Page 8 of The Fight

I nod, my throat tight as I shake her hand. I barely notice the introduction because I move my attention to focus onherinstead. It’s just the two of us, and I can tell by the way her expression hardens that she’s just as confused as I am.

“And this is Blair,” my dad continues, his voice smooth and diplomatic, as if he’s introducing business partners instead of people who, until last night, had no idea the other existed.

Blair and I exchange a look. One filled with unspoken questions and a shared sense of dread. Whatever this is, it can’t be good. I can feel it in my gut.

“Shall we sit?” Sylvia suggests, her voice a little too bright like she’s trying to ease the tension.

My dad moves to pull Sylvia’s chair, so I do the same for Blair. Another habit. When I reach for the back, she does the same, letting our hands brush for the slightest second. It’s enough to send a jolt through me and remind me of everything I’ve been trying to forget today—of last night.

She pulls away quickly, her face blank as she sits down. I settle back into my own chair, my mind racing as a waiter finally appears and takes our drink order. I can feel how stiff Blair is next to me, and honestly, I can’t blame her. It’s odd to seesomeone from the other side of my life clash with this side—the lawyer’s son’s side.

When the waiter leaves, my dad clears his throat, and leans forward slightly. “I’m sure you two are wondering why we’re here.” His tone is softer, not businesslike as usual.

He pauses briefly and glances at Sylvia, who smiles at him with unsure eyes.

Clearing his throat again, I can tell he’s about to drop a bombshell. He never seems this nervous, like ever.

“As I said, this dinner is personal,” he begins, finally gathering his bearings. And the strong, cold motherfucker is back. “Sylvia and I have been seeing each other for a few months now.”

I blink, the words not registering at first. Since my mom died, he threw himself into his work more than before. Late nights, cases that took him to different states. He’s never even had time for a single date, let alone time to be seeing someone for months. Or has he?

“And we’ve decided,” he continues, “that we want to take the next step in our relationship. We’re getting married.”

Time freezes as his words hang in the air. The noise around me starts to dissipate, and the familiarwhoosh,whoosh,whooshof my heartbeat pounds in my ears just like before a fight. I search his face, looking for some sort of sign this is a joke. That he isn’t serious. He can’t be. He wasneversupposed to replace Mom. But there is nothing—just the same impenetrable calm he always wears like a mask.

Blair’s hand, resting on the table, tightens into a fist. Her knuckles turn white, but she doesn’t say anything. I can see the same shock and confusion in her eyes that I’m feeling. This can’t be happening.

“You’re what?” I finally manage to say. My voice sounds far away, even to myself.

“We’re getting married,” Sylvia repeats, her tone softer than my dad’s.

She reaches out to place a hand over Blair’s, but Blair pulls away.

“You can’t be serious,” Blair says, her voice low but clear.

My dad leans back in his chair, clasping his hands together on the table. “I know it’s a lot to take in, but we wanted you both to hear it from us, to understand this is something we’re both committed to.”

I stare at him with a mix of disbelief and anger. He’s talking about this like it’s just another case he’s closing, like it’s just business as usual.

“What the hell are you thinking?” I ask, the words coming out sharper than I intended. “I don’t even know her—they don’t even know us!”

My dad’s jaw tightens. “I’m thinking it’s time to move forward, Shay. To move on.”

“Move on?” I don’t even bother to try and hide my shock at his fucking words.

“That’s enough, Shay,” he all but shouts, drawing the attention of all the people at tables around us.

I shake my head with a laugh. God forbid the prodigal son has feelings.

Blair stands from the table, shaking her head too. “This is too much, too fast.”

Her chest is heaving, and her face is scrunched up like she’s thinking too hard. She goes to step backward to leave the table, and no one can stop her before the impact. A waiter behind her has a tray of something on fire—probably Alaska, Florida if I had to guess. Best dish at the club, but definitely not the best right now.

That single, clumsy step backward has her bumping into the waiter. Within seconds, all hell breaks loose. Blair stumbles, thewaiter’s tray goes down, and the tablecloth of the table beside us goes up in flames. Screams pierce the air, and other diners across the room stand and peer over to see what’s causing all the commotion.

Blair hardly looks over her shoulder before she’s bolting away from the mess and running toward the bathroom.

CHAPTER SIX

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