Unleashed (A Bad Boy Stepbrother Romance) (172 page)

“So?”

“So he didn’t just work for
you
.”

Penelope tenses up. “What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“I mean, he does it for himself, too. Don’t tell me that if you had a child, you’d say you tattooed people for her! You do it for yourself. It’s your own reward
as well
.”

“You know, Pierce, you have this talent for pissing people off. Everything you say is just so typical.”

“What, you think I’m wrong?”

“I think you don’t know half as much as you think you do about my dad’s life.”

“People are the same. Seems to me like you’re just being sensitive.”

“I’m not being sensitive. You’re being a jerk.”

“Well, trust me, he doesn’t need you looking after him. He’ll have to change his diet on his own, especially when he starts feeling it. At his age? That’ll catch up to him fast.”

“He does need me,” she says. “You don’t understand.”

“Why are you guilting yourself for coming out here?” I ask. “Why are you under the delusion that you somehow left him worse-off for going after your own career? You’d think a parent would be proud.”

“Is your mother proud of you?”

I pause. That was a good counter. “I wouldn’t know,” I say. “We don’t talk much.”

“Well isn’t that the surprise of the fucking century.” She’s huffing now. “For someone with apparently so much life wisdom to dole out, you sure set a poor example, don’t you?”

“Don’t get upset, Pen. We’re just talking.”

“Upset? Well, obviously you have a talent for reading people,” she says, eyes narrowing. “You should become a therapist, put those amazing skills to good use.”

“Admit it,” I say. “You enjoy being miserable. You like to guilt yourself.”

“You know what, Pierce? I’m done. You want to know why I think that about Dad? Because I have to make sure that I coming out here was
worth it
. I have to hold my feet to the flame. Because if I don’t accomplish what I set out to, then it will all be for nothing. How would he feel about that?”

“You use it for motivation?” I ask, impressed. It’s something athletes do all the time. Find something – guilt, an imaginary slight, an imaginary debt – and use it to push harder and faster, to be stronger.

“I don’t
use
it for myself,” she says. “I’m done. I don’t know why I agreed to come here in the first place.”

She gets up, and I watch her as she leaves.

I don’t know why, but I don’t try and stop her. I don’t even know why I kept pushing. I sigh, and rub my forehead, looking out at her through the window.

Penelope is making me lose my grip.

She goes to the tram stop outside and waits, wrapping her arms around herself in the cool night time wind.