F O R T Y - T H R E E

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M A D I E

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M A D I E

November Twenty-Sixth

Three

You aren't quite sure if ignorance is really bliss.

"You can imagine my surprise when your mom told me you ran away to LA with some guy."

I sat down in the sand, making myself comfortable. Dad had a skeptical eye on the beach, probably thinking about how sitting down would ruin his pair of dress pants. Not that he didn't have a million others that looked exactly the same. But eventually, he grimaced and sat gingerly next to me.

"I was scared," I murmured. "And my friends were scared for me, too."

"Because of Quinton?" Dad raised an eyebrow. Was he surprised? Surprised that I was scared of a guy that had bashed my head into a wall?

"Yes, of Quinton." I resisted rolling my eyes. Because of course it was about Quinton. "He was still on campus when I got out of the hospital." I paused. "You and mom made sure of that."

Dad sighed. "Look, there are some things you should know."

I didn't say anything, waiting for him to go on. Meanwhile, my stomach tightened. Was it from nerves or some kind of strange hope? If I was honest with myself, I desperately wanted there to be a logical explanation for why he'd made that deal with Quinton's parents and the university.

"It's not really his fault," my dad began, and the words destroyed any of the hope mingling inside of me. So, he thought it was my fault.

I had to ask.

"Whose is it then? Mine?"

I think he heard the acid in my tone because he was quick to shake his head. "No, Madie. Of course not." There was a slight pause. "It's my fault."

"What?"

He fidgeted in the sand and then began to pick particles from his pant legs in a way that would actually take ages to remove it all. "I messed up when it came to that boy. And you."

"Dad..." I frowned. "What are you talking about?"

He stopped messing with the sand. He looked out at the ocean, eyes all glassy.

"I've worked with Devon Reid for ten years, and he's been a bastard for every single of them."

I turned, staring at him, trying to figure out why we were talking about Quinton's dad.

"Sometimes he would invite your mom and me over for dinners with him and Lanae, you know?"

I nodded. Quinton's parents and mine were always having dinner together. Quin and I would usually take advantage of the empty house to curl up and watch movies without a parent looking over our shoulders.

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