“Hi, Dad.” My voice croaks.
“Pack your shit,” he growls as he enters my room, commandeering the space like it’s his garage.
“What?”
“You’re going home. Congratulations, you earned yourself a flight home. A first-class ticket too because they had nothing else left for last-minute flights.”
“I don’t understand why you’re so angry.”
He hands me a local newspaper. “I swear to God I told myself I would be understanding when you told me everything about your relationship with Liam. But you’ve pushed me too far. I expect you to pack your suitcases. I’m waiting here to escort you to the airport.”
My eyes water as I read the title of the gossip column. Bandini Princess Falls from Grace, Escorted by None Other than Liam Zander, F1’s Refined Heartbreaker. My eyes roam over the page, catching phrases like hidden relationship and secret night visits.
My cheeks flame from embarrassment. I square my shoulders and look up into my dad’s stormy gaze. “This article is trash and you know it.”
“I don’t care. I warned you what would happen if I found another article like this. I can’t work with you causing drama, making dumb decisions because you’re hurt. You can go home, relax, and head back to school.”
I take a deep breath. “No.”
“Excuse me?” My dad takes a step backward, hitting me with flared nostrils and narrowed eyes.
My head pounds but I carry on. “I’m not going home.”
“Yes, you are. You never defied me before, so don’t start now when I’m pissed as fuck.”
I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t go home.”
“You will because I say so. I’ll handle the Liam problem, but I need you to get the hell out of here. Switch your online classes to the real deal and suck it up.” My dad grabs the tabloid and tosses it in the garbage can.
“I can’t.” Words leave my lips in a whisper.
“Why the fuck not?”
“Because I withdrew for the semester.” I shut my eyes, cowering from him in the one way I can.
“You what?” My dad speaks in an eerily calm voice, preferring to seethe and stew as opposed to scream.
I open my eyes to find my dad staring at me with anger evident in his gaze. “I’m not happy, and I can’t keep doing something to appease you, like leaving here when I need to finish this out. I love you so much, but I chose a major to make you happy, and it’s sucked the life out of me. It’s my fault for not being honest in the first place. I hate accounting. I detest the classes and the idea of doing that for the rest of my life. Literally, all of it. I did it because you gave up so much for me.” Tears break free, running down my face.
My dad looks gutted. “I’m so disappointed in you. I never thought you would lie to me, let alone for years. And to drop out and not tell me? That’s not the daughter I raised.”
More tears leak from my eyes, uncontrolled, as my dad stares at me in disbelief. “How can I tell you when I’m afraid of letting you down? You hold me to the same standards of those who work for you. I’m so damn afraid of failing or going against your plans that I’d rather hide the truth than tell you.”
“I do push you because I care. Because I don’t want you to end up lost or depending on me.”
“No. You don’t want me ending up like her.”
He sucks in a breath.
I hold his gaze, not backing down. For the first time in my life, I’m willing to go toe to toe with my dad, unafraid of his consequences. He can send me back home or to Timbuktu for all I care.
“Is that really so wrong? So what if I don’t want you to end up like some pothead escaping responsibilities for the rest of your life?” He throws his hands in the air.
“If I choose accounting, I wouldn’t be evading responsibilities. I’d be escaping my shot at happiness to fulfill yours.”
My dad’s eyes harden. I’ve never seen him like this, his rage simmering beneath the surface as his fists ball up at his sides. Without another word, he turns around, my hotel door slamming behind him.
The battle with my dad has drained my last bit of energy. I sit on the couch, put my face in my hands, and let out a sob.
Winning this battle feels insignificant when I already lost the war.
I never thought of myself as a crier. There was no reason to test how I look due to limited opportunities to screw up. But it turns out, when I cry, my face gets bloated and blotchy with not a dimple in sight. My green eyes become bloodshot, contrasting against the red like an ugly Christmas decoration.