Jamal paused. His face drained a little as the realization hit.

“Oh, no,” Tiffany said. “No, no, no⁠—”

That’s when the door opened.

And there he was. In uniform. Badge shining on his chest. Gun still strapped to his side. He filled the doorway, all tall and imposing, every inch the terrifying authority figure I usually felt safe around—except now, I didn’t feel safe. Now, all I felt was fear.

The entire room turned.

Nathan groaned again, and Dad’s gaze flicked to him for one second before sliding over to Jamal, then Tiffany, then Blake—lingering there for one long, tense moment before finally landing on me.

I swallowed hard, trying to steady my racing heart.

“Hey, Dad,” I said weakly.

Silence.

Jamal, because he had a death wish, muttered awkwardly, “So, uh, you come here often?”

Tiffany slapped his arm so hard that it echoed.

Dad inhaled very slowly through his nose. He crossed his arms. The vein in his forehead did the little twitchy thing that only happened when he was on the verge of losing his mind.

“Bring the boy out,” he said, his voice low and commanding, directed at the officer still standing in the doorway.

The officer nodded, grabbed Nathan by the arm, and dragged him out without a word.

Tiffany piped up immediately, “Hey, can I make a phone call? Because my mom is going to⁠—”

Dad held up a hand, silencing her.

Then, he turned to me.

And that was so much worse.

“Beverly Ann Price.”

I cringed at the sound of my full name. “Yes, sir.”

“I don’t even know where to start,” he said flatly. “Would you like to explain why I got called in during my shift to deal with my own daughter in a police station?”

“Um…” My mouth went dry.

What was I supposed to say? Well, Dad, you see, my ex-boyfriend is a terrible person, Blake has anger issues, Jamal—bless his heart—was just trying to defend my honor, Tiffany may or may not have assaulted someone, and also, there was some pretty blatant racism that just couldn’t be ignored and needed to be handled— Yeah. That sounded ridiculous, even in my head.

That wasn’t going to work.

Dad’s gaze shifted over to Blake, who was still avoiding eye contact. “Blake, are you actually present in this room with us, or should we go ahead and start the conversation without you?”

Blake, to his credit, finally opened his eyes. “Hey, Dad.”

Dad let out the kind of long sigh that parents save for moments when they’re too disappointed to be properly angry.

“I punched Nathan,” I blurted out.

“She punched Nathan,” Tiffany confirmed proudly.

“For Blake!” I added quickly. “Because Nathan⁠—”

“Oh, I know what he did. I already heard the whole thing.”

“You did?”

Jamal leaned forward. “To be fair, sir, Nathan deserved it.”

“Jamal,” I hissed.