“You smell like maple syrup, Eli.”
“Is this why you can’t figure your shit out to take care of our son? You’re too busy fucking this guy?”
Elliott winced, and Clare jumped back from him as though she’d been electrocuted.
“What? No. I got stuck in work. Like. I. Told. You.” She folded her arms once again. Shields up. “What are you doing here? I told you I worked things out and could pick him up.”
“If you’d done that do you think I’d be here?”
Man, this guy was a fucking jerk.
“I texted you.” Clare pawed at her bag before producing her phone. She unlocked it, and a flicker of uncertainty passed across her face. She turned the phone to face Douche Bag Dad, her cheeks turning red. “I guess I didn’t hit send.”
“Idiot.”
Nope. Elliott wasnotletting that fly. Stepping toward Fuckface Father, he extended his hand. “Elliott.”
Peckerhead Patriarch observed his outstretched arm as though Elliott had offered him an STD.
“I’m a friend of Clare’s.” Elliott didn’t miss her flinch and the disappointment that passed across her face before she settled into indifference. Did she want more between them like he did? Would she have let him kiss her if Sir Shithead Sire hadn’t interrupted them?
A flutter in his chest at the thought was overshadowed by Bastard Begetter’s frown. What the hell was this guy’s deal?
“I really think you should watch your tone right now. She made a mistake. We’ve all done it. Name calling won’t help anything right now.” There. That was civil, polite, and way more than the asshole deserved. It wasn’t anywhere near the broken nose Elliott ached to bestow on him.
“I can’t believe you made me come all the way here when you’re already here.” The douche canoe ignored Elliott completely and kept talking at Clare.
She frowned but remained quiet. Was this how he always spoke to her?
“She already said it was an accident. It’s no big deal, right?” He lowered his voice and curled his fingers tight, blood bubbling under his skin. “No point in making a scene in front of the kids.” He jerked his head at the trail of young players coming toward them.
“Dad!” Mason bounded up and threw his arms around the Sperm Donor. “What are you doing here?”
With a wide grin, the man gave Mason a squeeze. “I figured we could have milkshakes. I know you missed out the other night and I thought I’d stop by and take you out for a treat.”
The kid’s eyes popped wide, sparkling, and while Clare’s eyes also doubled in size, it wasn’t with the same juvenile excitement as her son.
“But it’s a school night. Mom—”
“Mom won’t mind. It’s just this once, right? It’s not like we do it every night.” He mussed up Mason’s hair.
“Is that true, Mom? Is it really okay?” The hope in Mason’s voice only served to fuel the anger simmering in Elliott’s stomach. That fucking asshole was playing both MasonandClare like a five-dollar banjo.
She eventually surrendered with a blink and levied a glare at her ex-husband. “Just this once,” she spat through gritted teeth and a fake smile.
He didn’t blame her, he wouldn’t have wanted to cause a scene—or rather, another scene with Mason—at the rink either. But it was more than that. Her fragile smile barely concealed her pain. She was obviously bad cop to Mason’s dad’s good cop. She was all out of fight.
Deadbeat Dad had the nerve to widen his smug grin and shrug. Elliott flexed his fingers and clenched his fist tighter against his thigh. He’d have given almost anything to wipe the conceited smirk from his face, but that wouldn’t help anything either.
Mason hurried off to the locker room, with his prick of a father close on his heels. Elliott had to hand it to him—he excelled at fucking with Clare and hauling ass so she couldn’t unleash her anger at him.
Her eyes burned into his back like hot coals as he walked away. Elliott opened his mouth, not sure what he was going to say but feeling the need to saysomething. She shook her head and pointed to the door. He followed her in silence. Waves of rage radiated from her pores as she marched toward the exit.
Once outside, she braced her ass against the side of the rink and bent over, palms on her knees. Her hair fell forward to hide her face. With her hands clutched into balls of rage, she leaned on her forearms and the scream that ripped from her into the evening air was primal, raw, and charged with a pain that had him welling up.
When she stood straight, her head lolled back against the wall of the building. Her bottom lip trembled as her teeth sank into it, and her eyes clouded over as she blinked slowly. He wanted to lay into the douche bag for upsetting her so much. She was unravelling before his eyes and he was helpless to stop it.
Stepping forward, he cupped her face with both hands, sweeping his thumb across the apple of her cheek and wiping away the tears that trickled down her face. The hell if he was letting that piece of shit break her.
