Chapter 16 Lena
LENA
I stand there for a second too long before I step aside and let him in.
I'm twenty-nine. I pay my own bills. I raise my kid.
I got through pregnancy, labor, and four years of doing this alone.
But the minute my dad walks into my house, something old and tight wakes up in my chest. The part of me that still wants him to look proud instead of disappointed.
He steps into the kitchen and spots the open pizza box like it's an offense to the entire human race.
"Lena," he says, voice sharp, "why are you eating this?"
My jaw clenches. "Because I was hungry."
"There's hungry," he mutters, "and then there's this." He gestures at the slice in my hand. "Processed junk. You could've made something real. You said you were trying to take care of yourself."
I take a slow breath. "Pizza is real food, Dad."
He lets out a humorless laugh. "Not the way you eat it."
And there it is. That familiar sting that hits the same bruise it's been hitting since I was a teenager and he said a second helping would "show on my hips.
" The same bruise he poked when I was pregnant and he warned me not to "let myself go" if I ever wanted a man to stay.
I know better now. I know he's wrong. I know he's not the authority on my body or my worth.
But my stomach still drops like I'm fifteen again.
"I'm not doing this with you," I say, closing the box. "You didn't drive over here at eight at night to judge my dinner. What do you want?"
He folds his arms. Classic Dad move. "I came because I heard things."
Of course he did. This town treats gossip like sport, and he always assumes the worst version of anything that involves me.
I don't say a word. I just wait.
He shifts, uncomfortable. "People are talking. Saying there's an older man staying over. Saying you're letting Jace be around someone who—"
I cut him off. "You came here to police my love life?"
"It's not a love life if it's… whatever this is." His mouth twists. "You know how this town talks. You know how this looks."
Heat crawls up my neck. "I don't care how it looks."
He gives me that disappointed stare again—the one that makes me feel like I'll never be enough, no matter what I do. "You should care, Lena. You have a son. You need to think about the kind of people—"
"That's enough," I snap, louder than I meant to. "Tell me why you're really here."
He stops. Just for a heartbeat. Then he finally meets my eyes.
"I want to make sure you're not ruining your future."
My fingers curl tightly at my sides. There it is—the old script. The idea that I'm one wrong move from disaster. That he has to swoop in and steer me away from whatever mess I'm too stupid to see coming.
I stand straighter. "My future's fine. My son's fine. And you don't get to decide who I let into our lives."
He opens his mouth to argue, but I hold up a hand.
"Stop. I'm tired. Say the real reason you came or go home."
He hesitates and his eyes shift before he clears his throat. "I'm meeting a friend tonight— Marvin," he says. "You know his son… Leo. He's just moved back to this town."
Oh, I know Leo. He went to my school, and he spent most of his time chasing anything in a skirt and bragging about it. Guys like him never saw girls like me unless they needed homework answers.
I stare at him. "Okay… and?"
Dad clears his throat like he's bracing for applause. "I told him you'd have dinner with the son tomorrow. Seven o'clock. He's well-spoken, has a stable job, and he's looking to settle down."
My mouth falls open. "You set me up on a date?"
He nods, confident, like he's announcing something generous. "Yes. It's time, Lena. You're getting older, and Jace needs a father—"
"Stop." The word shoots out before I can soften it. "Just stop."
He frowns, confused, as if I've rejected a gift. "I don't see the issue. You haven't had a serious relationship in years, and this is a good match. I'm helping."
"No, you're pushing." My voice gets sharper. "You didn't ask. You didn't check whether I even wanted this. You just decided for me."
"Someone has to," he mutters. "You cannot keep wasting time. That clock is ticking!"
My chest tightens. "I'm not wasting anything. I'm raising a kid. I'm running my business. I'm taking care of myself. That's already a full plate."
Dad waves a hand. "And what about the rest of your life? You think men are going to line up forever? You need someone stable."
"I don't need a stranger your age thinks is ‘stable'."
"He's not a stranger. He's a good boy."
"He's thirty," I snap. "He's not a boy."
Dad bristles. "You're being dramatic."
I laugh once, though it probably comes off as slightly manic. "Yeah? Try hearing your own father tell you to go on a date with some random man because you're running out of time."
