I reach for Hannah’s hand and cover her knuckles with my palm. “Some distractions are worth it.”
His nostrils flare.
“Looks like everyone has finished eating,” Cindy blurts out. “How about some dessert?”
My stomach churns at the thought of spending even another second in this house. “Actually, Hannah and I have to go,” I say roughly. “The weather forecast called for snow tonight so we want to head back before the roads get bad.”
Cindy’s head swivels to the floor-to-ceiling window on the other side of the dining room. Beyond the glass, there isn’t a speck of white in the air or on the ground.
But God bless her, she doesn’t comment on the snow-free state of the street. If anything, she looks almost relieved that this uncomfortable evening is about to come to an end.
“I’ll clear the table,” Hannah offers.
Cindy nods. “Thanks, Hannah. I appreciate it.”
“Garrett.” My father scrapes his chair back. “A word.”
Then he walks out.
Fuck him and his fucking words. The bastard didn’t even thank his girlfriend for the lovely meal she prepared. I’m so goddamn sick of this man, but I swallow my anger and follow him out of the dining room.
“What do you want?” I demand once we enter his study. “And don’t bother ordering me to stay for dessert. I came home for Thanksgiving, we ate some turkey, and now I’m leaving.”
“I don’t give a shit about dessert. We need to talk about that girl.”
“That girl?” I laugh harshly. “You mean Hannah? Because she’s not just some girl. She’s my girlfriend.”
“She’s a liability,” he snaps.
I roll my eyes. “How do you figure?”
“You lost two of your last three games!” he roars.
“And that’s her fault?”
“Damn right it is! She’s making you lose sight of the game.”
“I’m not the only player on the team,” I say flatly. “And I’m not the only one who made mistakes during those games.”
“You took a costly penalty in the last one,” he spits out.
“Yeah, I did. Big fucking deal. We’re still number one in our conference. Still number two overall.”
“Number two?” He’s shouting now, his hands forming tight fists as he takes a step toward me. “And you’re happy with being number two? I raised you to be number one, you little shit!”
Once upon a time, those blazing eyes and red cheeks would have made me flinch, too. But not anymore. Once I turned sixteen and gained two inches and forty pounds on my father, I realized I no longer had to be afraid of him.
I’ll never forget the look in his eyes the first time I fought back. His fist had been coming toward my face, and in a moment of clarity, I realized I could block it. I didn’t have to stand there and take the abuse anymore. I could dish it right back at him.
And I did. I still remember the satisfying crunch of my knuckles when they connected with his jaw. Even as he’d growled in fury, there’d been genuine shock—and fear—in his eyes as he’d stumbled backward from the force of the impact.
That was the last time he ever raised a hand to me.
“What are you going to do?” I taunt, nodding at his fists. “Hit me? What, you’re tired of taking it out on that nice woman out there?”
His entire body goes stiffer than granite.
“You think I don’t know you’re using her as your punching bag?” I hiss out.
“Watch your fucking mouth, boy.”
The fury in my gut boils over. “Fuck you,” I hurl out. My breathing goes shallow as I stare into his enraged eyes. “How could you lay a hand on her? How could you lay a hand on anyone? What the fuck is the matter with you?”
He stalks toward me, stopping when we’re a mere foot apart. For a second I think he might actually strike me. I almost want him to. That way I can strike back. I can smash my fists into his pathetic face and show him what it’s like to get beat on by someone who’s supposed to love you.
But my feet stay rooted in place, my hands pressed tightly against my sides. Because no matter how badly I want to do it, I will never lower myself to his level. I will never lose control of my temper and be like him.
“You need help,” I choke out. “Seriously, old man. You need some fucking help, and I really hope you get it before you hurt that woman any more than you already have.”
I stagger out of his study. My legs wobble so hard it’s a miracle they manage to carry me all the way to the kitchen, where I find Hannah rinsing plates at the sink. Cindy is loading the dishwasher. Both women glance over at my entrance, and both their faces go pale.
“Cindy.” I clear my throat, but the massive lump remains. “I’m sorry to steal Hannah away, but we have to go now.”
After a long beat, the blonde’s head jerks in a quick nod. “That’s fine. I can do the rest.”
Hannah shuts off the faucet and approaches me slowly. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Can you go wait in the car? I need to talk to Cindy for a moment.”
Rather than leave the kitchen, Hannah walks back to Cindy, hesitates, then gives the woman a warm hug. “Thank you so much for dinner. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Cindy murmurs with a strained smile.
I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket and extract my keys. “Here. Get it started for us,” I tell Hannah.
His nostrils flare.
