Ryder
“F
uck!” I yell, slinging my phone onto the bed before roughly jamming both hands through my hair. I tried calling Les several times after she left, but it went straight to voicemail, so she either blocked me or turned her phone off. Not that I f*****g blame her; I’m an i***t.
My door opens, and Dad steps in. “What the hell is wrong with you?” he asks in that deadly voice, the voice that still makes me want to s**t myself.
“What do you mean?” I contain the wince. He hates when you answer a question with a question.
“Don’t play that s**t, boy,” he barks. “Why did that girl just run out of here crying?”
I jerk my head up. “What?” I knew she was upset, but crying? Les?
“Are you trying to piss me off?”
“No,” I sigh. “I didn’t know.”
“That girl has been in your life since birth.
