BEG FOR IT

Chapter 28 - Ethan

Ethan : 

I parked in front of Beatrix's building and turned to her.

               "Should I stay here for today?" I ask softly.

Her jaw tightened.
  
              "No. You're going straight home. Didn't your dad tell you to come back?"

            "He did," I shrugged, "but I don't have to follow his orders."

           "Go straight home. Talk to your father."

She paused against the door frame, folding her arms casually.

             "There's been a lot of silence between you two. Too much pride."

She opened the door and stepped out, the click of her steps soft on the pavement.

             "Seriously—just talk." The car door closed with a quiet thud.

I relaxed my grip on the wheel and looked at her retreating figure.

 
             "I hear you," I said, giving a casual double nod.

.

.

————

I slipped into the house on tiptoe, the hallway dim and still. Beatrix had just hung up, her voice still echoing in my head—asking where I was, reminding me to talk. Again.

I didn't want to.

But the way she kept pushing... Maybe I should at least try. I am not sure what to say. Or do.

God, I hoped Dad was asleep.

I crept down the hall and pressed my ear to his bedroom door. Silence. Not a creak, not a breath.

Maybe—

          "What are you doing?"

I jolted. My heart lurched into my throat as I spun around.

Dad was standing behind me, arms crossed, eyebrows lifted.
 
            "Jesus," I exhaled, hand on my chest. "You scared the hell out of me."

           "Wasn't trying to," he said. "You're the one standing at my door like a burglar."

          "I was just checking if you were asleep." I tried to sound casual, like it wasn't weird.

His eyes narrowed.
  
            "Why?"

I hesitated.

         "No reason. I... should get to bed."

I turned to go, but my feet didn't follow. They just stuck there, like they were waiting for something. I glanced over my shoulder. Dad hadn't moved. Still watching me.

                "I think maybe we should talk," I said softly, eyes down.

           "Talk? Do you need something?" Dad asked, his brow furrowed in confusion.

I shifted my weight, suddenly very aware of how strange this felt.

           "No, I just... I don't know. I feel like we should talk a little. We don't really, you know, chat—casually."

There was a pause. Silence stretched thin between us. Dad just looked at me, his expression unreadable, the quiet hum of the hallway settling around us.

Then, without a word, he stepped back and slid his bedroom door open.

        "Come in," he said quietly.