This is my stand.
I’m going to make it.
Still, when he slides one of his hands down my back, the motion a reminder that he’s right here with me along with a plea to use his strength, I soak it up.
Dad doesn’t miss the movement. His eyes narrow and something dark passes over his face.
“Oh,” there’s a cruel twist in his words, “I see what is going on here.” He pauses and my stomach sinks. Internally, I brace for whatever words are about to fill the space between us and strain the remnants of our relationship. “I didn’t raise a fucking club whore,” Dad enunciates every word like he believes them.
“Watch yourself,” Titus rumbles the words, the warning clear to hear.
Dad doesn’t flinch.
I’m not sure which has more of an impact on me.
“That’s what you think?” The question is a challenge, and I have no idea how he’ll respond to it.
I would have never imagined that he’d say something so crass to me. So heartless. So fucking vicious.
“You’re the one standing on the other side of this gate, not me,” Dad spits the words and something cracks inside my chest.
The feeling of eyes on me, so many eyes, has my gaze flicking toward Omen and then over my shoulder. Men who wear theSaint’s Outlaws MC patch are standing close enough to hear, but far enough to not be directly involved. It doesn’t quite feel like a wall at my back, but it’s something.
Or maybe this is just a good show.
Come one, come all and watch a daughter’s heart break.
“Just say the word,” Titus’ voice is low, meant only for me, “and I’ll step in.”
I keep my eyes locked on my dad.
“I’m standing on this side of the gate because when I went to you last night, when I went to my dad, the Sheriff of Monroe County, you dismissed me. I was scared,” my voice has an edge to it, pure steel and the flinch he can’t hide proves it.
I don’t stop; I let him hear the pain.
“I needed help, but you basically patted me on the head and told me I was imagining things.” My face screws up and I shake my head, trying not to feel the depth of my disgust because I’m not ready to deal with the hurt that comes along with it. “Ryker took one look at me and asked me what was going on. He listened instead of dismissing me. Then he took steps to protect me even without all the answers. Just on my fear,” my words are clear and they sound sure.
Something passes over Dad’s face, something like regret, but then it’s gone.
“You were hysterical,” his tone is dismissive but wrapped in a hesitancy I’m not used to hearing in his voice. “I was working.”
“Yes,” I intone, “you were.”
The words hang between us. I understand the implication in them, and I see the exact moment they hit him.
I also see the exact moment he decides it doesn’t change anything.
“I can see you’re emotional, Ezra,” Dad’s voice has dropped into the tone he pulls out when he wants to put me back into my box and no longer is willing to accept anything else. “We can talk about this when you calm down and come to your senses about being here.”
His eyes move over me, the gate, the clubhouse behind me and probably the brothers too. Internally, I shatter.
My jaw clenches and while my mind should probably be racing, it’s empty. I have nothing to say to him. There’s no reason to defend myself. Not now.
As he climbs back into his sheriff vehicle, my lips part, but I have no words. My eyes sting as tears fill them. I don’t want them to fall. I can’t let them fall.
I’m being pulled into the hard chest of my biker and when I take a breath it’s filled with his spruce and cinnamon scent. His large hand cups the back of my head and my body shudders as I suppress the rising tide of my emotions.
At least I try to.