Chapter 29
Twenty-Nine
Never in a million years did I think something could hurt as bad as this.
My fingers fly over my phone screen, searching for Lucy’s number while trying to pay attention to the road as I drive.
Pure rage blinds me—red-hot and searing through my every pore, exuding the disgust I feel for my father.
And for her.
Tears blur my vision, and I fucking hate that I’m crying right now.
They don’t fucking deserve my tears.
I want to vomit.
Lucy’s phone goes to voicemail. “How could you? You fucking slut!” I scream into the speaker before hanging up and throwing my phone at the passenger door.
Unwillingly, I think back to last night. About how she looked… almost horrified when she saw me in the kitchen. The way her eyes drifted to Dad. She didn’t want to leave him .
My fingers grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white before I slap the dashboard repeatedly, causing me to swerve into the other lane. Horns blare, and I straighten out, propping my elbow on the window to run a hand down my face.
Lucy’s panic when I reached for her hand.
The way the candlelight flickered in her eyes when she told me she was happy.
Happy with my father .
When did this even happen?
How did this happen?
Deep down—deep, deep down in my bones, I know the answer.
It had to have started when we were still in high school. Dad always used to watch Lucy. Even when he thought no one was looking, he’d steal glances at her and flash his charming smile that always made her putty in his hands.
He made her his fucking cookies.
And Dad never could do anything wrong in her eyes—she was always on me for being too harsh on him. Always beaming at him like he hung the fucking moon.
Graduation night.
My heart races as I think of that horrible night where I fucked everything up between us—think of how she locked herself in my dad’s office. Is that when all this started?
Images of them together haunt me for the entire three hours it takes to return home.
Only, I don’t go home. Muscle memory kicks in, mindlessly taking me to Lucy’s childhood house, where my dad’s car sits in the otherwise empty driveway.
After slamming my fingers against the ignition button, I leap out of the truck and clear the path to the front door in less than ten strides.
“Lucy!” I pound on the wood, partially hoping her parents aren’t home, while also not giving a fuck because they should know what their daughter has been up to.
My fucking dad.
“Lucy!” I shout again, even as I hear heavy footsteps approaching.
The door swings open, and Liam steps onto the porch, clearly angry with me. “What the fuck are you doing here?”
“I want to talk to Lucy.” I point behind him, sniffling from the remnants of my pitiful meltdown.
“Well, that’s too fucking bad. You probably shouldn’t have left her a voicemail calling her a fucking slut then.” He crosses his arms with a glare, forcing me to retreat a few steps.
“Lucy!” I try to move around Liam, but he pushes me back.
“Are you fucking serious, Rhys? Go home.”
Lucy’s red-rimmed eyes appear around her brother, and seeing her breaks my heart all over again. It’s like she personally reaches into my chest cavity and tears the still-beating organ straight from my body.
“How could you?” My voice cracks like I just hit puberty while my fucking traitorous eyes fill with tears again.
Her brows draw together with empathy as she comes toward me. “Rhys—” Her voice is soft and pleading.
For forgiveness? Acceptance? My fucking blessing? I don’t know.
“ Don’t. ” I begin to pace on her lawn. “It didn’t matter that you were seeing someone, Lucy.
I was happy to have you back in my life as a friend, but this?
” I stop and face her again, stepping into her space.
Liam tenses, ready to step between us if he needs to.
“How could you do this? He’s my father ! ”
“I know!” Tears line her thick lashes before they stream down her cheeks. “Rhys, I know. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry that we hurt you, but I love?—”
“Don’t. You. Dare. Fucking say it.” My voice drops to a growl as my fists clench.
This time, Liam does move between us, as if he actually believes I’d ever lay a hand on her.
“Okay, that’s enough. Rhys, go home. If Lucy wants to talk to you later when you’ve calmed down?—”
“Don’t tell me to fucking calm down!” I shout in his face, pushing him away from me. “How would you feel if you found out your ex, someone you still had feelings for, was fucking your dad?”
