Page 82 of Tainted Tempos

I sit up, narrowing my eyes at the message.

What does Aiden want to discuss? Did something happen?

The doorbell rings and I groan, dragging myself from bed. I move down the stairs slowly and check to see who is at the front door.

“What are you doing here?” I ask, pulling the door open to reveal my father on the front porch.

He winces when he sees me, and I know I look terrible.

Sleep deprived. Haggard. Lost.

“I want to talk to you,” he explains, lifting a brown paper bag. “I brought dinner.”

“I’m not hungry,” I say, turning toward the kitchen.

I hear the front door close and the sounds of Dad’s footsteps as he follows me. He places the bag on the island and gives me a stern look. “You need to eat, Kenny.”

I sigh and grab plates and cutlery. Dad and I pile our dishes with baked ziti and salad before we sit across from each other at the kitchen island.

“How’s Mav?” Dad asks.

I shrug. “Jameson says he’s the same. He’s finished next week and moving to an outpatient program.”

“Still not talking to you?”

I glare at Dad, and he holds up a hand.

“He’ll come around,” he tacks on unconvincingly.

“I hope so,” I admit. “So, what’s up?”

Dad sighs heavily and leans forward, resting his elbows on the tabletop. “The situation with that scum, Branson, is finished. He’s not in Boston anymore and he won’t pose a problem or a threat to you.”

I sit up straight as a rush of emotion surges through me. A few weeks ago, I would have been furious that Dad continued to poke and dig into the situation when I asked him not to. Now, with my thoughts centered on Mav, I’m relieved it’s one less thing to worry about.

Tears prick the corners of my eyes. Relief fills my veins. A glimmer of hope—a tiny spark offinally—shimmers through my mind.

I clear my throat. “Where did he go?”

Dad scrapes a hand over his chin. “His family called him back home. They’re going to deal with him. Keep him in line.”

I frown. “But what about other women? What if Bran does this to someone else?”

Bran’s voice fills my thoughts, and guilt that I never publicly came forward assaults my mind.

“Don’t tell anyone, Mckenna Byrne.”

“I’ll destroy your fucking life.”

“You owe me. And I own you.”

Dad nods, understanding in his gaze. “Do you want to press charges? I’ll do whatever you want, Mckenna. Anything.”

God, my heart wrenches at the sincerity in Dad’s eyes. He’s putting me in the driver’s seat for the first time, and I... stall.

“Dad,” my voice breaks.

He winces and nods. He reaches across the table and grasps my wrist. “Sometimes, justice is served differently. It’s not all straightforward. It’s not all black and white.”

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