Page 23 of Off Limits
He released a bitter laugh. “Took care of me? If calling me worthless and throwing punches my direction counts as parenting, then sure—Richard, you were father of the year.”
“You had a roof over your head. Food on the table. Your no-good mother left us. I did the best I could.”
“Save it, Richard. We have this same conversation every time you come begging for money.”
Richard lurched to his feet, unsteady but defiant. He staggered toward him, jabbing a trembling finger in his face. “I don’t beg.”
The smell of bourbon blasted him and almost made him drunk. Jesus Christ. How much did this man drink? “Sit the fuck down before you fall face-first into one of these tables.” He stepped away from his father.
“Sounds like a million-dollar idea.” Richard wobbled back to the table and plopped down on the bench again.
He wouldn’t be surprised if his father intentionally injured himself on the brewery property in an attempt to collect some sort of insurance proceeds. Anything for a buck to get that next bottle.
“I’m not giving you money, Richard.”
“The fuck you aren’t.” His voice shot up, drawing curious glances from a couple leaving the brewery.
Brady clenched his jaw. This man wouldn’t stop until he’d wrung every last shred of pride from him. He’d already stolen his childhood—he wasn’t getting his future, too.
“What will your investors think, huh? Your business partners? When they find out you won’t help your own father in his time of need?”
He narrowed his eyes. “They’ll think you’re a drunk and insane. Because that’s exactly what you are.”
Richard’s face twisted. “You care about your image, don’t you? Always have. Look at you. Pristine suit and tie. Hair all done like you’re on the cover ofGQ. Nails filed like you’re some goddamn Wall Street prince. You run a brewery, not a Fortune 500 company.”
“And you’re a bitter old man looking for a handout.” Brady stepped forward, his voice low and final. “But not from me. Not anymore. Not ever again.”
He clenched his hands into fists. He’d never been good enough. He’d never be. And he needed to stop thinking at some point his father would realize all that he had accomplished, all that he’d done in spite of everything.
“Let me call you an Uber.” He pulled out his phone from his pocket and clicked on the Uber app.
“I’m not leaving here until I get what I came for.”
“Well, then, the police it is.” He dialed the local precinct number. “Good afternoon. I’m calling from Dog Tired Brewery. We have a drunk guy outside who is threatening people and refusing to leave.” He nodded as the dispatcher spoke. “That’s correct. I tried to call him an Uber but he refused it.”
He glanced at his father, who glared at him with narrowed eyes.Fuck him.
“Yes. Thank you. I’ll watch for the patrol car.” He closed the call and slipped the phone back in his pocket.
“Can’t even lend your father a few hundred dollars,” his father spewed. “You son of a bitch.” He spit at his feet.
He stepped back. “We’ve established that already. You can wait here for yourride.” Brady spun on his heels and marched toward the brewery entrance.
“Your mother should have aborted you. You’ve never been good for anything...”
The bile of hatred poured from his father, unrelenting, until the brewery door slammed shut behind him.
His voice was ice as he snapped at Sam, “I called the police. They are on their way. He’s not allowed back in here.”
He stormed into the office, shutting the door with force that made the frame rattle. Then he leaned back against it, folding over, palms braced on his knees. His chest rose and fell in jagged bursts.
God damn that bastard.
That pathetic, venomous man was his father. His blood. His history. The man who made his life a living hell—and still managed to find new ways to twist the knife. They shared DNA. Shared years under the same roof. What terrified him the most ... was the fear they shared something darker. The capacity to ruin the people who loved them.
He forced air into his lungs. Again. And again.
No. He wouldn’t become that man. He couldn’t.
