Page 88 of Devious Temptation
Instinct tells me to pull him back, but I let him go, choosing to give him space. No amount of talking will help when he’s so distressed.
“Rhys, where are you going?” I ask as he reappears, bag in hand.
My son doesn’t answer me, slipping on his shoes and disappearing out the front door. His truck roars to life, and I curse. Not only do I not want him on the road when he’s upset, but if he leaves, I’m stranded.
I reach the door just as he peels out of the driveway, tires squealing as he speeds away.
Slapping the side of the doorframe, I hurry back into the house, only to remember my phone is now in pieces. “Fuck!”
Twenty-Nine
Never in a millionyears did I think something could hurt as bad as this.
My fingers fly over my phone screen, searching for Lucy’s number while trying to pay attention to the road as I drive.
Pure rage blinds me—red-hot and searing through my every pore, exuding the disgust I feel for my father.
And forher.
Tears blur my vision, and I fucking hate that I’m crying right now.
They don’t fucking deserve my tears.
I want to vomit.
Lucy’s phone goes to voicemail. “How could you? You fucking slut!” I scream into the speaker before hanging up and throwing my phone at the passenger door.
Unwillingly, I think back to last night. About how she looked… almost horrified when she saw me in the kitchen. The way her eyes drifted to Dad. She didn’t want to leave him.
My fingers grip the steering wheel, knuckles turning white before I slap the dashboard repeatedly, causing me to swerve into the other lane. Horns blare, and I straighten out, propping my elbow on the window to run a hand down my face.
Lucy’s panic when I reached for her hand.
The way the candlelight flickered in her eyes when she told me she was happy.
Happy with myfather.
When did this even happen?
Howdid this happen?
Deep down—deep, deep down in my bones, I know the answer.
It had to have started when we were still in high school. Dad always used to watch Lucy. Even when he thought no one was looking, he’d steal glances at her and flash his charming smile that always made her putty in his hands.
He made her his fucking cookies.
And Dad never could do anything wrong in her eyes—she was always on me for being too harsh on him. Always beaming at him like he hung the fucking moon.
Graduation night.
My heart races as I think of that horrible night where I fucked everything up between us—think of how she locked herself in my dad’s office. Is that when all this started?
Images of them together haunt me for the entire three hours it takes to return home.
Only, I don’t go home. Muscle memory kicks in, mindlessly taking me to Lucy’s childhood house, where my dad’s car sits in the otherwise empty driveway.
After slamming my fingers against the ignition button, Ileap out of the truck and clear the path to the front door in less than ten strides.
