Damon’s father, Robert, looks…well, murderous.
He stares at the TV, jaw clenched so tightly I can hear the grind of his teeth. Then he grabs the remote and lowers the volume.
His eyes move to Damon.
“Didn’t I say this was going to happen?” His voice is quiet, but that only makes it worse. Quiet means controlled fury, the kind that could crack through marble at any second. “You have absolute disregard for the well-being of this family.”
Damon doesn’t move. But I know him enough to recognize the shift in his breathing, the way his fingers flex like he’s resisting the urge to punch something. He looks at me, just for a second, and I see it—the concern. He sees how pale I’ve gone. The way my hands feel like they belong to someone else.
“Dad,” he says. “Not now.”
“Why? Because your girlfr
