Page 202 of Collide
I care about him. Maybe more than I’m ready to admit. I’m addicted to the feeling of being desired and wanted by someone like him.
But it doesn’t change the mess we’re in. I let out a shuddering breath, the last notes fading into the air.
I’m still lost in the haze when I hear it.
A sharp knock.
A chill moves through my ribs.
For a moment, I hope it’s Alex.
But as I step toward the door, something tells me I’m wrong.
The second I open it, I feel instant regret.
There he is—my father.
Standing stiff and proper.
“Elena,” he says, voice cool, measured. Like this is another business meeting.
“Why are you here?” I ask, my voice flat.
He adjusts his cufflinks, like this conversation isn’t about to gut me.
“Weneedto talk.”
I cross my arms, leaning against the doorframe. “Funny, is that what we were doing right before you tore me down in front of Philippa and Carole?”
His jaw twitches. “I’m here because you’re in trouble. Whether you realize it or not.”
I laugh. It’s sharp, bitter. “Oh, so now you care?”
He frowns. “Don’t be dramatic.”
“Dramatic?” My voice snaps up, too loud, too broken. “You thinkI’mbeing dramatic? I’m the one whose name is being dragged through every headline. The one getting death threats. The one getting slut-shamed online. I’m the one on the verge of potentially being dropped by my label—or worse, sued for everything I’m worth.”
I deadpan, ice in my veins. “And where were you when my life was falling apart before? Huh?”
His expression hardens, but he says nothing.
“You want to play concerned father now?” I shake my head, tears stinging my eyes, blurring the edges of the room. “Where the hell were you for the last five years? Where were you whenshegot sick?” The words rip out of me, raw and shaking.
His mouth presses into a thin, bloodless line.
“Where were you when she fuckingdied?” My chest heaves, the air too thick to breathe. “You never came to see me. Didn’t even have the decency to attend the funeral. Not once. Not when I was drowning in grief in Australia. Not when I was alone.”
His throat bobs, but still, nothing.
I take a shaky breath, anger and heartbreak closing in, drowning me.
“You didn’t want me,” I whisper. “You made that abundantly clear when you forced Mom to choose between us. Andnow? Now that I’m splashed across the tabloids,nowyou want to play dad of the year?”
“Elena—”
“You don’t get to come here,” I snap, cutting him off, “on your high horse, like you didn’t destroy our lives withyouractions.”
The words tear free, years of resentment finally breaking the surface, too hot, too heavy to hold back anymore.
