40. Beckett #2
If I hadn’t already wanted to wash my hands of him, today’s visit would’ve done the trick.
The final nail in the coffin. How he could look at his son, his own flesh and blood, with such casual disregard was astonishing to me.
My son might not have been born yet, but I couldn’t imagine a world in which he would ever stand where I stood now.
“Don’t be so dramatic,” my father said. “That’s your problem, Beckett. You’re weak. Always have been. And in spite of my efforts to break you from your soft-hearted habits, you refused to come to heel.”
“Of course, I refused!” I exploded, unable to keep my own temper contained. “I grew up in a house where love needed to be earned. When I needed a hug, you hit me instead. I needed a dad.”
“I did it to make you strong.” He stepped closer, smacking my chest with his palm. His aftershave overpowered the sharp tang of fresh paint, reminding me of the fear I used to feel when I smelled it. “You don’t get to where I am in life without using a strong hand. I thought you knew that by now.”
Did he even hear himself? He was so caught up in his own delusion that he didn’t realize how horrible his words were. “To the rest of the world, maybe, but not to your son! I would never—”
“You’re not a father yet, boy. Don’t presume to tell me what you will or will not do,” he hissed. “Just wait until he disappoints you for the first time. Then you’ll understand why I had to do what I did.”
I shook my head. If there was one thing I knew, it was that I would never end up like him. Disappointments happened every day. Even the people we loved the most let us down from time to time. It was human nature to make mistakes, but what mattered was how you came back from them.
“This conversation is over. You need to leave,” I said, gesturing toward the door.
My father didn’t budge. “$250,000, a run-down house, and small-town pussy. That’s what you pissed away your future on,” he said, laughing cruelly. “I hope it was worth it.”
I closed the space between us, meeting his angry gaze with the venom in my tone.
There wasn’t a single ounce of his rage I couldn’t take, but how fucking dare he say anything about Sawyer.
About the life we intended to build. “Watch your fucking mouth when you’re talking about the love of my life and the mother of my child,” I snarled in his face.
“You can tear me apart however you like, but you leave her out of this.”
I always knew how cruel he could be, but to take a dig at Sawyer was too far. He didn’t know her. Didn’t know how goddamn wonderful she was, or how she lit up every room she walked into. There wasn’t a moment when she didn’t think of others before herself.
My father never dropped the amusement from his expression, though his face was slightly ruddier than it was thirty seconds ago. “Oh, she’s a cute piece of ass to be sure, but cute only gets you so far. She has no money. No connections. Nothing to bring to the table.”
If I weren’t so angry, I’d laugh right in his pathetic fucking face.
His statement only proved how little he knew about me.
I didn’t care about any of that shit. But it gave me great joy to tell him just how wrong he was.
“She has connections you’d fucking die for.
The same ones you sent me here to procure months ago.
But whereas you would twist them for your own gain, I refuse.
That quarter million dollar payment I made was a show of good faith.
If not, Olivia would’ve written this place off for free.
She would’ve gifted it to Sawyer without blinking, and I hope it kills you to know that. ”
Just like that, any trace of humor was gone. In its place was the anger I’d grown familiar with. “You truly are my greatest disappointment, Beckett.” He spat my name like a curse. To him, I supposed it was. I hoped that no matter where he went in life, it carried that same weight.
“Consider us even, because you’re mine,” I snapped back. “Now get the fuck out of my house, and never come back. I don’t want to see your face ever again.”
We stared at one another, our breathing labored. His fist clenched at his side, and for half a second… I wished he would swing. At least then, I’d have an excuse to let out the lifetime of hurt I’d carried on my shoulders. He deserved to hurt like I was forced to.
But then I saw Sawyer’s face in the doorway, and all the anger I was holding onto evaporated like water on hot coals. Lukas and Tate stood at her back. My sister’s face was the picture of fury while Lukas’ hand wrapped tightly around her bicep to keep her from moving forward.
My gaze snagged on Sawyer. She looked so scared. I hated putting that fear there, just like my father had done to me. I had no idea how long they’d all been standing there. I tried to recall hearing their vehicles or the slamming of a car door, but came up empty.
Tate broke free from Lukas’ hold, marching past my father to stand by my side. My father whipped around, gaze narrowing as he took them in. “What is this?” he barked.
Tate glared at him. “Family, you fucking cockbag.”
Lukas took a step toward my sister, but stopped, clearing his throat and angling his body in front of Sawyer’s. She peeked around him, never taking her eyes off me. “You good, Beck?” he asked.