Page 90 of Someone to Hold
Chase shakes his head, running a hand across his neck. “No.”
“You aren’t letting one damn bull end your career,” his dad insists.
Chase steps back as if his father landed a physical blow. The wind whips dust across the driveway, and angry clouds swirl in the sky like they’re gathering for their own fight.
Malcolm jabs a gnarled finger at Chase. “I didn’t raise you to be a pu--.”
“I don’t give a fuck how you think you did or didn’t raise me,” Chase answers. “This is not about you.”
“It’s about you being soft and giving up when things get hard.” His dad steps forward until the two men are standing boot to boot. “I’m fucking telling you to man up.”
He shoves Chase hard, but Chase holds his ground like he was expecting it.
“You need to leave.”
“Maybe I’ll find a way to talk to your mother about this. See if she can?—”
“Don’t you fucking go near her.”
“You think some banned visitor list can stop me?” His dad pushes him again. “Not going to fight back this time, huh? Because you know I can still kick yourass.”
“I’m not going to fight back because you aren’t worth it,” Chase says through gritted teeth.
I let out a little shriek as Malcolm’s fist lands with an ugly thwack on Chase’s jaw.
He staggers back but then rights himself. “Is that the best you’ve got, Dad? Felt like being punched by a toddler.”
I can already see a pink welt beginning to form on his cheek, so I know that isn’t true.
“You want more? I’ll give it to you. You know how much I can give.”
I take an automatic step forward, waiting to see what Chase will do, unsure of what I’m going to do. But before either of those things becomes clear, Luke rushes past me.
“Don’t touch him!” he shouts. “Leave him alone!”
He barrels into Chase’s father, knocking the man off balance. Before I can move, or Chase can stop it, Malcolm backhands my son, sending him to the ground in a crumpled heap.
“Luke!” Laurel and I scream at the same time.
“Gotta have a kid do your?—”
Whatever Malcolm was about to say is cut off as Chase slams a fist into his father’s face.
Once, twice, then a third time.
The old man falls to his knees.
I gather Luke in my arms, tears streaming down his face. Laurel runs to join us, and I pull her close, too.
“If you ever—” Chase growls, “lay a hand on that boy—oranychild—again, I will end you.”
His father’s face is a bloody mess. He flicks a gaze toward me and my kids.
“Fucking tears,” he mutters. “Weak.”
Chase grabs his father’s collar, lifts him off the ground, then punches him again with a swift uppercut to the stomach. Malcolm grunts and doubles forward.
“Chase.” I say his name softly, hoping he hears my voice. Ragerolls off him in waves, and I know what it means when that kind of anger is unleashed.
