Chapter 2

My father took the pen from me.

"Stop acting like a child."

I pushed the check and the document back to him and pulled up my bank account.

"Three hundred thousand dollars came from the money my grandmother left me for college. I got $80,000 for my car. The other one hundred twenty thousand dollars came from my wages and my cut of the bodywork and custom paint jobs."

My father's face darkened.

"Is that little bit of money really worth talking to me like that?"

"It is. It's my money."

I sent my account details to his private number.

"Send back the five hundred thousand dollars. Keep the extra half million for your burial plot."

My mother grabbed my hand and touched the bandage. It hurt, and I jerked away.

She let go and stared at the gauze on my palm. "What happened to your hand?"

"Didn't you look at the photo I sent you last month?"

That day, I'd asked if I could send the money two days late so I could get my hand looked at first.

She'd written back that my sister was having nightmares again and I shouldn't make things harder for Dad.

Now she was scrolling through her phone, and I didn't want to wait for her to find it.

I took off my engagement ring and set it in front of Enzo.

He didn't pick it up.

"Why are you taking it out on me?"

"You knew."

He paused. "Yeah, I knew. But I gave you a way out. If you'd agreed to have the wedding first, I would've given you the money."

Viola said quietly, "You're the one who insisted on going to New York. Enzo would've taken care of you."

I looked at her.

"The day they got you back, I asked you if you were scared."

Her eyes filled with tears right away.

"I knew you'd been through hell. That's why I stayed.

"But even knowing why I stayed, you let them keep lying."

She turned her face away. "I just wanted to know if they actually cared about me."

I pushed the ring a little closer to Enzo.

"Now you know. Next time, find someone else to toy with."

My father gripped the edge of the table.

"You walk out that door, and whatever happens to you, don't come crawling back. Gray Harbor isn't New York. You don't get to do whatever you want here."

I glanced at the family crest behind him.

People used to open doors for me when they heard the Costa name. Some went quiet on the spot. My father always said I should never forget that.

This past year, I hadn't used his name to land a single job.

"I haven't asked you for anything all year, either," I said.

When I turned to go, my mother followed me a couple of steps.

"Aren't you going to get your things?"

I went upstairs and opened the closet in my room.

My sketchbooks had been shoved to the bottom, under shoes Viola no longer wore. I pulled them out and took my passport, my diploma, and my grandmother's photo.

My acceptance letter was still by the bed.

When my mother saw me fold it into my bag, she finally said, "Your father could talk to the school for you, you know."

"No, thanks."

"What more do you want?"

I zipped the bag shut.

"Don't call me again tonight."

When I reached the door, my phone buzzed.

Five hundred thousand dollars deposited.

My father had texted, "It's just a little money. Stop keeping score. Come home once you're done throwing a fit."

I saved the message and muted all of them.

It was cold outside.

I stood at the curb waiting for a ride. The wind blew up my sleeves, and my hand throbbed.

The car still hadn't come, so I took out my phone and checked it again.

At least when I woke up tomorrow, there wouldn't be any more messages demanding that I scrape together money.