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I take out my phone, considering calling 911, but decide to text my boyfriend first. The yelling is slurred, and it's likely that he’s just confused, right?
Liam:Hurry back. My missing father has returned and he’s banging really hard on the door.
Liam:He sounds drunk.
My phone pings almost immediately.
Jonathan:Do NOT let him in. I’ll be home in five minutes.
I sigh shakily, looking at the text. A bubble of unease sinks in, but Jonathan never lies. If he says that he’ll be here in five minutes, he means it. Seconds later, as I’m typing a reply, wood splinters and glass shatters. He’s kicked down the front door, storming into the house screaming mad.
“Jonathan!” He looks around frantically, somehow missing me in his sight. “Jonathan you son of a bitch!” he yells. “Where the fuck are you!?”
“He’s not here,” I say firmly, getting his attention.
“Liam?” His voice lowers, and his bloodshot eyes fall to me. He looks like shit. Like me if I aged twenty years and let myself go entirely. “What are you doing here?”
“I live here,” I reply, dumbfounded. “What are you doing here?”
Angered, he doesn’t answer. “Where’s Jonathan?”
“Not home.”
His eyes flick over my shoulder, finding the roses on the table. “Are you on a date?”
“I’m going to be,” I say carefully. “Soon. So, I’d appreciate it if you left before he gets here.”
A dangerous realization flashes over his features. “It’s you,” he seethes. “You’re the reason he sent me papers. You’re the man he’s divorcing me for.”
“If he’s divorcing you, it’s probably because you abandoned us. I’m no expert in romantic spats, but that seems like the logical explanation to me.”
“Oh you’re so fucking delusional, aren’t you?” He throws his head back in a broken laugh. “You actually think he loves you or something, don’t you? He’s nearly twice your age, you naiveboy. You’re just a fucking body to him.”
Now it’s my turn to laugh, even if I’m undeniably frightened. “Is that supposed to hurt me? You don’t know anything about us. Aboutme. I pursued him.”
Rage builds, and his face turns red. He attempts to move closer, and I step back causing him to pause. “You think you can just take him, don’t you? You can’t.”
“I already have,” I argue. “So why don’t you find someone else to fund your life. That’s why you want to be his husband anyway, isn’t it? Money?” Jonathan not only comes from money, but he makes a lot of it as a successful coach. It’s the motivation that makes the most sense to me, without love at play. And my father clearly feels no real love for my Jonathan.
“You have no fucking right to it!” To it, not him. The money.
“I don’tneedit. I just need him.”
Glass crunching under boots sounds, and I breathe out, knowing that he’s home. Allowing the fear to settle, I sniff back tears. I kind of figured I was brave enough to handle something like this, but the idea that my father might hurt me is making me emotional. Devastated, I think.
I guess I’m not as strong as I thought.
The first sight of Jonathan makes me want to crumble to the ground and cry until he holds me, taking all of the unfamiliar pain away. A huge tattooed man I’ve never seen before is at his side, looking even more infuriated than my boyfriend.
Jonathan storms past my father, grabbing my arms and checking me all over with his eyes. “Did he touch you?” His hands rub over my skin as if he’s searching for anything as small as a single scratch.
“No,” I croak. “I’m fine. Who’s your friend?”
“Victor,” he says.
“Well, Victor looks like he might kill your husband if he takes another step toward us.”
“Don’t call him that,” Jonathan grimaces, and turns around.
