“You can hate me as much as you want,” he went on quietly, the words vibrating through his chest where mine was pressed against it, “but please, don’t cause Father any trouble.”I scoffed while still trying to yank my wrist free even though his grip held steady. “Father? You’re already calling him that?”“As much as you hate it,” he answered, not letting go, not stepping back, his face still inches from mine, “I’m adopted. He’s my father. What else am I supposed to call him?”The words landed like slap, harder than the one I’d given him, because hearing it out loud made it even more fucking real.“You don’t get to call him that,” I hissed. “You don’t get to walk in here with your bags and tell me not to cause trouble when you’re the one who showed up and complicated everything.”His grip on my wrist stayed firm.“I don’t need you to like me,” he said. “I really don’t. But can you at least be reasonable? He is already going through a lot. He’s trying, Tessa. He’s been trying every sing
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