Jacob's pov
"What?!" Troye practically shouts in my ear.
My father chuckles, "Hey, Jake. It's been a short minute."
I step back, nudging Troye behind me.
"Yeah, six years. Where is Angelina?" I speak bitterly, glaring at the bloke's chest, not quite able to look him in the eyes.
"Rehabilitation centre, thought you knew." He shrugs, stepping back for a moment, leaning over to the table and picking a scone up.
He walks back out and bites away at his food as if this were just any other conversation and any other day. This isn't any other lovely little chat. He doesn't even care.
"Where? Where the fuck is she?" I ask, clenching my jaw tightly.
He shrugs his shoulders back up, "Hell if I know. Why do you care so much? It's not like you've been around."
"As if you're one to talk..." I grumble, "Does that mean Jody isn't here?"
He knits his brows together, "Who's Jody? Is that her boyfriend or something?"
I nod, making him let out a small 'oh', tossing the rest of his scone behind him into the flat.
"Heard he was in prison. Street fight or something. Ah, I couldn't care less, it's not like it was with my children or nothing." He oh-so obliviously mutters, "So, how ya been? What's on your mind?"
"Score any pussy? Got yourself a wife for the kitchen yet?" He chuckles, leaning forward and leaning an arm out to nudge me, only for me to jerk back.
"No. It's not that you'd care anyway." I shake my head, turning away and nudging Troye to go down the stairs. He simply stays put, eyes watering as he stares at my father.
"Baby, go." I whisper, nodding to the stairs behind him.
He places a hand on my arm, stepping around me and to my father.
"Joe Bixenman, nice to meet ya." My father grins, holding his hand out.
Troye doesn't budge, standing up like a statue as I try to tug him away. It's no use.
"Troye Sivan, and it's not nice to meet you. W-where have you even been when your children have needed you all these years?" He inquires, so much emotion laced in his words that it almost makes me want to get choked up. I wish I really did care though. But with him, with Joe, I don't.
My father hums as he lists off on his fingers, "Uhhh- I went to Cuba for a few years, hit the states, got myself a girl in Ireland-"
I cut him off, jerking Troye back, "Let's go."
Troye frowns, shaking his head at me.
"No."
He stands his ground, "You can go if you want to, I want answers."
I huff, crossing my arms over my chest.
"I'm sorry but I don't exactly trust you to be alone around that scumbag." I mutter and turn around, sitting down behind him on the first step.
"He's just throwing a fit... does it sometimes when he doesn't get his way. Used to do it all the time as a kid."
"Shut the fuck up, it's not like you'd know." I scoff to myself.
"They're fun when they're grown up. Angelina already told me all the ways she's pictured my death." He seems to buddy up to Troye, only angering me more.
"Who are you by the way? Jacob here find himself an actual friend?" He asks Troye.
"Troye..." I mumble just loud enough for him to hear.
