The leather seat was cold against my legs, but not colder than the silence between us.
I hadn't said a word since I climbed into the back of my father's car.
And neither had he.
The driver glanced nervously at us in the rearview mirror, probably wondering how a father and daughter could sit so close, yet seem like they were worlds apart.
I couldn't stop thinking about Ethan's face when he realized I knew.
He hadn't denied it.
Not once.
Everything had been real between us, except the truth.
"You've been crying," my father said softly, his voice barely audible over the hum of the engine.
I turned my face toward the window. "Not your concern."
"Ava,"
"Don't," I snapped. "Don't act like we have some history. You were a ghost for most of my life. You don't get to show up now and play savior."
He didn't answer right away. The air between us thickened with something unspoken.