Page 43 of A Little Jaded
I slam my hand against the table. “This isn’t blowing things out of proportion, Raine! He has videos of you he recorded without your permission!”
“You think I don’t know that? You think I don’t know I got mixed up with the wrong guy?”
“Then let me call the police.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because then my parents will know!”
“Maybe you could use your parents' support right now,” I growl. “Did you ever think of that?”
She wipes beneath her eye and shakes her head again, refusing to look at me as we go head-to-head. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me, Raine.”
“I don’t owe you anything.”
“You’re staying under my roof! You’re?—”
“Fine!” she snaps, pushing to her feet. “I’ll leave!”
“I’m not asking you to leave,” I spit. “I’m asking you to explain why you don’t want your parents to know. Fuck, I’m begging you to! What’s so wrong with your parents finding out about you dating an asshole like Drake?”
“I already told you?—”
“Because you feel stupid,” I say, recounting her words from before.
“Yes!” she yells. The fight seeps out of her, and she collapses back into her seat. “I feel so fucking stupid, Everett.” Her breath hitches as she stares at her plate like she’s refusing to look at me. Like she can’t stomach it. “My parents are strong. They’re resilient. My mom practically raised herself, and my dad one-hundred percent did. They warned me not to date assholes and to stand up for myself and to be confident and smart. Falling for Drake, dating him, and moving in with him was the opposite in every. Fucking. Way. So you’ll have to excuse me for not wanting to look into my parents’ eyes and only see disappointment, especially when they find out exactly who Drake’s father is, all right?” She wipes at the corner of her eye, letting out a slow breath through pursed lips.
“Who is Drake’s dad?” I ask.
Her lower lip trembles, and I know she let something slip she wasn’t planning to share.
“Raine,” I warn.
“His, uh, his dad is Bradley Ackerman.”
I stay quiet, searching my memory for any association to the name but come up empty. “Am I supposed to know who he is?”
She shakes her head. “I don’t know? Maybe not. He, uh, I think he went by Shorty or something? He went to LAU with Mav’s mom. I don’t know all the details, but my parents gave me the highlights as a word of caution, along with my mom’s shitty experience, and why it’s important to know who you’re dating and what red flags to look for. Bradley dated Mia for a while but turned out to be a massive scumbag. Like father, like son, right?” Another pathetic laugh escapes her.
I sit back in my seat, blindsided. Not only with Drake’s connection to Mia but also Raine’s guilt over it. The urge to protect her. To justify her logic. It hits closer to home than I anticipate, and I clench my hands into fists on the table, forcing myself to stay in place instead of pulling her into me and comforting her. “You didn’t know he would turn out like his dad.”
“You’re right. I didn’t. But even if he turned out to be a saint like I hoped, it would still be a betrayal to my family.”
“You don’t know that.”
“I do, though,” she argues. “If my parents found out we were together, and I not only hid it from them but also completely stabbed Maverick’s mom in the back by defending his offspring, they’d never forgive me.”
“His dad doesn’t make him who he is.”
“It doesn’t matter!” she yells. “Drake’s just like him, and even when I knew what signs to watch for, I ignored them. I thought he was different. I thought I could change him.” Her laugh is practically a whimper. “God, how stupid am I? Ithought I could change him? Really?” She wipes beneath her eyes again as if her tears are nothing but a reminder of her weakness, and letting them fall will only solidify my view of her. It’s like the girl’s so used to bottling up her emotions—so used to being afraid of setting off the people around her—she doesn’t know how to let them out. To let someone see the ugly side. The irony isn’t lost on me as I take her in. All rosy cheeks and glassy eyes.
Still. Fucking. Gorgeous.
Even when she’s unraveling at the seams.