Page 101 of The No Touch Roommate Rule
I exhale a strained laugh. “Seriously? It’s Makena. Makena DeWitt,” I add, when his expression remains blank.
“Come on, Mack, let’s just—” Parker reaches for my arm, but I sidestep, something hot and stupid building in my chest.
“I’m the girl who used to listen to Parker every Friday night, and some Saturdays, too. I’d do what I could to help him feel less sad about the fact that his parents were selfish jerks who never had time for their son,” I say, my voice wobbling. “That they cared more about getting wasted and fighting in the driveway after a dinner at their stupid country club than?—”
“That’s enough,” Mr. Parker cuts in, sharp enough to make me flinch.
But not sharp enough to make me back down.
“Is it? I don’t think so,Phillip.” I spit his first name with the same smug derision he spits out all his awful opinions. “You stand here, mocking Parker’s very natural, very beautiful love for his nana, like it’s something to be ashamed of, while you act like treating your own mother like an inconvenience is normal. But that’s not normal. None of this is normal!”
“Makena—”
I cut Parker off, rolling too hard to stop now. “It’s not normal to care more about whatyouwant than what makes other people happy. It’s not normal to have contempt for your own child. It’s not normal to judge and sneer and just assume your son will never be good enough, especially when Parker is the most wonderful?—”
“Makena, seriously.” Parker’s hand clamps around my upper arm as he adds in a firmer tone, “Stop. Please.”
I suck in a breath, pressing my lips together to hold the rest of the words in.
But it’s too late. His father’s looking at me now. Really looking, with something worse than dismissal on his face.
The expression is horribly familiar.
He looks just like my dad did that day on the curb in Saint Magnus.
His gaze flicks to Parker, his eyebrows inching up his forehead. “Makena, the babysitter? Really? Good God, Leo.” He pinches the bridge of his nose, looking tired. Embarrassed. “I thought you’d outgrown this kind of thing.”
“We’re done here,” Parker says, his fingers tightening on my arm.
“Remember your teacher in second grade?” his father asks. “How you kept asking her to be your girlfriend? Over and over until we had to have a meeting?”
“I was a little kid, Dad, I didn’t even understand what that meant,” he says, pulling me along with him as he backs away. “It’s not the same thing at all. Not even close.” To me, he adds beneath his breath, “Walk. Now. Please.”
“We shouldn’t let him win,” I whisper back.
“Just walk. Please,” he begs.
“Okay, okay,” I mutter, allowing him to pull me around the corner, past the buzzing vending machines, to a quiet alcove near the public bathrooms.
Finally, when there’s a good hundred feet or more between us and his piece of shit father, he releases my arm. “Jesus Christ, what a shitshow.” He paces a few steps away, exhaling a ragged breath.
“I’m sorry,” I squeak. “Are you mad at me?”
“No. Of course, not.” But he doesn’t look at me as he continues to pace, the hitch in his step from his injury more pronounced since his dash across the square yesterday. “But now he’s embarrassed. Of Nana, of me, of the fucking scene we just made…” He curses beneath his breath. “And when he’sembarrassed, he’s vindictive. I’d bet my hand he’s going to try to override the directive and get her transferred, just to prove he can. Just to prove he’s in charge. I wish…” He sighs, letting the words trail off, but I can fill in the blank.
He wishes I’d kept my mouth shut.
“I’m sorry,” I repeat. “I was just trying to help.”
“Are you sure?” He turns to me, his expression kind, but frustrated in a way that reminds me of someone. “Whose battle were you fighting back there, Mack? Yours or mine?”
Shame floods through my chest.
Yep, that’s who his expression reminds me of.
My father’s. Parker’s nothing like his dad. He’s a good man who cares about me. There’s still affection in his gaze right now, but there’s also frustration and a hint of disappointment.
Biting the inside of my cheek, I nod, not trusting myself to respond out loud without bursting into tears.