“Looks like everyone has finished eating,” Cindy blurts out. “How about some dessert?”
My stomach churns at the thought of spending even another second in this house. “Actually, Hannah and I have to go,” I say roughly. “The weather forecast called for snow tonight so we want to head back before the roads get bad.”
Cindy’s head swivels to the floor-to-ceiling window on the other side of the dining room. Beyond the glass, there isn’t a speck of white in the air or on the ground.
But God bless her, she doesn’t comment on the snow-free state of the street. If anything, she looks almost relieved that this uncomfortable evening is about to come to an end.
“I’ll clear the table,” Hannah offers.
Cindy nods. “Thanks, Hannah. I appreciate it.”
“Garrett.” My father scrapes his chair back. “A word.”
Then he walks out.
Fuck him and his fucking words. The bastard didn’t even thank his girlfriend for the lovely meal she prepared. I’m so goddamn sick of this man, but I swallow my anger and follow him out of the dining room.
“What do you want?” I demand once we enter his study. “And don’t bother ordering me to stay for dessert. I came home for Thanksgiving, we ate some turkey, and now I’m leaving.”
“I don’t give a shit about dessert. We need to talk about that girl.”
“That girl?” I laugh harshly. “You mean Hannah? Because she’s not just some girl. She’s my girlfriend.”
“She’s a liability,” he snaps.
I roll my eyes. “How do you figure?”
“You lost two of your last three games!” he roars.
“And that’s her fault?”
“Damn right it is! She’s making you lose sight of the game.”
“I’m not the only player on the team,” I say flatly. “And I’m not the only one who made mistakes during those games.”
“You took a costly penalty in the last one,” he spits out.
“Yeah, I did. Big fucking deal. We’re still number one in our conference. Still number two overall.”
“Number two?” He’s shouting now, his hands forming tight fists as he takes a step toward me. “And you’re happy with being number two? I raised you to be number one, you little shit!”
Once upon a time, those blazing eyes and red cheeks would have made me flinch, too. But not anymore. Once I turned sixteen and gained two inches and forty pounds on my father, I realized I no longer had to be afraid of him.
I’ll never forget the look in his eyes the first time I fought back. His fist had been coming toward my face, and in a moment of clarity, I realized I could block it. I didn’t have to stand there and take the abuse anymore. I could dish it right back at him.
And I did. I still remember the satisfying crunch of my knuckles when they connected with his jaw. Even as he’d growled in fury, there’d been genuine shock—and fear—in his eyes as he’d stumbled backward from the force of the impact.
That was the last time he ever raised a hand to me.
“What are you going to do?” I taunt, nodding at his fists. “Hit me? What, you’re tired of taking it out on that nice woman out there?”
His entire body goes stiffer than granite.
“You think I don’t know you’re using her as your punching bag?” I hiss out.
“Watch your fucking mouth, boy.”
The fury in my gut boils over. “Fuck you,” I hurl out. My breathing goes shallow as I stare into his enraged eyes. “How could you lay a hand on her? How could you lay a hand on anyone? What the fuck is the matter with you?”
He stalks toward me, stopping when we’re a mere foot apart. For a second I think he might actually strike me. I almost want him to. That way I can strike back. I can smash my fists into his pathetic face and show him what it’s like to get beat on by someone who’s supposed to love you.
But my feet stay rooted in place, my hands pressed tightly against my sides. Because no matter how badly I want to do it, I will never lower myself to his level. I will never lose control of my temper and be like him.
“You need help,” I choke out. “Seriously, old man. You need some fucking help, and I really hope you get it before you hurt that woman any more than you already have.”
I stagger out of his study. My legs wobble so hard it’s a miracle they manage to carry me all the way to the kitchen, where I find Hannah rinsing plates at the sink. Cindy is loading the dishwasher. Both women glance over at my entrance, and both their faces go pale.
“Cindy.” I clear my throat, but the massive lump remains. “I’m sorry to steal Hannah away, but we have to go now.”
After a long beat, the blonde’s head jerks in a quick nod. “That’s fine. I can do the rest.”
Hannah shuts off the faucet and approaches me slowly. “Are you okay?”
I shake my head. “Can you go wait in the car? I need to talk to Cindy for a moment.”
Rather than leave the kitchen, Hannah walks back to Cindy, hesitates, then gives the woman a warm hug. “Thank you so much for dinner. Happy Thanksgiving.”
“Happy Thanksgiving,” Cindy murmurs with a strained smile.
I reach into the inner pocket of my jacket and extract my keys. “Here. Get it started for us,” I tell Hannah.
