The Girl in the Love Song (Lost Boys #1)(89)

“Daddy?”

He smiled weakly. “Hey, pumpkin. We have some bad news.”

“I’m sure she gathered that,” Mom snapped but without much energy. She waved a hand. “Sorry. I’m sorry. Just tell her already. Or I will.”

“Be my guest.”

Mom huffed a breath and faced me. “First, let me say this isn’t your fault. You’re going to think it is, but it’s not. It’s the result of years’ accumulation of bad ideas, compounded by mistakes we made.”

“Okay.”

Mom heaved another breath. “Your applications for financial aid have triggered an IRS audit of our finances. Under normal circumstances, this wouldn’t be a big deal. But…”

“But we’re broke,” Dad said. “More than broke.”

“We’re completely screwed.” Mom sipped from a coffee cup that I wasn’t sure contained only coffee.

I stared between them. “What happened?”

“A few years ago, I got in some trouble,” Dad said. “I developed an app. It was supposed to be a smash, but the deal fell through.”

“It fell through because your father stole code from another developer working on a similar app,” Mom said.

Dad shook his head at her, his lips drawn down in pure malice. “I stole nothing,” he seethed. “But yes…there was a patent already pending that I foolishly ignored. They sued me, and it took everything we had to keep it quiet or else we’d be ruined.”

“That’s where my college fund went?” I asked. “To cover the lawsuit?”

“Not just that,” Mom said, shifting in her seat. “The lawsuit judgement was more than we could handle. They were set to take our house, the cars. The lifestyle we have would vanish.”

“And your mother couldn’t handle that,” Dad said acidly, and I realized with a pang, there was no love left between them. Not one iota.

“And you could?” Mom snapped back at him. “To admit to the world we were ruined? I plugged a hole in the leaky damn.”

“How?” I asked, despite having no desire to hear the answer.

“I stopped paying the taxes,” Mom said.

I gaped. “You did what?”

“To keep money in the bank. I fired our tax guy and told him we were going with another firm. Your father assured me that his next deal would put us back on top. We could pay it all back. But no new magic deal ever materialized. Somehow, we stayed under the IRS’s radar until now.”

“Until I filed for financial aid.” I slumped back in the chair, my gaze going to the papers on the desk. “That’s why you couldn’t get a divorce.”

Dad nodded. “We didn’t want to show a judge the true state of our finances.”

“What happens now?” My glance darted between them, fear squeezing the breath out of me. “Not paying taxes is a big deal. Are you…going to jail?”

“No, thank God,” Dad said. “My friend, Charlie…you remember him? He’s an attorney, and he’s agreed to help us get out of the mess, pro bono. We have to sell the house, all of our assets, and put it toward the IRS debt.”

“Sell the house…”

The house I’d lived in my whole life. My home. I gripped the kitchen table where I’d once sat in a highchair, Mom spooning me food and Dad making silly faces. Where we’d eaten thousands of meals together, laughing and happy, in a time that was growing more faded and distant by the second.

“Where will we live?” I asked.

“Your father and I will separate,” Mom said. “I’ll be moving back in with Grandma in Portland.”

“I’ll be staying with Uncle Tony,” Dad said.

“In Ohio?”

He nodded miserably.

“And…what about me?”

Mom bit her lip and looked away.

Dad tried to smile. “Well, honey, that’s up to you.”

I stared. “You want me to choose between you and Mom?” The idea made me sick, but then I realized my fate was already decided for me. “No, forget it. I’m not going with either one of you. Baylor is going to give me a full ride.”

“Baylor?” Dad’s eyes widened. “That’s a wonderful school. Congratulations, honey.”

His tearful pride threatened to wreck me.

“Are they paying for everything?” Mom asked.

“Almost,” I said,. “I have some savings. I’ll find a place. Get a job. I’ll be fine.”

“We’re proud of you, pumpkin,” Dad said. “So proud. So much potential…and we failed you—”

“It’s okay, Dad,” I said abruptly. Nothing was okay, but I needed him to stop talking. His brokenness was too much to take. He was my father. He was supposed to be strong. Protective. Mom was supposed to be strong, too, and nurturing. They’d both been those things, once upon a time.

Mom took my hand, tears pricking her eyes. “Violet…I’m sorry. So sorry. And Jesus, tomorrow is your birthday…”

A sob burst out of her that she immediately covered with her hand. She pushed back from the table and ran from the room. Dad stood up too and patted my shoulder. He bent and kissed my head.