Page 78 of Playing With Danger

Oh no.

Hell no.

“No. Go clean up your dad. I’ll wait.”

“Sophie,” he growled. “Now’s not the fucking?—”

I broke.

There was no other excuse. In that moment I understood the old adage about seeing red. I saw it—oh boy, did I see red. The room was hued, his face close to mine hazed, and I lost my ever-loving fucking mind.

“Shut. Up. Stop talking, Valentine. This is not your house. This is not you. So shut your fucking mouth and go help your father. I’d offer to clean up while you’re doing that but short of calling in a demo team nothing’s gonna put a dent in this mess. I’ll need to come back after a trip to Costco and you find me gloves to withstand the acid I’ll need to use to kill the germs. I’m not going outside. I’m not going to the Rover. I’ll leave when you do.”

“Soph—”

“We walk out of here together, Valentine. End. Of.”

I didn’t wait for him to argue. This time I was the one stomping. Unfortunately, I didn’t do it as good as he did and I didn’t have far to go. I stood next to the window sucking in as much fresh air as I could and waited for Valentine to do whatever he was going to do. A quick glance at Mr. Malone told me I’d been right. His gaze was fixed on the family portrait above the couch. The man had no idea I was in the house. He was either too intoxicated or in such a deep state of depression he was in a trance.

Probably both.

Valentine made quick work cleaning up his father’s hand. He took the bloody towel and the rest of his kit back into the kitchen.

I stood there staring at Valentine’s father.

I’ll make it worth it.

Mr. Malone was the reason Valentine didn’t feel worthy. It wasn’t a woman. It wasn’t anyone at work or his friends.

It was this man staring at a picture of his dead wife and daughter and ignoring the son who was alive.

I’ll make it worth it.

Valentine came back into the room and his gaze locked with mine.

Shame.

That was all I could see in his beautiful, stormy eyes.

That was unacceptable.

Deplorable even.

“Are you ready or do we need to do something else before we leave?”

He blinked.

Big, strong, brave Valentine blinked—like he was unsure what to do or what he was supposed to do with me. It was a safe assumption this wasn’t the first time he’d seen his father in this state. I’d bet it wasn’t only frequent, it was most of the time.

It wasn’t nice, but I loathed Mr. Malone.

He did this.

To my Valentine.

His son.

I understood grief. I understood there was no timeframe on when the sorrow of losing someone or the people you love lets you out of the death grip of anguish. What I did know was, a father never, ever should make his son feel unworthy.

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