So what’s wrong with this picture?
Maybe he thinks it ruins his image.
Stupid, Alan.
It makes you likeable.
Maybe that’s what’s bugging him.
I look at him. “I’m sorry. I don’t know what I’ve done to piss you guys off, but it’s really none of your business what I post on my social media pages. I can’t believe you spied on me.”
Alan’s black eyes sharpen. “It’s our business because what you post affects all of us. You’ve got the house in that photograph, sweetheart. The street number. I would prefer you didn’t do that until I can convince your mother to live somewhere less accessible. My security sent it to me when it popped online.”
My face colors.
His security spies on me?
Un-fucking-believable.
“It doesn’t matter what I post,” I counter hotly. “Anyone who wants to can already find out where we live and that’s Mom’s fault and not mine or didn’t your nifty security team discover that one yet? She filled out my school packet at the beginning of the year and checked the box to make it public on our loop. It’s been up since August.”
“Oh fu—” He stops himself quickly, then rakes a hand through his hair. He makes a charming, slightly inane, apologetic expression. “Sorry, I shouldn’t swear around you kids.”
I shake my head. He tries. He really tries. I’ll give him that even though I don’t want to. I keep my expression carefully neutral. “Is that all? Can I go?”
Those black eyes lock on me.
“No, the other concern is Khloe. You’ve been posting a lot of pictures of her and that stops now. Both Chrissie and I would prefer you not do that either.”
My stomach does a painful shimmy. “You mean all this is about Khloe? Your big concern all of a sudden with my photographs and social media is paranoid overreaction over your daughter. We live in the ’Sades not Mexico City. Get a grip.”
Alan visibly flinches.
OK, that was mean, harsh and totally illogical since Alan is probably right about everything but, fuck, hello, no one ever gives a shit about me and you aren’t today.
“It’s about all of us,” Alan says succinctly.
Right.
“Fine. No posting. At least until after I move out next month. After that I’m doing what I want.”
Alan stares at me, alarmed. “Moving out? What are you talking about?”
His reaction surprises me.
It almost sounds like he doesn’t want me to.
I shrug. “I’m done with high school at the end of May and I’m getting the hell out of here. Bobby and I are going to get a place together.”
Inwardly I cringe, feeling the bite even though it was only a little lie, since Bobby and I haven’t really talked about that, but I’m pretty sure it’s what he wants us to do.
I change directions. “Are we done? Is this why Mom wanted me to come straight home? For this? Or do I still have to check in with Mom?”
He studies me for a long moment. “We’re done. And you don’t have to check in with Chrissie, but you should.”
I stand up. “Tell Mom I went to Zoe’s.”
Alan lifts a brow. “Why don’t you not go to Zoe’s tonight? Eventually your mom is going to figure out what going to Zoe’s means, Kaley. It’s going to hurt her when she does, the lying to her and realizing she missed it. Maybe you should stay in and finally talk to Chrissie honestly. There seems to be quite a bit going on in your life she knows nothing about.”
My entire face reddens. “Thanks for the suggestion, but I already have plans.”
Alan focuses on gathering up his things. “I want you to tell me the truth. You never being home, is it about me, Kaley? Or the nonsense in the press? Or something else your mother and I don’t know?”
I gape.
Really?
Do you actually want me to believe you don’t know why I can’t stand being here with you?
“It has nothing to do with you,” I say dismissively. “I do have a life, Alan.”
“We used to have a good relationship. I don’t know why you’re so hostile now.”
“I’m not eight anymore. I’m not hostile. I don’t avoid you. I don’t think of you at all.”
Those words unexpectedly cut at my insides.
That was mean, Kaley, mean. Far from the truth, not what I wanted to say, but I couldn’t stop myself.
Crap, I need to get the fuck out of here right now before this all blows up into something even more unpleasant.
I start to turn away, but Alan’s gaze halts me, flooding me with an array of unsettling, warring sensations.
“If you are always gone and eager to move out because of me, then I’m sorry,” he says softly, his voice potent with tightly leashed emotion. “That is not what I wanted. If it’s something else I wish you’d confide in your mother. If you’re angry over the garbage being spewed in the press, then I want you to know this directly from me. The only true things you’ve read are that I’ve loved your mother most of my life and Khloe is my daughter. The rest, sweetheart, is lies.”
I stare at him, my insides growing colder and colder with each second. A non-denial denial that I’m his daughter since that is part of the ‘lies’ in the rag sheets these day. I can’t get air into my lungs. I hold back the tears until I’m in my bedroom.
* * *
When I get to Bobby’s, his car is already gone and he’s left for the desert. Damn. I pull out of the Rowans’ driveway and head for the Kennedys’.
I’m let into the house by the housekeeper, and quickly make my way to Zoe’s room. She’s sitting on her bed wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a tank top—crap, I was right. Depression city—staring at something on her iPad with a wounded dimness in her eyes.
I feel kind of wounded myself after that hideous talk with Alan on the patio. Zoe being a mess gives me something to focus on other than the sorry state of my own life.
I toss down my bag and flop onto my stomach on her bed. “What’s wrong? More crap from Natasha?”
She shakes her head, and clicks off the tablet before I can see the screen. “Nothing. I just really wish we were going to Palm Springs.”
“Me, too.” I shake my head and groan. “I wish you’d been at school today. It was hideous from first bell. The worst freaking day ever. Bizarreness from beginning to end. Everyone in my business about everything. Natasha and her posse. Mr. Jamison actually sent me to OCD this afternoon. Mrs. Trent wanted to have that ‘I’m not just your teacher, I’m your friend’ girl chat. All worried and shit about me over something. And the cherry on the cake of my day was quality time with my current male parental figure. I’ve been ordered not to post any of my work online and then, to add insult to injury, he in not-so-many words denied he was my father.”
Zoe’s eyes go wide. “He didn’t?”
I nod.
“Are you OK?”
“Sure. Great,” I whisper, trying to speak through the lump in my throat.
She studies me, gnawing at her lower lip. “Maybe you should cool it with your websites and blogs for a while. Some of the Kaley’s Word stuff. It’s not funny anymore. Especially the stuff about Alan. It’s sort of—”
I give her the stare. “Sort of what?”
She lifts her chin. “Wrong.”
“Well, I think those videos are just fine.” I let out a frustrated breath. “And it’s not like anyone knows I’m doing them or that they’re about Alan or anyone else I post about. No one knows I’m Kaley’s World. And the only reason you know who they’re about is because you know me. It’s not wrong. It’s satire. And no one knows for sure who the videos are about.”
“What if someone hacked you? Found out? You’ve been saying some really unkind things, Kaley. Even about Khloe.”
I roll my eyes. “They won’t. It’s all cool, Zoe.”