Chapter 21
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I leave my room with Travis’s hand tight in mine and my heart threatening to pound through my chest. My dad sits on the edge of the couch, head in his hands—suddenly he looks so damn old, and I get a glimpse of what he’ll look like thirty years down the road, aged and frail before his time. My mom stands behind the couch, hands smoothing the afghan across the back with a nervous energy I know from past experience means she’s livid with anger. She takes one look at us and frowns.
“This is Travis,” I say softly.
“I don’t care who he is,” she replies, her face closed like a fist. “Just get him out of here.”
“No.”
The word surprises us all, and I can’t believe it came from me. I can’t believe it’s my voice defying my mom.
“He isn’t leaving.”
Her face drains of color. “What did you say?” she whispers. “Jason Mizzoli, do nottake that tone of voice with me, do you understand?”