Page 70 of Regrets

Luckily, she doesn’t fight me. “Go up one floor and go all the way down the hall.”

I nod curtly and don’t say another word as I make my way to the stairs, nearly running up them. I can’t tell her yet.

When I reach his office door, I don’t knock. I just push it open and glare at my father, who’s sitting at his desk looking up at me, not with fear like most parents would when their kid shows up out of nowhere looking upset. No, he just looks pissed off.

That’s dear ole Dad for you, never happy, always angry. Life handed him literally everything and still nothing satisfies him. Not ever.

“Lincoln, what the hell are you doing here? And why are you barging in like a fucking barbarian?”

I ignore every question, giving him no respect because he doesn’t deserve any. “Did you know?”

“Know what? Did you have some sort of mental breakdown like your mother.”

I fly over to his desk, slamming both fists on the solid oak in front of him and leaning down to get into his face. He belittled her every single chance he got, made sure she never felt good enough my whole life. “Don’t ever talk about my mother.”

No remorse. Not anything. “What are you talking about then?”

“Colt. You and he had a fight before he died. What was it about? Because the last thing I knew, he never fought you.”

He leans back casually in his chair, and I want to strangle the fucker. “What does it matter? He’s dead.”

“Yeah. He is. But because of that fight, he has a baby.”

He sits up slightly now. “What are you talking about? Your sister said nothing about Penelope being pregnant.”

I lean forward a little closer, my eyes dark and angry. “That’s because she wasn’t the one he knocked up. What did you say to him?”

I know he fucked with Colt’s head. He did his whole life. “Nothing.”

“Don’t fucking lie to me. Tell me.”

“He came here wanting to ask Penelope to marry him.”

Fuck! What did this asshole do?I round the desk and stand directly in front of him as he stands and buttons the bottom button on his suit jacket. “And what did you say?”

“I told him how ridiculous that was. I reminded him who he was, for Christ’s sake, Lincoln.”

Don’t kill him. “You motherfucker.”

“I wasn’t wrong, Lincoln. It was fine when they were in young, puppy love, but to make her his wife? Have children with her?”

“Her name is Penelope and stop fucking saying ‘her’ like she’s something you stepped in.”

“She might as well be.”

I grip his collar, my rage too strong. “You told him she wasn’t good enough?”

He tolerated P when we were growing up, but I always saw the way he looked down at her. Mom loved her. We all did. But for my father, she was a minor inconvenience in his home, something he hoped we would all tire of. And I’ve always hated him for it, but he’s never come right out and said this. “She’s not, for any of my boys. My God, you saw where she grew up. And her mother, an actual junkie. Her father, in prison.”

“You did a background check on her?”

He shoves my hand away. “We were her foster parents because your fucking mother and you and Colt insisted. Of course, I found out about her background, and it’s disgusting.”

“The only thing that’s disgusting is you, the way you treat people. He loved her.”

“He was a fool. I told him he could use her for exactly what she was.”

I get in his face, seething. “And what was that?”

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