He scratches his neck, appearing a little more uncomfortable than he has been. “I had my father, so it was okay.” His throat bobs.

I wonder if Jonathan Hale is nice. Just based off tabloid rumors, I’d say no. (They’re so awful I really hate to repeat them.) Disregarding those, all I have to go on is the fact that he slept with an underage girl—my mom, our mom—and got her pregnant.

He doesn’t sound that awesome, but if he raised someone as cool as Loren Hale, then maybe he’s not entirely bad.

When he swallows, he asks, “Did you confront her about it?” Did I confront my mom about her abandoning you?

I just picture my mom turning her back on me, trying to bury this. I see her never chasing me upstairs. Never chasing me outside. I see her in a new horrible light that I can’t shake. It hurts…

“Yeah,” I say softly, “right then. I asked her about it, and it took some screaming for her to really tell me the truth.”

My voice nearly dies by the last word. I wipe my eyes beneath my glasses, hoping these tears won’t overflow.

He angles closer to me, kind of like he wants to comfort me but still wants to give me personal space. I’m not a touchy-feely person. My mom wasn’t ever that way, and I wonder—I wonder now if it was because of what happened when she was sixteen. Being kind of taken advantage of by Jonathan Hale… I mean, she didn’t say that she said no to him. So I have to assume it was consensual.

But is it consent if she was underage? And the product of this event… is right in front of me.

My stomach knots, the coffee not settling well with these thoughts.

Then Loren says, “I’m sorry you had to find out like that.”

My eyes sear now, tears welling as I realize full-force how much my mom kept him from seeing me. Loren wanted me to know about him.

“I ran away,” I suddenly say, my voice cracking and tears leaking with the words. I’m crying in front of one of the most famous people alive in the world, and I don’t even care anymore. I hate and resent her more than I ever wanted to, and it all hurts.

“You what?” His mouth drops a little, and concern overtakes the edge in his voice.

“I just…I was so mad.” My breath staggers between tears. “I told my mom that I was going to find you, and she couldn’t stop me. So…I hopped in my car and drove to Philadelphia.”

He pinches the bridges of his nose, his eyes tightening closed. “You’ve been here for an entire month? Does Emily know—”

“She knows.”

His reaction makes me feel like I made a mistake—and it’s tearing a hole through me. With my mug between my knees, I cover my face in my hands, embarrassed now and heartbroken all over again and full of combatant emotions that cut.