He opens his mouth. I hold up a hand again.
"No more. I'm not going," I say. "Cancel it."
He shakes his head like I'm being ridiculous. "I already told them you'd be there."
"Then tell them I won't."
His eyes harden. "Lena, don't embarrass me."
That's the real reason he came. It has nothing to do with my future or Jace's, or our happiness. He's worried about his image, and he needs to look like the father who can still fix his daughter before it's too late for her.
"I'm not your project," I say quietly. "You don't get to arrange my marriage because people can't stand the sight of a single mom who's making it on her own."
He stares at me for a long moment, face unreadable, then lets out a slow breath.
"We'll talk later," he says, which is dad-speak for I didn't get my way. "The date still stands, and you can decide whether you want to show up or not. But honestly, seeing the mood you're in, I expect you to disappoint me as you always do."
I step toward the door and gesture. "Good night, Dad."
He hesitates—just long enough to make my heart pinch—then nods, grabs his keys, and walks out.
I lock the door behind him and lean my back against it. I don't even get two full breaths before my phone lights up again. Stifling a groan, I go to the counter where I left it, expecting Gabe. But to my annoyance, it's Tom. Tonight obviously wasn't chaotic enough.
He's definitely calling with bad news, or to blackmail me. I let it ring once, twice, before I swipe to answer, jaw tight. "What."
He hums, smug like he's been waiting for this moment. "Wow. Someone's in a mood."
"I'm busy," I say. "Say what you want."
"I'll keep it short," he says, all fake sweetness. "I heard your dad's in town."
My throat goes tight. "And?"
"And I'm wondering how he's reacting, knowing how naughty you've been." He pauses, letting the words hang. "All the nasty stuff you've been doing must be a shock to your old man."
Every muscle in my body freezes, and he takes advantage of that silence. "Oh…" He whistles through his teeth. "He doesn't know yet, does he?"
I speak slowly so I don't scream. "You don't know anything."
"Oh, please," he says, laughing under his breath.
"Half the town saw him leaving your place.
You think people won't talk? You think your dad won't find out?
Actually…" His voice drops, sharper now.
"I'd love to meet him. Introduce myself.
Tell him exactly what kind of mess you're dragging his grandson into. "
My pulse hits my throat. "Don't you dare."
"Why not?" he asks. "You think you can play games and I won't react? You blow me off, you run around with some older guy—"
"That's none of your business."
"You made it my business when you climbed into my bed and then acted brand-new," he snaps. "Don't forget how small this town is. People talk. I can talk too."
My knees weaken. Heat floods my face, not embarrassment this time, but real anger. "If you show up at my dad's door," I say, "I swear I'll—"
He cuts me off. "Relax. I'm just saying it'd be a shame if he heard it from someone else first."
A pause opens on the line, long enough for me to hear the shift in him.
His tone gets snarkier and mimics the kind men use when they think they've found the soft spot they can press.
My grip on the phone tightens and my shoulder blades pull in.
He keeps talking, like he's turning a key he thinks he owns.
I move to the counter because standing still suddenly feels impossible.
My fingers tap once, then curl into a fist. He's waiting for panic or guilt or whatever he thinks will spill out of me if he pushes just a little harder.
He's not getting it.
I lift the phone, steady my voice, and cut him off clean. "We're done talking."
"You sure?" he asks quietly. "Because the next call I make might not be to you."
I hang up before I say something I can't take back and toss the phone onto the couch like it burned me.
My heart pounds hard enough that I hear it in my ears.
I press both hands to my face and try to breathe.
For months, I told myself that casual with Tom was harmless.
A warm body. A distraction. A man who'd never actually matter.
Now he's threatening to drag Gabe into this, and worse, weaponize it against my dad.
I move to the hallway on instinct, stopping at Jace's bedroom door. He's asleep, soft breaths steady. Nothing in his world has changed. I pull the door almost closed again and rest my forehead against the frame.
"Think," I whisper to myself.
But all I can hear is Tom's voice, and all I can see is my dad's face if he heard it from someone who wanted to hurt me. My hands shake as I open Gabe's contact. I hit call before I can talk myself out of it.