Jordan meets my eyes, and for a second, I think it might be okay.
His hell-gaze swings to Baxter now.
“W-why didn’t you?” His voice is small, shaking, confused.
My demon father shakes his head. “I always tried. It just didn’t work out between your mom and me. She wouldn’t let me see you. Hell, she wouldn’t even let your older brother into your life. But you’re my son, and I love you, and now that she’s in a bad way...I’m here.”
Damn his lies.
Damn the fact that he’s breathing.
I want to shout the whole truth. Your mom was sexually harassed by her sicko boss who tried to convince her she didn’t deserve her job or support for the child he created. Don’t go. Don’t walk away with Lucifer.
But there’s no good way to explain that to a very confused, very upset eighth grader—especially to an eighth grader who’s been aching for a dad his whole life.
Not without flaying him alive.
I meet Jordan’s eyes.
“Look at me. I’m his son, too, and I wish to hell I wasn’t. I’d rather be an orphan, Jordan.”
Baxter moves between me and my brother, his back to me. I want to shove him away, but I can’t deliver his well-deserved beating now. Jordan won’t understand, and I’ll definitely be the bad guy then.
“Don’t listen to him, son,” Baxter hisses. “Come back to my hotel and have dinner? We’ve got fourteen years to cover that I missed out on.”
The prick has no shame, he can’t possibly think that’ll...work?
To my horror, Jordan nods, moving closer next to my dad. They start for the elevator, and I’m on their heels, catching a frenzied receptionist standing and watching us out of the corner of my eye.
“He’s not going anywhere with you,” I grind out.
Baxter grins. “Yes, he is, Magnus. You aren’t his guardian. Legally, there’s nothing you can do. He’s coming with me.”
He’s right.
Fuck.
“Jordan, don’t go!” I howl. “For the love of God, don’t—”
“You lied to me,” he flings back, turning, fists flung down at his sides. “Everyone always lies to me! Mom wouldn’t tell me shit and you outright lied.” Jordan’s eyes are so much worse than the familiar, untrusting, sullen look he wore when we first met.
Now, he looks like he hates me with a vengeance.
I can’t fucking blame him.
This day is pure trauma.
First his mom was awake, then she wasn’t.
Next his supposedly dead dad shows up here.
I never should’ve lied. A stupid mistake, and I’m paying the price as I watch them moving, and a man with a badge cuts me off from following.
“Sir? If you could please step back,” the security guard says.
Jordan gets in the elevator first, with Baxter right behind him. I’m still looking past them, desperate, willing Jordan to stop, come back, think about this.
“Bye, Mag,” Jordan says with a scowl before the elevator doors snap shut.
Shut him off from me.
I don’t know how the fuck I’m still standing and not falling straight to the floor.
Somehow, I stagger back, away from the guard who has one hand on his radio—if it isn’t a taser.
A woman’s delicate fingers touch the back of my arm near the entrance door.
“Mag...are you okay?” Brina asks.
I jerk my arm away from her like she’s poison.
“You should go,” I choke out, my whole brain on fire.
“But—” Her voice quivers like she might cry. “But, Mag, I...”
No.
I can’t deal with this shit right now.
I have to get Jordan home.
I’m afraid to even look at her.
“Are you deaf? I said go. Armstrong’s in the lot. He’ll give you a ride home,” I snarl, already sick at the scorn pouring out of me.
“But—” she starts.
“Sabrina. Go,” I say. “Don’t make me tell you again.”
“...you’re such a jackass!” She sniffles. “You shouldn’t have let him go.”
Thanks, Miss Obvious.
“I had no choice,” I mutter, suddenly feeling like the whole world’s tilting, spinning, shrugging me off. I pinch my eyes shut.
What the fuck is happening?
I’ve just lost Marissa’s son, my brother, to a monster. Now I’ve made an intelligent, kind, beautiful angel of a woman cry. I’ve given her this raw, scared look of betrayal.
I shouldn’t have gotten out of bed today.
When I blink my eyes open, she’s disappeared, leaving behind nothing but a bitter not-quite-spring wind whipping through the open glass door.
How long has she been gone?
Long enough to decide I’ve hurt her enough, apparently. A text comes through that has me stumbling against the wall, holding out a hand so I don’t topple over.
Sabrina: I can’t do this anymore. Lose my fucking number.23Red Convertible (Sabrina)I didn’t want to do it.
I tried not to let him see me cry, but the tears were already streaming down my cheeks before I took off, racing around the corner, leaving him standing there like this pillar of pure venom.
Somehow, I held it in until I was out of sight.
I bit my lip until I was sure, and the second I was, I let out a long sob.