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“Honey, nobody’s been lying to you,” Mr. Hooper says evenly. “What’s going on between Morgan and me, it just happened. Recently.”

“And I’m supposed to believe that? She’s been wanting this since we were in high school!” Kelsey howls. “And I’m supposed to believe it just spontaneously happened?”

“It’s the truth, honey.”

I grimace, knowing that’s not exactly true. If I’m being honest, once Kelsey left for England, I hunted her father. I had an agenda. And me lying naked in this bed beside him is the culmination of my plan. The guilt is like an ice pick in my heart.

“She’s half your age, Dad,” Kelsey hisses. “What were you thinking?”

Mr. Hooper sits with the sheets around his waist, not daring to get out of bed, knowing he’s as naked as I am. His neck turns red, and the flush creeps into his cheeks as he seems to realize it.He looks completely lost. And it’s my fault. All of this is my fault. Kelsey turns back to me, rage twisting her features.

“And you. I cannot fucking believe you. I asked you more than once to not go after my Dad,” she growls. “But you just couldn’t help yourself, could you? You had to take what I asked you not to take. You’re a selfish bitch, Morgan!”

“Kelsey—”

“No. I don’t want to hear it,” she cuts me off with a vicious sneer. “You and I are done, Morgan. Do you hear me? We are fucking done. I don’t ever want to see you again.”

“Please, Kelsey,” I plead. “Give me a chance?—”

“Get the fuck out of this house, Morgan!” she shouts. “Get out and don’t ever think about coming back here again! Ever!”

Kelsey spins around and dashes out of the room, slamming her father’s door behind her. A moment later, I hear her bedroom door slam and can picture Kelsey throwing herself down on her bed and sobbing wildly. All along, while Mr. Hooper and I have been together, in the back of my mind, I always knew this was a possibility. Hell, maybe it was an inevitability.

She’s right. I am a selfish bitch. She asked me for one thing, and I ignored it. I was so focused on getting what I wanted that even though I knew Kelsey would be hurt, I didn’t care enough to not do it. I put my own wants and desires over the feelings of my best friend. I’m not just a selfish bitch. I’m a horrible friend and an even worse human being.

Tears spill from the corners of my eyes as I slip out of bed and quickly gather up my clothes. I just pray Kelsey doesn’t come outof her room while I’m doing my walk of shame in nothing but heels and a trench coat. Salt in the wounds much?

“I should probably go,” I say.

“Yeah,” he replies and runs a hand through his hair. “Listen, I’m sorry?—”

“You have nothing to be sorry about. This is my fault.”

My tears blur his face. Before he can say anything more, I turn and flee the house. By the time I get behind the wheel of my car, I’m shaking so hard, I don’t know if I’ll be able to drive. But I start my car and pull away quickly. I probably deserve to be in a terrible wreck for what I’ve done to my best friend in the world.

As I turn the corner and drive away from the house, away from Mr. Hooper, I feel my heart crack and shatter like brittle glass.

11

MARCUS

Kelsey hasn’t come out of her room for almost two days. My every knock goes unanswered, as does every text I’ve sent her. If I hadn’t heard her sobbing, I might have thought she slipped out of the window like she used to do when she was in high school. She thought I didn’t know, but I always did. I had a long talk with her then-boyfriend about it, and he assured me there was nothing untoward happening, that they were just hanging out. I told him to make sure it stayed that way. He did.

It’s been almost two days, and she hasn’t been out while I’ve been home. I know she’s hurt. I know she feels betrayed. And I feel terrible for that. But having had the last couple of days to reflect on it all, and of course, after a long conversation with Mo, I’ve come to realize she’s behaving like a child rather than the twenty-two-year-old adult she is. Even worse, Mo has made me see that I’m coddling her like she’s still a child. He helped me realize that by catering and capitulating to her feelings, I haven’t helped her grow and mature.

It’s time that changes. It’s time I begin treating my daughter like an adult and have difficult conversations with her. Not that it’s going to be easy. She’s been my world for a very long time, and my life has been tailored around her. Switching that up isn’t going to be easy. But it is, I see now, very necessary. To that end, on my way home from practice, I picked up some In-N-Out—her favorite. Call it a bribe to grease the wheels of communication.

Her car is in the driveway when I get home, and the house is silent when I walk in. A sure sign she’s still upstairs in her room—or maybe that she scurried back to her room when she heard me pulling in. Walking into the kitchen, I flip on the lights and see an empty glass in the sink, and know it’s the latter. She’s only coming out of her room when I’m gone. Very mature.

Although I’m still very sympathetic to Kelsey’s feelings, the more I think about it, the angrier I get. But that anger is mostly directed at myself since I know her behavior and immaturity are mostly my fault. It’s not just that I’ve made her the center of my entire world, but that I’ve given her tacit permission to run my life. In anything I’ve done, my first thought has always been, how will Kelsey feel about that? How will that impact my daughter? In that way, I’ve given her a lot of influence over my life and how I choose to live it. That is my fault.

Putting all the food on a tray, I carry it upstairs and knock on the door. I hear her shuffle inside, but she doesn’t say anything, fully expecting me to go away again. Instead, this time, I open the door, give it a push, and let it swing inward. Kelsey looks up from her phone and immediately scowls at me. I swallow down the ball of emotion sitting heavy in my chest.

“I didn’t say you could come in,” she hisses.

“My house. I can walk into any room I want,” I tell her. “It’s time we had a talk.”

I step into the room and set the tray down on her desk. I put her Double Double and fries onto a plate, walk over, and set it down in front of her. She stares at it for a moment and turns her nose up. I give her a shrug, walk back to the desk, and drop into her chair. I unwrap my own burger and take a big bite, watching my daughter, who remains on her bed, legs crossed, arms folded over her chest, a dark, angry glare on her face.