Nobody's really said a word since we left Dad's.

Jerome asked if anybody would mind if he changed the radio station, but other than that, it's been Heart FM and radio silence.

It's a heavy silence, but I'm thankful for it. All the crying and shouting gave me such a bad migraine that I wince when the wind whistles too loudly.

I pull a face again when there's another loud sound – the digital buzz and bleep of my phone finally powering up. Slowly, all the calls and messages I missed start to pour in.

August ☀️

> 22:17: ange wtf is going on

> 22:17: mum's saying you're at Dad's with Eric???

> 22:18: omg

> 22:19: Missed Call (3)

> 22:20: angie pick up it's bad

> 22:21: is everything ok??? pick up pls she's going mental

> 22:40: ange mum knows everything. walt's coming to get you. pick up. please.

Mummy 💓

> 22:15: Missed call (2)

> 22:19: Missed call (2)

> 22:34: Missed call (5)

I try to calm myself with an exhale, leaning my head against the window, but I'm too numb for it to make any difference. I can't feel the coolness of the glass on my cheek; at some point, the low sounds of the radio became one garbled, indistinct sound in the background.

"How did you know where I was?"

When I ask, I break the relative stillness, and Jerome shifts in the passenger's seat. Walt doesn't answer, or even look my way. I sat behind him because I didn't think I'd want to see his face, but all I want now is to know what's going on; what he's thinking, at least.

"Your dad texted your mom," Jerome informs me, with a cautious side-glance at Walt, "told her you were at his place with some guy called Eric."

Jerome stares at me for a little while longer, and I figure he's already connected all the dots. "Eric's your teacher."

It's not a question, so I don't answer it. I turn away, and look into the dark motorway morning rolling past my window.

The more I think about it all, the more I begin to resent it – being carted home like some endangered ward, incapable of making her own decisions. Fuck that. I'm not a child. I can make my own decisions. I made the decision to be with Eric. Who are they to try and take that away from me? Bursting in in the middle of the night like the white knights that I didn't fucking ask for, all because they don't like the decision I've made.

"Were you there against your will?"

Walt asks his question, serious as a heart attack, without moving his eyes from the road, or his white-knuckled hands from the wheel.

"What?"

He repeats himself, his tone slower but his patience thinner. "Were you there against your will? Did I misspeak? I don't think I mis-spoke."

"Why would you even ask me that, Walt?" I shout over him, and already our voices have filled the car.

"Because I want to know if you were in danger, Evangeline, so can you answer my question for me? Can you do that?"

"No, I wasn't there against my f- I wanted to be there!"

"Oh, okay, so you just chose to lie to me, to lie to your mother, when we asked you about Mr. Macklin, is that it?"

Walt rarely raises his voice – he only did it once or twice when he lived with us – but as he yells at me over his shoulder now, even his raised voice is gentle. Firm and fierce, certainly, but he cares, shows he cares, in a way that Dad hasn't done in longer than I can remember.

I get that. I appreciate that. But it doesn't change the fact that right now we aren't quite seeing eye to eye.

"Well, obviously I couldn't come right out and tell you, could I?" Impassioned, I jolt forward in my seat. "I knew you wouldn't bloody understand, or give me a chance to explain, but I didn't think you'd do all this!"

Walt scoffs, and he's getting increasingly riled up too,

"'All this'? What, drive two and half hours in the middle of the night to make sure that you're okay? That you're safe, despite not being where you told us you where, and being with some grown ass man you have no business being with? Sleeping in the same goddamn bed!"

"Who the hell are you to tell me who I can and can't be with!" I shout, indignant. "You know, I don't know if anyone's told you, but you're not actually my father!"

As soon as I spit those words into the front of the car, Walt speeds up, pulling over into a hard shoulder in a swift, sharp manoeuvre.

The sudden swerve makes me grab onto the headrest behind him for dear life – Jerome lets out a couple of choice words, gripping the ceiling handle, too.

"What the hell!"

The car's come to an abrupt stop, and Walt swivels to face me, looking me dead in the eyes as he snaps,

"I know I'm not your dad, Evangeline. I had a shitty father and a whole host of even shittier father figures – I'll tell you my damn self that DNA doesn't make a dad, and carpools and cooking breakfast sure as hell don't make us blood."

With his rough brows furrowed over his manful stare, the intensity in his eyes doesn't let up, even though his voice isn't as loud as before, and something tells me I should shut up and listen good.

"I know I'm not your actual father," he says again, "but I care about you girls more than I care about myself. And your actual mother is sat up about two hours away, worried sick that you're not safe. Confused out of her mind as to why you chose to lie to her, and put yourself in a position where nobody knew where you were."

He turns back around, starting the car up again, and my I feel like my heart is crumbling and the pieces are plummeting to the pit of my stomach.

"I'd think about what you're gonna say to her."

We're on the move again, and in a matter of seconds, I've gone from red-faced to white as a sheet.

"She's going to hate me, isn't she?" I whisper, choked, more to myself and the black night than to anyone else.

Everything is still until Jerome leans forward to turn off the radio.

"Get some sleep, kid. It's a long drive."

I feel my lip quiver when I try and breathe out, and I decide to take his advice. I don't think I can stand to cry again.