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She flinches and starts trembling uncontrollably. He’s my friend and her father, but I’m about to punch him hard enough to send him into another coma.
He’s scaring her right now. I know it. I see it in her eyes, where the gray has staked a claim.
Since she’s his daughter, she doesn’t know him to be cruel or a bully. She doesn’t know how brutal he can get, but she’s seeing it now, and I can tell she doesn’t want to go.
She doesn’t want to face that tyrannical part of him.
But I nod again, because if she doesn’t, he’ll turn the crazy up a notch.
She hesitantly places her hand in his and he pulls her out of the water in one sweep.
I take a breath and start to climb out. When I’m halfway there, he jams his foot against my chest and shoves me back into the pool again.
Motherfucker.
“Dad!” I hear Gwyneth’s shriek when I resurface, coughing from the water again. At this rate, I’m not getting out of here. But hey, it’s better than being drowned.
I swim to the edge and he’s waiting up top with a dark expression on his face, probably ready to push me again.
But I climb out anyway.
Before he can act on his plans, though, Gwyneth steps in front of him, holding her hands wide apart. “Stop it, Dad. Please, stop.”
“You stay out of it. I’m going to deal with you later.” He starts to push her away, but she keeps her feet planted long after I’m out of the pool, dripping all over the ground.
“I can’t stay out of it, because this is about me, too. I chose to be with him. I chose to marry him. No one forced me to.”
“You fucking what?” He nudges her away and starts to lunge toward me. “You married her? You fucking married my daughter, you sick fuck?”
I’m ready for him to throw me into the pool and actually drown me this time, but he stops mid-step when frail arms wrap around him from behind. “Daddy, please…please stop. I’m scared. Stop.”
He’s breathing so heavily that a few blood cells have exploded in his eyes. His fists are clenched at his sides, but he doesn’t make a move toward me.
The reason is attached to him. He’s feeling her tremble against him and he’s hearing the fear in her voice, the same fear he spent his entire life protecting her from. And now, he’s the reason behind it.
He breathes harshly through his nostrils. “Get the fuck out of my house.”
“No. We’re going to talk.”
“Nate…leave before I murder you.”
“No.”
He must sense the determination in my tone and see it on my face, since he throws one last glare my way and pulls Gwyneth inside.
I wait for a few minutes beside the pool, wiping the water out of my face and grimacing when I touch a cut. The crazy motherfucker went for my looks, even though we have a rule against that. Not that I blame him, but still.
After some time has passed, I go through the back entrance of the kitchen and grab a towel and some dry clothes from the laundry room. It’s King’s clothes. Gwyneth has been on a high ever since he woke up and washed some of his clothes, so they’re fresh.
He’ll kill me for this, too, but he shouldn’t have ruined my Italian suit.
I quickly dry myself, then pull on a pair of King’s khaki shorts. I put my arms through the shirt sleeves and wince when my ribs ache. I stare at my chest and find a violet spot forming. Fucking King and his fists.
Sometimes, it feels as if he’s still the delinquent from school who dealt with everything by using violence.
I’m about to button up the shirt when I hear a slow tapping of shuffling feet. Sneakers.
Sure enough, Gwyneth slips in as if she knew I was here all along. She’s changed into one of her long shirts and her hair is still wild and wet, barely dried with a towel. A shadow covers her tiny features and it’s accentuated by the warring of the gray and blue in her eyes.
