31. Leah
Chapter thirty-one
Leah
Sometimes, I wonder if my dad’s just a really persistent toddler who discovered loopholes in adult life. Like now, I stand in his backyard, wondering what emergency required my immediate presence. But the sight of him lounging poolside even though he can’t swim, his girlfriend Lizzie rubbing sunscreen on his bare shoulders, isn’t exactly urgent.
“Leah!” Dad waves, a wide, pleased grin spreading across his face. He’s far too relaxed for someone who just sent a life-or-death text. “You’re here.”
Why’s he so fucking happy?
“Tell me this isn’t the emergency.” I cross my arms, eyebrows raised, catching a whiff of the chlorine and Lizzie’s perfume—a powdery, overpowering floral scent that sticks to the back of my throat and almost makes me gag.
Almost everything nauseates me nowadays.
Dad chuckles, settling back into his pool chair like a sultan overseeing his kingdom. “It got you here, didn’t it?”
I stare, incredulous. “Are you kidding me? I thought you were in danger or something. I had to drop everything I was doing and rush over here.”
“Oh, so you do care about me.”
“Dad,” I say the word like a warning.
Dad shrugs, barely acknowledging my tone. Instead, he angles himself slightly to let Lizzie continue her sunscreen routine, his skin gleaming under the midday sun. “Leah, you’re being dramatic,” he says, his voice as smooth as the linen shirt draped over the back of his chair.
“I’m being dramatic? You said this was a matter of life and death!”
“Hey, Leah,” Lizzie says, like she’s just registering my presence.
She’s all smiles, though she barely glances my way. She’s decked out in a tiny white bikini made for someone half her age—and size—the kind of swimsuit that’s more about strategic stitching than coverage. She’s focused on Dad, pressing her fingers along his shoulders with exaggerated care. I bite back a grimace.
Ugh.
The image is nauseating. She leans into him with that fixed, glossy smile, like she’s just about to ask him if he’d like anything else. Maybe a fresh glass of minty lemonade or a foot rub.
I take a breath. Alright, Leah, get it over with.
“Honestly, Dad, if this was just a way to haul me out here on my day off, I’m leaving.” I turn, my feet already halfway to the exit.
“Fine, go,” he says, like he’s calling my bluff. Then, as casually as if he were discussing the weather, he adds, “I just wanted to tell you I have a proposal for you. Or rather, a choice.”
My feet stall. I glance over my shoulder, wary, as he straightens up, patting Lizzie’s hand. She steps back, arms crossed, a slight pout on her glossed lips as she watches him intently.
My teeth grit. He got what he wanted. I’m curious.
“Well, since I’m already here, how about you get to the point?” I snap, folding my arms.
Dad barely shifts. He adjusts his sunglasses, nodding as if he’s just remembered he actually called me here for something. “Leah, if you really need a reason to be here . . .” His voice trails off, and then he smiles in a way that I know means he’s setting me up.
“Jesus Christ, Dad! Can you get to the point already? Fuck.”
Dad smiles wistfully. “Remember when you were a kid and the word fuck used to make you cry?”
“No, Dad. I wasn’t crying because of a word. I was crying because whenever you used that word—or Mom did, which happened rarely, it was because you guys were fighting. I was always crying because you were always fighting.”
“Hmmm.” He frowns like I just told him he’s a douchebag.
“What’s the proposal?” I ask, shuffling because I can’t wait to leave.
“What do you think?”
I’m already rolling my eyes. “Oh, please, Dad. If this is about Silas or whatever, I—”
He cuts me off with a look. “You’ve got two choices,” he says coolly.
That catches me off guard. I frown, trying to read the hint of mischief in his eyes. He almost looks happy, like he knows something I don’t.
“Two choices? Seriously?”
Lizzie has the nerve to smirk. She steps back, clearly sensing she’s about to become an audience member in whatever twisted little drama my father’s about to unleash. Dad straightens in his chair, making a big show of stretching his arms and settling back like he’s about to deliver the most important speech of his life.
“Yeah.”
When he doesn’t continue, I prompt him. “Any day now, Dad.”
“First choice,” he starts, rubbing his shadowed chin. “You leave Silas right now. No calls, no texts, nothing. You cut him out like he’s never existed.”
What?
A bitter laugh escapes me before I can stop it. “Wow. That’s a stretch, even for you.”
Dad raises an eyebrow. “I’m not finished.”
“Oh, I know you’re not.”
He pauses, letting the silence hang like the humid summer air. “If you leave him and agree to come work at the family studio, I’ll personally see to it that Caleb gets into Livingston High. He’ll have every chance to succeed with all the necessary resources.”
The mention of Silas’s son throws me off. I hadn’t expected Caleb to be the collateral in my father’s schemes. I grit my teeth, trying to keep my voice steady. “What are you talking about? And if I don’t?”
“Then I’ll make sure Caleb’s path isn’t as smooth as Silas has been hoping for.” He says it so nonchalantly that it almost sounds reasonable.
