Page 49 of Bad Kind of Love

“Go home, Becca.” I stare deep into the pits of her eyes, and she soon figures out that I wasn’t fucking around. As cruel as it sounded, I wanted her gone.

She rises up from the couch, but Wes quickly snatches her wrist. “Stay.” He pleads, giving her a frown that makes me want to hurt my own son. “What the fuck’s your problem?” He shouts in my direction, but I’m too concentrated on the grasp he has on Becca.

“It’s...It’s fine.” Becca mutters while pulling her arm out of his grip. “It’s getting late anyway.” She starts to scramble for her belongings and shoes, purposefully avoiding me at all costs.

“Becca, don’t go.” Wes stands up from the couch to try and stop her but she ignores his request.

Once her shoes are on her feet, she makes one last attempt to peer up at me. She’s stopped at the door, her hair is wild and her chest rises and falls as she tries to read me. Her eyebrows are dipped in confusion, but the hurt is evident in her somber eyes.

Her face wants to know why I’m doing this, but deep down, she already knows the answer.

“I’ll see you at school.” She directs her statement at Wes, but she keeps her gaze focused on me.

And with that, she rushes out of the door.

“Happy?” Wes announces behind me sarcastically, but I was anything but.

I was beyond furious.

How could I have missed this?

“What did I say about having people over when I’m not here?” I spun around, meeting the eyes of an enraged Wes.

“Are you serious?” He laughs. “I’m eighteen years old. I don’t need a fucking babysitter.”

“You’re still in high school.” I bark, matching his tone. “My house, my rules. No more girls over at this house…. no more Becca O’Connor.” I find myself saying as her name stings the inside of my mouth.

I didn’t want her here, especially alone with Wes. More importantly, I didn’t want what I saw to happen again. Their fused lips replay in my head, and I feel my blood begin to boil to a scorching temperature.

“You can go out and fuck whoever you want, but I can’t invite a friend over to hang out? What kind of ass backwards rules are those?” He takes a step towards me, and in that moment I’m reminded of my young self. His anger, hot temper and eristic demeanour. He was me twenty years ago.

“Watch your mouth.” I growl, fed up with his profanities. “What I do is none of your damn business. But my job is to be your father and as long as you live under my roof, you’ll follow my fucking rules.”

Wes’s head drops, focusing on the floor, but his clenched fists at his sides give me an inkling of the anger he’s holding back.

“Father?” He jokes under his breath before lifting his head. “You’ll never be my fucking father.”

His words cut like a knife, slicing through my already broken heart and delivering its final blow. I feel my foot stumble, and grab onto the wall to steady me.

I wasn’t the best father. Hell, I wasn’t even a good one. But for years, I tried. We fought, argued and it sometimes ended with a bloody nose, but I still hoped that one day he’d turn around.

“Your blood is my blood.” I snarl. “You will always be my son.”

His lips thin and his eyes glare at my statement. He knows I'm right, but the scowl across his face tells me he wishes it wasn’t true.

“Having the same blood doesn’t make you a father.” He says coolly. “Being there when I needed you the most makes you a father.”

He rushed towards the door in hopes of catching Becca but I know she’s already gone.

And so is the hopeful feeling in my heart that one day my son and I would finally have a relationship.

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