Swear (Landry Family 4)

He barges through the doorway before Violet could’ve had time to open it. “Seriously?” He looks at me with narrowed eyes.

“What?” I ask, the word sounding even more innocent than I thought I could muster.

“You don’t get to just walk out like that.”

“I needed some space.”

He chuckles angrily. “You could’ve gone into the bathroom. The bedroom. Sat in your fucking car in the driveway, Ellie. But you don’t show up at my house upset and then disappear.”

“I’m sorry.”

He looks at the ceiling and breathes, the tension in his shoulders settling only a little. “What the hell is going on?”

“What do you mean?”

“What do I mean? You’re really asking me that?”

I don’t move. I just focus on breathing.

“Why are you crying?” he asks, the question too composed. He’s on the brink of anger, I can see it. Hear it. Feel it.

“Because of you.”

“Because of me?” he almost booms. “You’re crying because of me? I haven’t even fucking talked to you in what feels like days because you need space. Well, you know what, fuck your space.”

I see Violet hidden in the darkness of the hallway, letting me know she’s still around if I need her. Suddenly, I wish she weren’t. I wish it was just Ford and I.

“Ford, I’m sorry.”

“Me too. I should’ve put my foot down when you started this bullshit and gotten to the bottom of it then.” He pulls out a chair but doesn’t sit. “What. The. Fuck. Is. Going. On?”

“Violet is here,” I say, like that explains everything

. Of course it doesn’t and he gives me a look telling me just that.

“Violet?” he calls, looking at me. “Will you leave? Please?”

I glance around him and make eye contact with her. She indicates she’ll be outside until she hears from me and then the door closes softly.

That’s followed by a stream of tears.

“Tell me how to fix you,” he says quietly. “Tell me what I need to do. I hate this, Ellie. I hate it.”

“You can’t fix this. There is no fixing this.”

He marches in a circle, running his hands down his face. I watch his body move, the concern on his face, the palpable misery he’s in because he’s worried about me.

“Answer a question for me,” I say. “What did Barrett want?”

“What’s that have to do with you?”

Everything. “Just answer me. Please.”

“I honestly don’t know because I wanted to talk to you. But I’m guessing it has something to do with his campaign.”

“So he’s running?”

“I think so.”