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“Will you hear me out?” I still try. And crash and burn.
“You’re supposed to prove to us you’re a responsible adult.” He seethes. “Look after the shop instead of going on months-long vacations.”
The impulse to answer him stands on the tip of my tongue. I itch to throw back in his face how other than weekends, I haven’t taken a day off in the last four years. That if I did plan a long vacation, I’d be fucking entitled to have one.
Carter and Killian’s faces appear before my eyes. Carter would’ve sneered at my father, might’ve punched his throat. Killian would’ve huffed right back in his face. Would’ve made him feel small and pathetic.
They wouldn’t have begged him to understand. Wouldn’t have appealed to his compassionate side. They wouldn’t have given my dad the explanations he’s not worthy of.
I’m equally strong as they are. I stood up to a fucking burglar. I can handle my father.
“I’m not going on vacation. I’m, uh… making some changes.” I lift my chin in the empty study. “What’s wrong with having a paying tenant fill in for me? Just until I figure this out.”
“Amara Grace Carmichael, you’ve never known when to give up,” my mother interrupts. “Always pushing. Taking advantage of our kindness.”
Shit. She uses the tone. The I’m so fucking done with you tone.
They’re threatening Carnations. I hear it. I smell through the phone.
They can’t kick me out, though. Right? I pay on time. I’m a dutiful tenant. They’re legally bound to let me stay. They have to.
“What the fuck does it mean?” I inwardly curse myself for snapping. For exposing my weakness.
“That does it,” Dad booms. “You just crossed the last line, Amara.”
My lip curls. I’m so pissed that I’m choking on my words. Scratching at my throat.
“That’s it, Amara?” Here comes the gloating. How he loves that. “Got nothing clever to say?”
The beautiful, sunny day outside does nothing to calm my nerves. Being sore doesn’t do a damn thing to help alleviate my mood.
My parents are about to fuck me over. I’m not going to lie here and let them kick me while I’m down.
“I do have something to say.” I know what’s about to leave my mouth will make them mock me. Fuck it. It’s the truth. “My flowers are nicer than you two ever were.”
“I should’ve gotten my tubes tied up after Melina,” Mom murmurs.
Her words shouldn’t hurt. After so many years of being told I’m less than my sister, I should be used to it.
But they hurt. They hurt a whole fucking lot.
My parents have said a lot of things in the past. Never that. Never actually wishing I wasn’t even born.
“We’re putting the building up for sale.” My father delivers another blow to my already bruised heart. “We’ll find buyers soon. Then you’re free to go on your vacation. Indefinitely. We’re done caring what happens to you, you hear?”
My flowers. My beautiful plants.
“No.” I collapse to the floor, grasping the desk so I won’t crash.
“Yes.” He’s evil. Cold.
“You can’t,” I counter, stronger this time. “We signed a lease. It’s not up for another…”
Air leaves my lungs when I calculate the dates. Blood drains from my face.
“Two weeks,” Dad completes my sentence, triumphant. Donating sperm apparently gives him the right to treat me like shit. “Two weeks and you’re out. Even if we don’t have a buyer, we’re evacuating you. Use this time to consider your vacations and your future, Amara. You’re on your own from here on out.”
“Please, Dad—”
