Page 69 of The Heat of Us

Fuck, she was going to make me cry.

“Babulya, I—”

“You’ll visit?” she asked.

“So often you’ll be sick of me,” I choked out.

She patted my cheek. “Good. Work and study hard for me, ok?”

I held her hand and didn’t let go. “I will,” I promised.

Without my grandma, the entire home turned into a battlefield. My father and I, drifting from one room to another. Testing, watching, not yet engaging.

I just didn’t realise how soon the first offensive wave would come.

At dinner no less.

“Now that your babushka is gone, when are you moving out?”

I stared at him. “Excuse me?”

“It’s not like I need you here anymore,” he scoffed.

I set my fork down with a little too much force. “You are unbelievable,” I told him in a low voice.

“You’re 25, Aleksey. Too fucking old to be living at home.”

“What are you talking about?” I retorted. “I pay rent. Don’t fucking make it sound like I’m here because of your charity.”

He had the gall to give me a smug grin. “Whose name is on the mortgage, son?”

My blood boiled in my veins. “So that’s it, huh? I took care of grandma for years because you could never be bothered to learn how to care for your own mother. Now when she’s sick enough that I can’t do it myself, you’re kicking me out?”

“You should thank me, Aleksey,” he said carelessly. “Maybe now you can finally act like a ma—”

I blacked out momentarily.

One second I was seated at the table eating dinner.

The next I was being tackled to the ground by my beer-soaked father after having thrown an entire glass of it in his face.

“Just for that,” he barked, twisting my arm behind my back and shoving his knee into my spine. I cursed as pain shot through me like lightning. “You can get the fuck out right now.”

Yeah it was fucking stupid.

But I was also done.

He was trying to drag me along the corridor when I ripped my arm from his grip. Got my face smashed into the wall for my efforts.

“Pissant beta thinks he can take an alpha can he?”

The stench of his breath was gag-inducing.

I should let him know.

“You. Fucking. Reek,” I bit out against the stained, off-white paint.

I only just managed to duck my chin just in time to avoid his fist. The blow glanced off my head and pulverised the plaster instead of my skull.

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