Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 197(@200wpm)___ 157(@250wpm)___ 131(@300wpm)
"Does it matter?" I retort, crossing my arms and glaring right back at him. Of course he assumes the worst. Why would I expect any different? "Jesus Christ. You didn't even ask if I did it."
"I know you," the old man says, pinching the bridge of his nose in obvious frustration. "Of course you did it, boy. Probably don't regret it, either." He scrubs a shaking hand down his weathered face. "Starting bar fights because you want to knock my goddamn head off isn't the way to solve it."
"Jesus fucking Christ. You really think that's…" I snort derisively, shaking my head in disgust. "Of course that's what you think." I jerk to my feet, blood pounding in my ears. "For someone who swears he knows me, you don't seem to know a goddamn thing, old man."
"Really? Then tell me," he challenges. "Explain it to me. Why the fuck was the CEO of my company in jail for starting a bar fight?"
I open my mouth to tell him everything—about Tempest, about the marriage, about that motherfucker at the bar raising his hand to her—and then I snap it closed.
What's the fucking point? He had me convicted before he ever walked in the door. In his eyes, I'll always be the little asshole who told his parents he wished they were dead. He'll never see anything but that when he looks at me. And the most fucked-up thing about it…as much as I hate it, I don't even blame him for it.
"You're absolutely right," I mutter instead, lying to him, perhaps for the first time ever. "I'm pissed at you, so the whole goddamn world might as well suffer for it."
The old man sighs heavily. "When are you going to learn? Destroying your life won't change anything, Dalton. You can dismantle it brick by brick. It won't bring them back. It won't change the way it ended."
I spin on him, my hands clenching into fists at my sides as rage rips through me. "You think I don't fucking know that?"
"Do you?" he asks, his eyes narrowing, searching my face like he's trying to see inside my goddamn head.
I just glare at him, breathing hard, my pulse pounding in my temples. I'm so fucking sick of this bullshit. Every conversation lately ends up here one way or another. It's like he's hellbent on beating me to death with it.
I never should have told him about that final argument with my parents. Half the time, I'm not sure if he hates me for what happened, if he wants me to hate myself, or if he's genuinely trying to help. It's all a goddamn jumble.
"Let it go before it destroys you," the old man snaps. "Marry the girl and give yourself a break for once, kid."
I shove a hand through my hair, a harsh laugh ripping from my chest. "Not that I deserve her or ever fucking will, but I married her two fucking days ago."
His eyes widen, shock registering on his weathered face.
"Happy now, old man? Is your life complete?" I ask, my heart jackhammering against my ribs as I stare him down, too pissed to think straight. "Can you die happy, knowing I danced on your fucking strings yet again?"
He blinks at me, wary. "Dalton, what are you—?"
"It'll be the last time because I'm not fucking doing it again," I snap, cutting him off. "You can shove the company up your ass for all I care, but I'm done being your puppet, trying to atone for taking your kids from you."
He's been using the past as a fucking yoke around my neck for long enough. What's between Tempest and I has nothing to do with Grady Records or Evernight. Both companies can burn to the fucking ground for all I care. At this point, I almost wish they would. Because I'm done trying to atone to him. I never can.
"This was never about me!" he roars, slamming his fist on the desk. "It was about you, boy! You think I want to punish you? You've been punishing yourself for long enough. It's time to stop."
"Or maybe it's time for you to mind your own damn business, go to hell, and butt out of my fucking life," I growl, striding toward the door, my blood boiling in my veins.
"Dalton, dammit—" he shouts after me, but I ignore him, slamming the door behind me.
I storm down the hall, his words bouncing around in my head, fucking taunting me. He's right, dammit all. I have punished myself for long enough. I'm fucking trying to stop, to move on.
But shit like this—arguing with the old man, reliving the worst day of my life over and over— doesn't help. Because every goddamn time, it just reminds me that he lost everything too. His daughter and son-in-law, his son and daughter-in-law, his whole fucking world.