Page 142 of Break Point
By the time I stop, I realize I’m standing at the country club’s main gate. I hadn’t even noticed getting here. My internal GPS must be running on autopilot. I’ve been here so many times that my body dragged me here.
A rustle of leaves startles me. I glance over my shoulder.
Henry.
The second I see him I break into a run. He picks up his pace, meeting me halfway. I collapse against him, letting myself fall into his arms.
He strokes my hair, slow and grounding.
“I hate her!” I sob against his chest.
“She’s sick,” he says, like it’s canon. “It’s not an excuse. But she is.”
“She hates me!”
“She’s just hurting.” He sounds like a therapist. And honestly? That might be my cue to find one of my own. “I know my dad was, at least. But you can’t help her unless she takes the first step herself.”
I bury my face deeper into his chest, not ready to come out. I’m too embarrassed about storming off. About leaving Gemma to deal with the fallout. About once again proving to my family that I’m just an angry, spoiled brat with no self-control.
When I don’t want to be.
When I know I’m not.
But I did it.
I once again gave in to my impulses when I’d been better at it.
And now, Dad’s probably worried. Robbie will be cracking dumb jokes to soften the mood. Gemma won’t want to leave until I get back and she knows I’m okay.
And Mom …
She’ll be pleased she got a reaction out of me.
She wins.
“I can’t go back,” I say. “I’m too ashamed.”
“We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to,” Henry says.
Beep, beep!
Tony’s here.
Dad must’ve sent him to retrieve me. And it only makes me feel worse.
Tony slides down the passenger window.
“Tranquila, mi niña, que la llevo al club por un helado,” he says. “Ahorita se le pasa.”?1
I laugh and cry at the same time.
“No quiero!”?2 I shout back in a playful tone, pretending I’m a five-year-old throwing a tantrum. One who, deep down, just wants tobe held and pampered. One who’s been trying to fill the void her mom’s left inside her for as long as she can remember.
He rumbles a laugh.
“Anda, súbete o me corre tu papá.”?3
“Ya quisieras retirarte,”?4 I say with a watery laugh, grabbing Henry’s hand as we head toward the SUV.
