Page 47 of His Relentless Angel

“Is there anything else I can get you, Daddy?” I ask, trying to drag his gaze away from Isaiah, who playfully reaches past me, standing between him and Martin, to punch Martin’s shoulder.

Dad sets his mouth in a thin line and shakes his head, returning to his cards. Lingering for a moment longer, laughing at the silly voices they use for their characters, I grab a Ruby Redbird Shiner—my favorite flavor— and take a sip, wondering if my kids will grow up to be as nerdy as their dad.

That thought has me twisting to spit the alcohol out, thankfully, before I swallowed. I hold my beer away from me, shooting horrified eyes down at Isaiah. “I didn’t mean to,” I say with rising panic, tears burning the backs of my eyes. I loosen my grip on my beer, which tips over after falling to the cement, spilling the remaining contents. I bring my hands to my mouth. “I’m sorry, I really didn’t mean to! I promise I didn’t!”

Isaiah pushes away from the table, and ignoring the fact that my dad is here, pulls me in for a bear hug. I wrap my arms around his waist, continuing to apologize as I cry into his chest, feeling like the worst mother in the world just days after finding out I’m pregnant.

Isaiah smooths down the back of my loose hair and murmurs, “Hey, it’s ok, baby. I know you didn’t mean to. It was a mistake. Everything will be fine.”

“Brady, go to your sister’s house,” Dad says, and I try to jerk away from Isaiah.

“No. We’re doing this now,” Isaiah says low in my ear and a massive wave of relief battles against the wave of horror at what I’ve done.

Brady complains about having to leave in the middle of the game, and Dad barks, “Out, now.”

Brady stomps away from the table, and Mara and Ezra make their excuses to go inside the house. When the side door to the house shuts with a bang, as it always does, I jump. I peer up from the spreading puddle of beer on the cement floor when Isaiah turns us around to face Dad.

Martin and James wear identical expressions of shock while Dad leans back in his gray, metal folding chair with his arms crossed over his dri-fit polo shirt. “Sit,” he instructs.

Isaiah takes his chair and pulls me sideways onto his lap, hugging me around my waist.

“Daddy…” I hedge, twisting my hands together.

Dad shakes his head. “I want to hear it from him.” Dad looks straight at Isaiah, and I hug Isaiah’s arms around me. “How long?”

“Since Austin.”

Dad nods instead of rounding the table or raising his voice in anger. “So, nothing before then?”

“Look, Sherman, I’ve got to be honest with you. On Bailey’s birthday—”

Dad holds up his hand to stop him and bites out, “Which birthday.” The shrewd look he gives Isaiah could freeze an ocean.

“My eighteenth, when I went to his condo. He never, ever, ever did anything before then,” I stress. “Not even a kiss or inappropriate touch.” As much as I wanted him to.

Isaiah sounds like he’s being choked when he says, “We didn’t have sex if that’s what you’re thinking…on her birthday. Just kissed and…” Isaiah tugs on the collar of his UT alumni T-shirt.

“So that’s why you left like that?” His stormy eyes narrow. “Because you…kissed…when she was eighteen?”

Isaiah rubs the back of his neck. “Yeah.”

Dad’s eyes turn molten, and I’ve never seen him look so furious. He leans forward in his chair, and we lean back. “So you’re telling me you broke my daughter’s heart—damn near killed her—because you kissed.”

“Well, it was a little more than that.” Isaiah gulps, and I have the overwhelming urge to jump up and drag him out of the garage with me. “She, uh…I thought I was dreaming at the time—”

Dad stops him again. “So you lied to Miranda.” It’s a statement, not a question.

My heart drops. “She told you?”

“Of course she did,” he says harshly. “I know my wife, and she told me everything as soon as I confronted her when we got home.” He scoffs. There’s almost, almost a teasing quality to his gruff voice when he says, “Besides, anyone but James could see the way you two were circling each other in Austin. Isaiah did a piss-poor job of pretending to be upset by your antics.”

James huffs, but he has no room to be offended since it’s simply the truth.

Dad lowers his voice and confesses to Isaiah, “I wanted to kick your ass six ways to Sunday for the stunt you pulled with Jai in front of Bailey.”

Isaiah nods. “I’d deserve it,” he says lowly.

“Oh my god.” It’s too much to process. “Why didn’t you tell us you knew we were together?”

---