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TWENTY-FIVE

LENNON

I should probably be slightly more worried about leaving Saint alone with Decker when he’s so… Saint , but right now, the dread of the impending conversation with my parents is overshadowing that.

He’s an adult, and I think he can handle ten minutes by himself in a playroom with kids and toys.

Well, then again…

“Lennon.” I stop mid-step when Dad calls my name, my eyes flitting to him and my mother, who are standing in the wide hallway, solemn expressions on both of their faces.

I can practically feel their disappointment from where I’m standing, and it makes my stomach twist, a knot forming in the pit of it.

God, when did things start to feel like this between us? So fucked-up. They’re my parents, and I wish that I didn’t feel like this, but I do.

I guess it was once the veil began to lift from my eyes, when I started to see how out of control I’ve been of my own life, my own choices, my own decisions.

When Dad pushed Chandler on me, knowing the details of what happened between us, that was the final nail in the coffin, the voice in the back of my mind says.

All of those things are the reason that I feel this way, and no matter how badly I wish that it was different… we can’t go back to the way things were. I can’t just forget or pretend that I’m okay with what they’ve done.

I love them—they’re my parents—but this is my life.

By my own will.

“Hi. I got your text, but, um… I left Saint inside with the kids, so I really don’t want to be gone long,” I say, my gaze bouncing between them. “Is everything okay?”

His lips twist into a tight scowl at the mention of Saint’s name. Neither of them has said a single word yet, but I already know exactly where this conversation is headed.

A sigh pushes past his lips before he looks at Mom, then back at me, arching a thick brow. “What’s going on here, sweetheart?”

“What do you mean? I’m here to volu?—”

“Lennon. You know that’s not what I mean,” he cuts me off as Mom reaches out and places her french-manicured fingers along his arm, as if he needs fucking support to have this conversation.

“I mean with… this random boy. You’ve never even mentioned him to me or your mother, and then you just show up at the fundraiser with him riding a damn motorcycle and completely blindsided us.

You’re not acting like yourself. What’s really going on? ”

I don’t miss a beat, despite the thick lump that’s settled in the base of my throat. “Nothing’s going on. Saint’s my boyfriend, and he’s… he’s good to me. I care about him.”

In a strange way, it feels like the easiest lie I’ve told in a long time.

Saint may be an asshole and have a litany of other things wrong with his personality, but at least he’s honest and true to who he is. He’s not pretending to be anything else.

It’s refreshing. It’s real.

“Oh, honey…” Mom steps forward and reaches up, cradling my face in her hand. I feel the sweep of her thumb gentle on my cheek, a soft caress that makes my heart squeeze. My parents have never been overly affectionate.

Her expression is soft as she says, “I’m sure you do care about him, Lennon. You’ve always had a thing for strays.”

I go taut, my spine straightening like I’ve been doused with ice-cold water. I don’t even manage a word before she continues, driving her point home. “He is not right for you, and right now, you’re blinded by… good looks, attention. All the things that a young girl like you craves.”

Stepping back, I pull her hand from my face.

I don’t want her to touch me.

“Darling,” my father says, moving toward me. His green eyes, which are so much like mine, are hard, his gaze disapproving. His hands push deep into the pockets of his pressed slacks. “Your mother is right. Whether you want to see it or not, we’re your parents, and we know what’s best.”

I almost scoff, almost tell him that the only thing he knows is what’s best for him. What it looks like for his reputation.

I wrap my arms around my waist as I shake my head. “You’re wrong. You hav?—”

“We’re not wrong, and the sooner that you realize what’s happening, the sooner you will come to your senses,” Mom murmurs, lifting her chin slightly as she brushes her hands down the front of her blazer.

“We have always known what’s best for you.

Provided the best for you. Given you anything you’ve ever desired, Lennon.

This boy… he’s trash. He’s the kind of guy that will get exactly what he wants from you and leave you high and dry. ”

“Stop,” I say, my words carrying loudly down the hallway, my hand lifted between us.

“Just stop. I’m not going to stand here and listen to you disrespect him.

Disrespect me.” I swallow hard as silence stretches between us.

This might just be an arrangement between us, but I’m not going to listen to them talk about him this way when he’s not here to defend himself.

My gaze swings to my father, where I narrow it. “Haven’t you done that enough?”

“For Christ’s sake, Lennon. I told you Chan?—”

“No.” I steel my spine, gathering all of the courage I have inside of me.

“ No. I don’t want to hear anything about Chandler and the excuses that you continue to make for him.

I’m done with this conversation. Saint is my boyfriend, and that’s not going to change just because of your disapproval of him.

If you haven’t already noticed, I’m an adult who’s capable of making her own decisions. I choose him.”

My stomach is in knots as I spin and walk away despite both of them calling my name and telling me to stop.

I don’t stop until I make it back to the playroom, and only then do I let out the exhale I’ve been holding, giving myself a single moment to feel… all of it.

It’s a conundrum. The biggest part of me wants nothing more than to piss off my parents, to show them that I’m going to be my own person, control my own life, no matter the cost. Somewhere along the way, I lost pieces of myself, and now it’s up to me to find them.

To put them back together. No one is going to do that for me.

And then there’s the other part of me that still hates to feel the weight of my parents’ disappointment, to be the one causing the disconnect in our family. I hate that I’m not acting like the perfect daughter, doing exactly as I’m told, just as I always have.

It’s like all of it is just ingrained in my head, and I can’t just stop overnight.

Even though I wish I could. Just not care. Live my life without worrying about anything other than how I feel.

Standing at the arched window outside of the playroom, I see Saint and Decker exactly where I left them. I’m not sure what I thought I’d come back to, maybe Saint teaching him how to play beer pong with cups from the pretend kitchen, but my heart does a weird stutter when I see them.

They’re still coloring superheroes together. A blue crayon that is comically tiny in Saint’s large hand moves across the paper, and Decker’s genuine smile is wide and infectious as he watches him.

I feel like I’m watching something private that I shouldn’t be seeing, a side of Saint that I honestly wasn’t even sure existed until now.

Decker says something, looking up at him with a sweet smile, and Saint nods, a smile of his own spreading his too-handsome face.

It hits me that I’ve never seen a real smile from him, not like this.

I’ve seen him with shit-eating smirks, cocky grins, crooked smiles after he says something that makes my cheeks feel like they’re on fire.

But this smile… God, it’s blinding, lighting up the room, and I’m transfixed.

I can’t stop staring. I don’t want to take my eyes off him for even a second for fear that I’ll miss it.

He nods to whatever Decker asked him, and then suddenly, Decker’s tiny little arms fly around him, squeezing him tightly in a hug that makes my chest physically ache.

For a second, Saint is completely frozen.

But then… slowly, he angles his tall, broad body and wraps his arm carefully around Decker, hugging him back. I watch his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows, clearly caught off guard.

Probably by the same emotions that I am, and I’m only watching it unfold.

Saint Devereaux, the guy who’s closed off, emotionless, who makes it a sport to show the world just how much of an asshole he can be, who runs from anything that gets too close.

The guy who has made me question everything about him since the moment I met him.

I’ve wondered time and time again if a heart truly lived beneath his ribs at all.

Now I know it’s there, quietly beating, hidden away behind a fortress of impenetrable walls built not to shut the world out but to guard the most vulnerable part of him.