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“He doesn’t like to feel threatened.”
“I’ve never been happier,” I said, steadying myself.
I felt Marin squeeze my hand, silently giving me strength.
“Well,” Hayes laughed, throwing his hands in the air, “water under the bridge then, wouldn’t you say?”
“Indeed,” I answered through gritted teeth. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, we were just on our way out.”
I caught Kristy’s gaze just then, and I saw it—the regret, the guilt, and the deep sense of remorse.
A couple of weeks ago, I would have considered that proper payback.
A genuine triumph for all the pain I’d endured.
But now, it just felt like a damn tragedy.
We started to walk away, but Hayes’s voice stopped us once again.
“I meant to tell you,” he said, causing us to turn. “I took your advice.”
“Oh?”God, what now?
“On getting more involved with the community. You know, like the kids at the marina?”
My jaw tensed, and I felt an overwhelming sense of dread.
Hayes sauntered forward, his happy-go-lucky attitude a complete affront to the menacing grin plastered on his face. “I hated the idea that this event might not be accessible to the working class. Like those kid’s parents,” he went on. “So, I bought several extra tickets and gave them away.”
I tried to control my emotions. “Very kind of you.”
I started to walk away, but a loud crash brought our attention to the opposite side of the lawn. The small quartet that was set up there was now in disarray. Musical instruments were on the ground, chairs tipped over, and in the middle was a man?—
“Did I mention I gave one to your father?”
My head whipped around so fast.
“He doesn’t like to feel threatened."
“He’s only going to put up with it for so long.”
“He’s always been a hard worker, right? Plus, there’s nothing better than family.” He gave me a charming smile. “Sweetheart, let’s go get you another drink.” He wrapped an arm around his wife’s shoulder and started to pull her away. “Green, you might want to take care of that.” His gaze fell to my father.
I caught Kristy glancing over her shoulder, an apologetic look on her face.
“Get off me,” someone shouted.
That someone was my father.
“Fuck,” I swore under my breath.
My dad was pushing people as they tried to help him off the ground. His suit was wrinkled and covered in grass stains, and he was clutching a bottle of beer like his life depended on it.
“I’ve got to—” I tried to say, my expression turning grim as I turned to Marin.
“Go,” she simply said, knowing I had no other choice.
Fucking Hayes…
