Kennedy’s POV
I was still mad at my dad. All week I’d gone out of my way to avoid him—short responses, side glances, leaving the room the second he entered. If he noticed, he didn’t say anything. Not that I would’ve cared. I needed space. Needed time. Needed the sting of his words and the pressure in my chest to settle before I could even think about forgiving him.
And now, Friday had arrived.
The house was full of suitcases and last-minute chaos. Dad, Helen, and Max were heading to Boston for Comic Con. Max was bouncing around in his Captain America hoodie, hyped out of his mind while Helen double-checked the packing list like the fate of the trip depended on it.
I stood in the living room watching them scramble, arms crossed tightly over my chest like a shield.
“Max, don’t forget yo
