CHAPTER3
Loud banging has me groaning.I roll over on my bed and put my pillow over my head, pressing it against my ears so tightly that it caused my arms to strain, which only made my pounding headache that much worse. The banging certainly didn’t help any.
I’m in my dorm room, in my bed. After I left Rob’s house last night, I called up Robyn Bracken, one of my friends here on campus who happens to be older than I am and so has access to alcohol. She was on her way out to see one of her boy toys, either Derrick or Jason, I can't remember which, but she told me I was free to come on over and have a few drinks.
I went to her place and brought back a bottle of something. I drank a lot of it to the point that I passed out. Or blacked out. Not that either is good, but I think I might’ve done something last night before I went to bed.
The banging hasn’t stopped yet. I’m surprised Lauren hasn’t bitched to me about seeing who it was.
With a groan, I stumble out of bed and look up at Lauren’s bunk bed. She’s not here. Uh. What time is it? Did I oversleep?
I brush a hand over my hair. If it's Ro, I'm sure I look like I'm hungover, which is the truth. Hell of a hangover. My stomach does not like it that I'm walking over to the door, but I try to find my phone first to see if I drunk-dialed anyone last night. Hmm. Not sure where my phone is.
The banging gets even louder somehow, and I wince as I open the door.
I expect to see Lauren there, having forgotten her key.
I expect to see Rob there, wanting to continue our disastrous talk last night. Yeah, I didn’t forget anything about that, unfortunately.
I expect to see Ace telling me that everything is just fine and peachy between us, only in different words because I don't see him saying peachy. Well, maybe if he's drunk.
But it’s not any of those people staring back at me.
No, it’s my father.
Just like that, I feel sober. Well, a hell of a lot sober than I did before I opened the door.
I go to slam the door shut in his face, by my father already has his hand on the door to forcefully keep it open.
“Kathleen Margaret Quake,” he says, his voice rumbling.
“Get out,” I say loudly. I’ll make a scene if I have to. I don’t give a shit.
“Is that any way to talk to your father?”
“It sure as fuck is when he’s not someone you ever want to fucking see.”
“Such language.” He tsks with his tongue. “I taught you better than that.”
“Fuck you. You didn’t teach me shit.”
“No?” He tilts his head to the side. “I can teach you a lot more.”
“Really? Like how to make one terrible decision after another? Like how to get involved in the mafia? No thanks, Father. I don’t want to learn anything from you. I have nothing to say to you, and I would appreciate it if you would leave. There. No cursing. You happy now?”
“I’ll be happy when you tell me why you hired a bodyguard for your mother.”
Fuck.
Fuck. How did he find that out?
And how the hell is he here? I thought he had found out about where Mom was. That was why she got a plane ticket for Ireland. I’d been worried about them running into each other at the airport, with him coming in and her heading out, but they hadn’t.
“You know where your mother is. I want to know—”
“There’s a lot of things that I want to know,” I say evenly, “but first and foremost, I want to know why you think I give a shit about you or what you want?”
He gives me the most chilling smile I have ever seen. "Oh, Katie. You think you're in college now, so you're a big tough shot, huh? Let me tell you something. I helped to bring you into this world, and I can take you out of it."