Page 113 of Branded
God, I loved this man.
“Not the point,” I whispered, cupping his cheek.
His mouth tipped up. “I know.” A beat. “But I’m stalling because…”
The elevator doors opened, and a pair of security guards stepped off.
“…Marcel called security.”
My eyes shot to the other man, who knew something about scary invaders shoving themselves into lives, who I knew didn’t mess around. Because it had almost lost him Pru.
“Thanks,” I mouthed.
A nod from the handsome forward.
“I’m just trying to do what’s best for you,” my father said, voice growing in volume as the guards closed in.
Doing what was best? That was…unfathomable. Because when had he ever done that? When he’d told me that if I only tried harder, my anxiety would go away? Or maybe to stop having a panic attack because it was inconvenient to his schedule and the charity event he wanted to attend? Or how about when I’d wanted more therapy or had asked to not perform at a piano recital or?—
A hundred other things.
Big and small.
But never, never showing courtesy for my thoughts, my feelings, my emotions.
But…it was late, and I was tired, and I was seriously done with this night.
I wanted bed.
I wanted fucking.
I wanted?—
“Did you hear me?” he snapped.
My head jerked up, the thoughts that had been weaving together in my mind scattering, a pulse of anger shooting forward. “You want to do what’s best for me,” I said coldly.
“Yes,” he said. “Of course, I?—”
“Then leave,” I said, and it wasn’t kind. “Leave me to my life and don’t come back. Leave and stop hurting me over and over again. Stop making me feel like a failure and broken. Leave and make it a fucking habit for the rest of your life to not fucking barge in on people’s lives, especially in the middle of the freaking night. Just leave and go home.”
I spun in Smitty’s arms, nodded to our room. “Let’s all go to bed.”
“Kailey.”
Unfortunately, my head spun back, locking eyes with my father. The security guards had closed in, were shepherding him toward the elevator.
“I’m—”
I put my hand up. “And I’m not interested in what you have to say. Not at three in the morning, not accompanied by you trying to bully your way into my life, into my boyfriend’s life, into these men’s lives—all of whom had shown more care in knowing me months than you’ve shown me in years. So, yeah, I’m not interested in you trying to make me feel bad so that you can feel big and important.” I sighed, shook my head, dropping my arm back to my side. “I think…no. I know that I’m not interested in you and what you bring into my life. Not any longer. Not when you’re…this.”
I turned back to the guys. “I’m sorry, guys,” I said. “I know you’re probably tired, so why don’t you all just head to bed?—”
“I know about you, son,” my dad said, tossing the envelope of papers onto the floor. The security guards reacted quickly, one grabbing him and dragging him back to the elevator, the other nodding at Hank, who got onto the car without argument.
He might be big, but Hank was a smart one. Always had been.
“And let me be frank here,” my father yelled, “you’re not good enough for my daughter! Not nearly good enough. A man who barely passed high school? Who doesn’t have a college degree? With my daughter, who got into?—”
