Curtis’s head turned back to me slowly. There was so much rage in his eyes that I almost jerked out of his arms.
“Here, Ma,” Jesse said quietly. “Use this.”
They handed me their iced coffee, pressing it gently against my head.
“Bring her to the table,” Curtis ordered.
He let me go so Jess could wrap their arm around my waist. They carefully walked me over to a kitchen chair.
“I’m fine,” I assured them. “Promise.”
“That guy’s big,” Jesse replied quietly.
“He barely made contact.”
I looked up to find Isla still standing where she’d been before, her shoulders jerking as she cried.
“You wanna tell me what the fuck you were thinkin’?” Curtis asked, his voice an angry rumble. “Comin’ into my house and raisin’ your fists to my kid?”
“You wanna tell me why your kid took off with my daughter a thousand miles away from her family without a word?” Isla’s dad replied, getting to his feet. “Crossin’ state lines, I might add.”
“I was under the impression Isla’s eighteen,” Curtis said. “That not the case?”
Isla’s dad glared at Curtis and then at his daughter.
“Sheiseighteen,” Dylan announced defensively.
I wanted to smack the kid, and I didn’t think I was the only one. His best bet was to play quiet and meek until Isla’s dad no longer looked like he wanted to murder someone.
“Shut it,” Curtis barked at his son. “Go take care of your girl.”
Dylan turned quickly and realized that Isla was silently losing it. He hurried toward her and wrapped his arms around her until her face was pressed into his chest.
“You agreed to this shit?” Isla’s dad asked in disbelief.
“Of course I didn’t,” Curtis replied, his voice equally incredulous. “I found out last night when I got here.”
“Then what the hell?” her dad asked. “Let me take my daughter and go.”
“Coulda done that,” Curtis said. “You woulda fuckin’ called me, and I woulda met you here. Instead, you came into my house and started shit. Now my woman’s head is swellin’ up because you fuckin’ hit her and your daughter’s fuckin’ sobbin’. You feel good about that, Greg? This how you thought shit was gonna play out?”
Isla’s dad grimaced and looked at me. “I’m real sorry about that.”
“Don’t look at her,” Curtis barked. “Look at me.”
“Sorry, Curt,” he said as his wife moved further into the house. “Shoulda kept my head.”
“I don’t give a shit who you were swingin’ at,” Curtis replied, leaning into the man’s face. “Youknewif you put hands on my boy, I’d fuck you up. So what the fuck am I supposed to do now? You missed Dylan, but you didn’t miss Teddy. Am I supposed to let that shit go?”
“I’m real fuckin’ sorry,” Greg mumbled. “Real sorry.”
“We just wanted to get Isla,” her mom said apologetically. “We’ve been worried sick.”
“I get that, Deb,” Curtis said with a sigh. “I ripped Dyl a new one last night and was plannin’ on continuing that this mornin’.”
She smiled a little.
“But Greg’s lucky that my woman laid his ass out,” Curtis continued. “If he were still on his feet when I got here, he would’ve been dealin’ with far worse than sore balls.”
