“Fuck,” Vonnie whispers as Quinton strides away from the table like he can’t put distance between us fast enough. “I’m so sorry.”

This isn’t her fault. I knew how much she was going through and I still laid my burdens on her. This is exactly why I’ve learned to keep things to myself, figure my problems out on my own. I want to reassure her that I’m not mad at her, but I can’t. I don’t have time.

Because Quinton is storming out of the door and I have to go after him.

Thirty-five

Unlike Quinton, I don’t excuse myself from the table.

I run through the living room, catching the door just before it slams in my face. “Let me explain!” I yell after his retreating form.

He doesn’t slow his steps; in fact, he might start moving faster.

I run after him, not even caring if the neighborhood is staring out of their windows, trying to catch a glimpse at a holiday disaster playing out somewhere besides their tables for once.

The lights to his car blink and he opens his door without missing a beat, without even looking back at me as I barrel full speed toward him.

“Stop, please! It’s not what you think.” I grab onto his arm, stopping him from getting into his car.

He jerks his arm out of my hand, spinning around and staring down at me. Nothing but disgust is written across his face. And I get that he’s mad. He deserves to be. But that doesn’t make it hurt any less.

“It’s not?” His lip curls as he spits the words in my face. “I introduced you to my fucking dad, Elliot! I told you things I’ve never told anyone and you’ve been hiding this? How is it not what I think? Have you been fucking playing me this entire time?” His voice cracks, the anger fading and his hurt taking over for just long enough to effectively break my heart and make me feel like the scum of the earth.

“No, I haven’t! I’m so, so sorry.” The cold harsh winds bite against my cheeks and it feels like needles are poking my eyes. I can’t fight back the tears anymore. They fall down my face like razor blades against my cheeks. “But it’s not what you think, you just have to please let me explain. Listen to me for five minutes.”

He looks at me for a minute before closing his car door and crossing his arms.

Relief overwhelms my system and it’s like my lungs finally fill with air again. If he’ll just listen, he’ll understand. He has to.

“Thank you.” I take a step toward him, but he holds out his arm, stopping me from coming any closer.

“No,” he says. “Just talk so I can leave.”