PENELOPE
The ride home was silent and it wasn't the comfortable kind, it was that thick suffocating kind.
I hadn’t known how strained Christian’s relationship with his father was, not until tonight. On the surface, they were composed—civil, even. But beneath that, it was clear.
If they were in each other’s presence too long, they were at each other’s throats.
His grip on the steering wheel was tight, his knuckles flexing, his jaw clenched. His eyes stayed fixed on the road, sharp and unreadable, but the energy radiating off him was sheer anger.
Was it because of his father? Or… was it because of me?
I shifted in my seat, folding my hands neatly in my lap, staring out the window. I didn’t want to get caught up in their Father–Son feud, but I also couldn’t stop thinking about the way
