Page 117 of Collided (Dirty Air 2)

I hold his gaze, not backing down. For the first time in my life, I’m willing to go toe to toe with my dad, unafraid of his consequences. He can send me back home or to Timbuktu for all I care.

“Is that really so wrong? So what if I don’t want you to end up like some pothead escaping responsibilities for the rest of your life?” He throws his hands in the air.

“If I choose accounting, I wouldn’t be evading responsibilities. I’d be escaping my shot at happiness to fulfill yours.”

My dad’s eyes harden. I’ve never seen him like this, his rage simmering beneath the surface as his fists ball up at his sides. Without another word, he turns around, my hotel door slamming behind him.

The battle with my dad has drained my last bit of energy. I sit on the couch, put my face in my hands, and let out a sob.

Winning this battle feels insignificant when I already lost the war.

* * *

I never thought of myself as a crier. There was no reason to test how I look due to limited opportunities to screw up. But it turns out, when I cry, my face gets bloated and blotchy with not a dimple in sight. My green eyes become bloodshot, contrasting against the red like an ugly Christmas decoration.

So I, in all my puffy glory, knock my fist against my dad’s office door. For hours, I thought about our conversation, unable to sleep off my hangover while my dad was angry with me. Guilt made me restless and irritable all morning.

“Come in,” my dad’s muffled voice carries through the door.

I take a deep breath as I push open the glossy red door, preparing myself for his anger.

Instead, I get hit with my dad’s sorrowful eyes. His vulnerability tugs at me, wetness instantly pooling in my tear ducts.

Come on eye ducts, I thought we were in this together.

“I knew you’d show up eventually. I thought you wouldn’t last an hour before hounding me down about our fight. Took you long enough.” He sends me a wobbly smile.

Was I the type to make apology letters when my teenage hormones got out of hand and I said stupid shit I didn’t mean? Yes. But if anyone quotes me, I’ll deny it.

“Am I that predictable?” I stand near his desk, eliminating the gap between us.

“If you asked me that question yesterday, I would have said yes. But seeing as you threw me for a loop today, I’m not so sure anymore.”

“Well, I thought the season was getting old with Noah winning and you ruling F1 with Bandini, so I figured I’d shake things up.”

My dad fights a smile, replacing his sad eyes with warmth. “Safe to say, you did just that.”

“I didn’t mean to lie to you for all this time. I didn’t know how to break the news to you.”

“I’m not sure who I’m more disappointed in. You for lying about your dislike of school for years, or me for not noticing how much you hated it. You’re my daughter for fuck’s sake. I should be able to tell when you’re unhappy or distressed.”

“You’ve been busy. It’s understandable when you have Bandini and Noah and Santi to deal with.”

“Stop making excuses for me.” He stands.

“I can’t help it.” I have the biggest soft spot for my dad.

He pulls me in for a hug. “Why did you hold this back from me? You should have told me you didn’t like your major.”

“I didn’t know how to break it to you. You looked so happy when I talked about the program. I had no clue how to go about telling you I actually disliked it so much. But I’m done with pretending and hiding what I really want. I’m a grown woman, and you can’t force me to go home, just like you can’t force me to live a life I hate. That’s not living, it’s surviving. And you taught me to thrive and make the world kiss my sneakers.”

My dad holds me at arm’s length, looking at me like he’s not sure how I grew up in such a short amount of time. “I can’t say I regret giving you the tools to become a strong woman. I never expected them to be used against me.”

“I’m sorry for getting drunk last night and ending up on some gossip article looking like the walking dead. I shouldn’t have done that, but I felt so sad. My chest hurts all the time and I can’t look at Liam without wanting to cry.” My smile wavers.

“I’ll get back at the people who hurt you. I have a plan, but you have to trust me.”

“Get who back?” I don’t want him to hurt Liam, although a good scolding sounds nice.