When we step outside, Titus keeps his hand on the small of my back, the weight of his hand and the heat coming off him ground me, allowing me to focus on keeping my feet moving. Without tripping. It takes far more focus than it should.
I look toward the gate to find my dad’s official Sheriff vehicle parked on the other side while the man in question paces like a caged animal. Except I’m the one inside the gate and he’s not.
The moment he sees me, he freezes and looks me over quickly. His eyebrows pull together for a moment before his face goes hard like granite. My heart makes a sluggish thud and then stills. But it doesn’t break.
Maybe it’s because I’ve had years of disappointment to shore me up. I’ve spent my life finding the silver lining when it comes to living with my dad. It’s in those glimmers where I found my dad’s love for me.
I think I spent so long searching for the moments, the things, the lessons, which proved his love that I never asked if it was enough.
I’m not sure it is. The realization has me swallowing hard while straightening my shoulders.
“Ezra Rhea Lyons,” he barks and I stop walking while narrowing my eyes at the man who should have protected me last night instead of blowing me off. “You better get your shit, get in the car, and drive out of that compound right this second.”
I scoff and his eyes widen slightly. But I just can’t find it in me to care about his reaction right now. I’m tired.
“I won’t be doing that, Dad,” my voice is strong and sure.
A man steps out of the small building next to the gate. There is a prospect patch on his cut, the same one Bolt wears, and I can only assume this is Omen. He doesn’t say anything, just stands there while keeping his eyes on my dad.
Titus steps up next to me and crosses his arms across his chest, his feet shoulder width apart like he’s bracing for something. It’s probably not a bad idea.
I can almost see the pressure building in my dad. It’s rising and I only hope that when this is over there will be some sort of relationship to salvage.
It won’t be the same; I already know that. Because he’s let me down in a way that I’m not sure he’s even aware of. Unfortunately, I can’t trust that he will ever understand how his dismissal devastated me.
Dad steps up to the gate and barely stops himself from pressing against the black metalwork. “You need to get out of here,” he hisses. His eyes bore into mine. “You have no idea what you’re doing.”
My spine straightens and my chin rises slightly. It’s a strange feeling being offended on behalf of the club. They’ve been there for me when he wasn’t. They welcomed me even though they didn’t have to.
“I’m not a child,” I grit out the words, my jaw clenching as I try to remember that I owe this man some respect. It’s getting harder by the second. “I’m a grown woman and have been for a long time. I have a job, a home, and bills I pay on my own.”
“That doesn’t mean a damn thing when you’re making stupid decisions, and being anywhere near this fucking club is stupid,” he pauses before adding, “and dangerous.”
A chill runs down my spine, not because of his words. Because of the resolve written all over his face.
“Dad,” I sigh and shake my head as disappointment slams into me. Can he see it on my face? Does he even care?
Nothing softens in his features, and I fear I have my answer.
“Why are you even here? If this gets around, do you know what people are going to say? What they’re going to whisper behind your back?” His voice rises and Titus tenses as my dad almost screams, “Do you know how they’re going to look at me?”
The laugh that comes out of me is hollow, slightly broken, and devoid of any humor.
There it is.
His real concern.
The real reason he came here.
I swallow down the lump in my throat. I’ve spent a lifetime pushing down my disappointment in this man while justifying all the ways I’ve felt caged by his expectations. All while managing his worry about public opinion. Now I’m done.
I’ve been done.
Maybe I just needed this moment for it to crystalize inside of me and become something stronger.
Titus uncrosses his arms, the movement jerky when I’m used to seeing grace. I don’t have to look at his face to know he’s barely holding back from jumping between me and my dad. Thefact that he’s holding back means more to me than I’ll ever be able to say.
This is my fight.