Liam doesn’t say anything as Lucy’s sobbing increases. “Rhys, I’m sorry.”
“I don’t want your fucking apologies!” I try to get around her brother, to get in her face and rage against her with my words until I feel like she truly understands the depths of what I’m feeling.
Liam’s hand shoots out to block me, and I blindly swing at him, missing as he rears back before slamming his fist across my face, just like I did to my dad earlier.
“Liam!” Lucy shouts as I stagger back from the force of his blow.
She rushes toward me, but I hold up a hand to stop her as the other massages my jaw. I muster up as much disgust as possible so she hears the depth of my ire.
“I’m so fucking done with you. You and my dad deserve each other.”
Neither of them says anything as I get back into my truck and leave, headed toward town for the nearest bar to get as shitfaced as possible.
Welcome the fuck home.
Staggering into the house, drunker than I should be considering I drove, I’m relieved to see it’s dark and no one else is here.
No River for me to make a bad impression on.
And no fucking Dad .
I stand silently in the foyer, peering around at my childhood home and thinking of all the places he probably fucked Lucy.
No matter how hard I try to forget—it’s a miracle I made it home in one piece—the image of them together won’t leave my brain.
Without bothering to remove my shoes, I shuffle through the house, intent on wreaking havoc on the one place he probably had her the most. The one place no one else is allowed to enter—yet he had no problem granting her access to organize it for him during our last few weeks of senior year.
Fuck, that’s probably when it all started .
The door is locked, but it only takes a few sharp kicks before the wood splinters and gives way. Grabbing a bottle of whiskey from the minibar, I uncap it and take a swig straight from the neck, running my hands along the numerous books and binders that line the shelves.
With a roar, I sweep them all to the floor, taking another pull from the bottle before I tip it over and pour the amber-colored liquid all over the shit now littered on the ground.
“Fuck you, motherfucker…” I bark a laugh. “Guess it’s actually girlfriend fucker.”
You’re being ridiculous. She isn’t your girlfriend.
I turn my head to my proverbial angel and tell it to shut the fuck up.
“Whoops…” Another sweep of my hand plows more books to the floor, and I knock over a lamp that shatters.
“AHHH!” I rage, raking both arms across his desk, sending papers and files and a stapler flying off the surface to join the mess. The movement bumps his desktop, and the screen lights up like a beacon.
Slumping into his chair, I kick my feet up, scrubbing my hands over my face. It doesn’t seem like enough. No amount of damage I can do to this office will ever seem like enough of a price to pay.
The screen's glow calls to me—the background is a picture of me, Dad, and River fishing in Florida. A folder labeled ‘X’ sits directly over the fish Dad holds up. I don’t know why I do it, but I lean forward and move the mouse, clicking to open the folder.
Dozens of video files appear—blurred images for thumbnails and random combinations of letters and numbers for names. I click on one.
What the fuck?
Harsh groans and the sound of flesh slapping against flesh fill the air through the speakers.
The whiskey I just guzzled threatens to reappear. It’s a fucking porn video.
A man slaps the ass of the woman he fucks from behind. “Yeah, you fucking like that, don’t you? Tell Daddy how much you like that.”
WHAT THE FUCK?
As fast as humanly possible, I click out of the video.
It’s my fucking dad .
I push the chair back, leaning over to put my head between my knees so I don’t throw up.
Mom always told me that Dad fucked around on her in New York. I know she cheated on him when I was younger, but he forgave her for it—stayed with her—yet this is how he punishes her?
By fucking around on her constantly.
By fucking my ex-girlfriend.
“Seriously, fuck you, Dad,” I whisper to the air as I pull up his email.
I want him to hurt as badly as I do—as bad as Mom has these last few years.
Clicking on a new message, I CC his entire office and slide the video over to attach it. I don’t even pause before I hit send.
Then I throw up all over his desk.