Page 15 of Hate So Deep (Hate #4)

NOW

Lauren

Once I know they’re gone, I step back into the hall and stop at the stairs. I’d like nothing more than to escape back to my room but the bitch in me rears her ugly head and I decide against it.

I won’t run from these people even if the effort it takes to pretend that I’m not withering away inside is crushing me.

Instead, I move around the corner and meet Dirk’s dark eyes, ignoring the flicker of his brows, no doubt at my dead stare because I don’t care.

I suppose I should be grateful that he tried to comfort me but assuming it was anything more than pity after I threw myself in his arms would be foolish.

I mean nothing to Dirk. Period.

“Sweetie,” Dad says, and I turn to him stiffly.

When he pulls me into his embrace, I close my eyes because this should be more comforting than Dirk’s half assed attempt but it’s not.

My throat burns with anger at this man, and I don’t know how to let it go.

Thankfully, the gesture is short and to the point before he leads me to the table, and I find myself sitting next to Cat with Dirk across from me.

Avoiding his gaze because we wouldn’t want to make Colt suspicious—would we—I concentrate on the plate of food that Celia sets before me.

Normally I love waffles with powdered sugar, but the food tastes like sawdust as I chew and swallow a few bites.

For once, I’m relieved by the idle chatter around me and lost in my thoughts, I don’t look up again until Dad’s phone rings and he says, “Give me a minute. I need to take this.”

It’s so reminiscent of when he used to interrupt our dinner or really any family event that I’m momentarily transported back to the past when I assumed he was just a workaholic.

“Hello?” he says while we all stare after him.

Interestingly, I spy the same dazed expression on Cat’s face while Colt glares at the door.

I never really thought about it before, but it would seem that my half-siblings are equally as conflicted about our father’s actions.

It should make me feel better but strangely it only deepens the hole in my chest.

“Yes, this is Trent Stark,” Dad says as Celia pushes back from the table and steps into the kitchen.

Dad wouldn’t cheat again. Right ? I mean two secret families was enough.

After a moment of awkward silence, Dirk says, “What’s on the agenda for today, Celia?”

Celia, with her back to the room while she supposedly analyzes the tile on the counter, tips her head up and says, “Well, I thought we could bake cookies and there’s a fun little Christmas bazaar downtown…”

Turning back to the hall where Dad disappeared, I listen absently while they discuss plans to check it out.

When Dad reappears with a weird expression, we all pause once more as he says, “Sorry, just something wrong at the office. What did I miss?”

Uneasy under what seems to be a flat out lie, I shift in my chair while across the table, Colt snorts and crosses his arms.

Celia turns from where she was wiping down the counter and I bow my head. I may not like her, but I think it’s really fucking cruel for my dad to be playing his games again.

“Just discussing the day,” Celia says with an uneasy smile.

“Good, uh, there’s an emergency at the office.”

After he steps from the room, we all look around at each other awkwardly until Celia follows.

Once they’re both gone, I push back from the table, eyeing Dad’s phone which he left on the sideboard.

Is Dad up to his old shit again? I have this burning need to know and I don’t even know why.

Would it make me feel better or worse if he was?

Shit this is so confusing.

Unfortunately, the screen is locked. However, when I hear Dad and Celia down the hall, I step closer, unashamed to be eavesdropping on their conversation.

“It’s nothing, honey,” Dad mutters and Celia touches his arm.

“No more lies, Trent. We agreed, remember?”

Lies about what? It was my dad lying to my mom, wasn’t it? What’s going on?

Backing away, I cock my head as he says, “The detective working Buck’s case called.”

“Okay,” she says, touching his arm. “What’s wrong?”

“They…they wanted to ask me about Lala.”

Celia’s words echo in my brain while I hide in my room. In all the years that have passed, I’ve always considered her to be the one who broke my family apart and to an extent, I still do.

However, her softly spoken demand forces me to see that my dad was no saint and it’s possible that the way he treated my mom extended to this woman, albeit in a different way.

My mom is a ballbuster to be sure. Celia is softer, kinder…the two couldn’t be more different if they tried.

However, the reality is, they both had a husband who was sharing time between two families.

Did Celia know my dad was married when she met him? If not, when did she discover the truth?

Beyond that, I’m trying to decide if I’m in deep shit if the police want to speak to my dad about me and I don’t know what to do.

Retracing my steps has become my top priority but how do I do that when I don’t even know what happened and admitting that I was black-out drunk will only make things worse?

I won’t know unless I ask but my newfound thoughts are thwarted when I make my way back downstairs.

Of course, with all the shit happening, I forgot about Kayla. Now she’s back and I can’t help but wonder just how close these two are if she’s spending the holiday with Dirk.

Biting back a groan, I summon a smile when she approaches and says, “Merry Christmas!”

My bones comply, albeit stiffly when she leans in for a hug. Over her shoulder, I meet Finn’s wide eyes before she looks away.

Although it’s interesting to know that there were rumors regarding Dirk and I, it’s completely irrelevant now. We’re so far apart, we might as well be in another country, and we were never particularly close to begin with.

Nothing but my future matters now and if I don’t focus, I may not have one to speak of.

Resolved, I turn away as my dad emerges from down the hall. When he passes, he kisses my cheek, but I see the worry creasing his eyes and my heart thumps.

Why did they call my dad? Did my mom not answer or is it something more sinister?

“Dad?” I whisper as he passes.

“Yeah, hon?” he says, patting his pockets.

With a grim smile, I pick his keys up from the sideboard and hold them out as I say, “Is everything okay?”

My heart drops when he pauses and stares at his toes before saying, “Yeah. It’s fine.”

He’s lying but he’s become quite good at that. Hasn’t he?