Chapter 17 DAN #2
“Right.” He rolls his eyes. “Like my dad says, all grown men think they’re good at FIFA, but they’re actually terrible.”
I go still for a fraction of a second.
Like his dad says.
I glance at Rose, who’s hovering in the doorway, her arms wrapped around herself. A muscle ticks in my jaw, but I force a smile. “Do you see your dad?”
“He writes me letters.” Angelos looks back at his mum. “He works away, doesn’t he, Mum?”
“It’s all right, Angelos. Dan knows where your dad is.” She clears the plates from the table, busying herself.
Angelos frowns and looks down at his controller. “He’s getting out soon.”
“How do you feel about that?”
“I’ll be able to see him again. Mum doesn’t let me visit prison. We don’t talk about him.”
“You want to see him again?”
“Duh, he’s my dad.”
I swallow the bile in my throat, my knuckles white as I grip the controller. I want to scream and tell him I’m his fucking dad, not some scumbag who was running a casino and fucking every piece of ass with a pulse while money laundering and drug dealing.
Instead, I stay quiet, focusing on my breathing as if all my years in service were so I can keep my cool at this moment.
We start the match, and for a while, the only sounds in the room are the frantic clicking of buttons and the occasional curse when one of us misses a goal.
Angelos is good. He plays like Dom used to—cocky and fast, like he’s got something to prove. But I spent a lot of nights in my twenties playing FIFA with the lads, and I’m not about to let an almost-thirteen-year-old embarrass me.
“Ninetieth minute,” I taunt as I score the winning goal. “And United takes the game.”
Angelos groans, throwing his head back. “That was pure luck.”
I laugh. “Nah, that was skill.”
He eyes me, then cracks a grin. “All right, best two out of three.”
Rose sighs, but I catch the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips.
After another two games, I let the kid win, wanting to see him smile.
Angelos yawns as he stretches, rubbing his eyes.
Rose checks the time. “You’ve got school tomorrow, so off to bed.”
He groans but doesn’t argue, standing and tossing his PlayStation controller onto the coffee table. He glances at me. “You staying?”
Rose stiffens.
“Dunno yet,” I say, keeping my voice even. “Depends on your mum.”
Angelos shrugs like he doesn’t care either way. “Night then.”
I want to say something fatherly, something that matters—but my throat feels tight, like my own words are strangling me.
Rose ruffles his hair, and he bats her hand away with a sleepy grumble. “Night, love,” she murmurs. “I’ll come and tuck you in soon.”
“Night, Mum.” He gives her a kiss on her cheek and trudges up the stairs.
I swallow hard as he disappears into the bathroom at the top of the stairs. I should be the one making sure he brushes his teeth properly. I should have been the one checking his room for imaginary monsters and pulling the covers up to his chin.
I should have been there for all of it. My fingers flex against my thighs. I feel unsteady, like I don’t fit in my own skin.
Rose lingers by the doorway, listening for the sound of his electric toothbrush.
The silence stretches between us, thick and suffocating.
“I should go,” I say quietly.
She doesn’t move. Doesn’t look at me. Just keeps staring up the stairs.
I rake a hand through my hair. “Rose—”
She spins to face me, her eyes flashing with a warning. “Not here,” she whispers, cutting me off.
I glance up at the bathroom door that isn’t fully closed.
“Right.”
We can’t do this now.
But the air is charged between us. I can feel the words she wants to say hanging there, taunting me. I step in closer, just enough to hear her breath hitch. “Let me stay.”
Her lips part, her body swaying slightly towards mine before she catches herself. “Dan—”
“I just wanna be near him,” I murmur. “That’s all.”
She squeezes her eyes shut for a moment. When she opens them, she’s unreadable again. “You can take the couch,” she whispers.
Relief crashes through me, but I don’t show it. I just nod, shoving my hands into my pockets to stop myself from reaching for her.
She turns away first. “I’ll get you a blanket.”
As she disappears down the hall, I sit back on the couch, staring at the ceiling.
My son’s just up the stairs.
And for the first time in thirteen years, I have something worth fighting for. Whatever happened between Rose and me doesn’t matter now. He’s all that matters. My blood. My son.
Rose hands me a blanket. “Goodnight, Dan.”
I reach out and grab a hold of her elbow. “Rose.” I pull her towards me, my other hand cupping her face as she rests her forehead against mine, inhaling a long ragged breath.
“I’m sorry,” she whispers before trying to pull away, but I wrap my fingers around her neck, not ready to let her go. For a brief, fragile moment, it feels like I belong here. Like maybe—just maybe—this isn’t completely impossible.
I’m not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.
Because my flesh and blood is upstairs.
And I’ll burn the world down before I let anyone take him from me.