sweet-tempered and generous.

I can’t imagine her abandoning a puppy, let alone an actual person…her person…

It’s not real.

And then my mom says, with staggered breath, “I never saw his father after the day the baby was born…” I can’t tell whether this is true or not. She plants her eyes on the ground in shame, never meeting my dad’s gaze.

“You’re lying again,” he grits.

“I’m not!” she screams at the floor. “Those were checks from him, but it’s been twenty-four years since I last saw him. He had his assistant fly out…and give the checks to me. Five years ago was the last one. I’ve told you this. Please, Rob—” She tries to grab onto his forearm, but he jerks away. She catches air and then grips the sink counter for support again.

I lean my weight on the doorframe, my glasses misted with tears, and I take them off with trembling hands and rub them on my green striped shirt. I try hard not to make a noise, but my nose runs…I wipe that with my arm—shaking.

Stop shaking, Willow. It’s okay…

My chin quivers.

You’ve been on the wrong side of things all along. You fool.

I expected my dad to hurt me.

I never expected her to.

My father silently fumes before he bursts again. “And why’d he just give you checks?” He lets out an anguished laugh, hands on his waist. “You’re telling me there was nothing attached to them? No stipulation?” He shakes his head in disbelief.

“I told you, he wanted me to keep quiet, out of pity, I don’t know. He just kept sending them, and we needed the money for your car, the house—”

“You’ve got to be…” He yells at the top of his lungs, pissed and furious. I flinch, and then he grabs a nearby bowl of oranges. He tosses it violently at the wall.

I jump as the ceramic shatters all over the linoleum.

“He paid for my car, for my house?!” He points a finger at his chest again, a good distance still between him and my mom, as though it sickens him to even be near her.

“Please…”

“Did you cheat on me?” he suddenly asks, veins protruding from his neck. “Tell me the fucking truth, Emily!” He’s crying.

I’ve never seen my dad shed a tear, not even from anger, not even when he said goodbye to me.

My mom rocks back a little, as though his words and voice have shoved her hard. At her extended silence, I want to press my back to the wall and slide down into a tight ball. I want to hide, but I can’t unfreeze. I can’t move.