“What can you do about—”
“I paid off Principal Morgan’s mortgage, and she was almost willing to have Caleb suspended. Now, imagine what would happen if I go round the school board and start fixing their individual problems.” His eyes crinkle around the sides. “I think they’ll be very eager to do my bidding, wouldn’t they?”
“Are you talking about a bribe, Dad? Are you really talking about sabotaging a kid’s future as a negotiation tactic?”
“Call it what you want, Leah. Bribe or whatever. I really don’t care.”
“You wouldn’t.”
“Try me.” He leans back, crossing one leg over the other. There’s no hesitation, no flicker of doubt—just cold, hard determination in his eyes.
Lizzie chimes in, half under her breath, but loud enough for me to hear. “Leah, look—”
“Stay the fuck out of this,” I snap, throwing her a glare. She shrugs, unapologetic, her fingers resuming their job on my father’s chest. “You’re a bastard!” I can’t keep the rage out of my voice.
“I’m your father.”
“Mom would be mortified,” I say, hating how my voice quivers. “She’d be embarrassed to see what you’ve turned into, throwing your weight around like a common thug.”
The flicker in his eyes is brief, but it’s there. Lizzie’s fingers hover over his chest, careful about touching him. For a second, I think I’ve hit a nerve. But he brushes it off with a scoff.
“Your mother’s dead,” he says flatly, his tone so dismissive that I feel my heart ache. “Whatever she thought of me went with her.”
I feel my stomach twist. The callousness in his voice, the complete disregard for the woman who raised me—who raised both of us—shocks me more than I care to admit. I search his face for some trace of remorse, some glimmer of empathy.
But there’s nothing.
“You’re unbelievable.” My voice trembles despite my best efforts to keep it steady. “You’d destroy a kid’s future just to get me under your thumb.”
“I know you can’t see this now, Leah, but I’m doing this for you.”
“You’re doing this for you , Dad! Jesus, you feed people so much bullshit you can’t even tell when you’re high on your own product. In what world is using a kid as leverage the right thing to do?!”
“The right thing to do?” he scoffs. “Silas has been—”
“I’m an adult! I made my own choice.”
“Well, this morning, he made his choice too.”
I feel blood rush to my head. “What are you talking about?”
He shrugs, his expression indifferent. “It’s a shame, really, to see you throw everything away over a man who wouldn’t lift a finger to save you if it came down to it. A man who really couldn’t care less about you. But you’re so blinded by your need to hurt me that you can’t see it.”
“What choice? What are you talking about, Dad?” I demand with my fists clenched.
“You think I came to you first?”
“What?”
His smirk returns, sharper than before. “I already gave Silas a choice, Leah. I told him to choose. Either I get the protests, and everything dropped, and his movie goes on, or he keeps you and keeps the production stalled.”
I take a step back. “When was this?” I’m momentarily stunned, the words washing over me, leaving a numbness in their wake. “And?” I ask, with the word barely a whisper and my pulse quickening.
“What do you think, Leah?”
My heart races. Rome comes to mind. The way he turned me away like I was nothing. He still hasn’t said anything to me telling him I loved him, and he’s been getting increasingly distant. Is it possible that he—
“He chose the deal.”
Dad leans forward, a satisfied glint in his eyes. “He chose the deal, my dear.”
I blink, trying to process what he’s saying. “That’s—I don’t think he’d do that to me. There’s no way.” But even as I say it, doubt creeps in. Silas has never told me he wanted something more serious than the fake engagement. Yes, we’ve made love repeatedly. But perhaps the feelings were all one-sided.
Perhaps I’ve been making a fool of myself.
“Don’t be naive, Leah,” Dad says, a cold chuckle slipping past his lips. “Silas is a businessman and a good one. Just like me. He looks out for himself, just like any successful man should.”
I shake my head, refusing to believe him. “Silas isn’t like you.”
“No? Why do you think we were best friends?” He cocks his head, studying me with a bemused expression. “Keep telling yourself that, sweetheart. But you’re trusting the wrong man.”
“Then why did you give me the choice if you knew Silas already accepted yours?”
“Because I wanted to give you some semblance of control over the situation, Leah. I told you I was doing this for you.”
Dad gets off the chair and stretches his arms, and I hear joints cracking. He walks towards me and pushes his glasses into his thinning hair. There’s pity in his eyes, and I hate it. I hate how he looks at me like I’m a helpless child he has to take care of.
“H-he really chose that?”
Dad places a hand on my shoulder. “He did, yeah. He didn’t even have to think too long about it. I think he’s been searching for any means to resume production on his movie and—”
“Fuck.” My head feels heavier, and where Dad’s palm rests, I am already starting to sweat. “I have to talk to him. I have to look him in the eye and hear this from him. He—”
“Just ask him if the protests are over. Ask him and hear what he has to say for himself.”
I pull away from Dad and leave the compound without another word. As I drive away, the silence in the car is heavy and oppressive. All that’s echoing in my head is one question:
I saw this coming, so why did I stay?