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“The bastards who made my daughter cry. Let me handle it.” He tugs me back into his chest.
I breathe in his woodsy scent. “I don’t want to have Liam end up dead or something. Can you be more specific?”
He chuckles before letting me go. I sink into one of his office chairs, my head pulsing and my fingers shaking. My hangover is getting to me, not pairing nicely with the raging emotions happening inside of me, along with my dad’s plan.
“He’s too good-looking to mess up. Plus, he loves my daughter, whether he admitted it to you or not.”
My chest tightens, but I carry on, choosing to ignore his observation. “Feel free to transfer my first-class ticket to two days from now. I’d love to ride in style back home after the World Championship.”
“You sure you’re past your expiration date for hospital returns?”
“Positive. I double-checked after I dropped out of school because I knew you’d kill me.”
“That’s my girl, planning her funeral. We’ll talk about your school decision at another time when you don’t look like you might throw up your liver.”
“Sounds like a plan.” I shut my eyes, ignoring the ache in my head and my chest. It’s a welcome feeling, reminding me how I’m still here, waiting to live through my last round of torture.
