Page 213 of Breaking Point
“When you get that money, I want you to never contact me again.” He opens his mouth but I lift my hand. “You are far from the father I grew up with. I never want to see you for as long as I live.”
I expect him to refuse the money, to pick me over his own selfishness, but unfortunately the universe thinks I haven’t learned the life lesson enough. You don’t always get what you want.
“Okay,” he whispers. Lifting his head, he points at Grayson. “I want the check by Monday.” And with that he walks away, taking my last shred of hope that my father would be there by my side when I needed him.
Tears are filling my eyes once more and all it takes is Grayson catching one look at the pain engulfing me before he’s running.
“Grayson, no!” I call out.
But it’s too late.
He taps my father on the shoulder. “One last thing.You’re a piece of shit.” He throws his fist into Joseph’s face, making blood spray from his nose.
Grayson winces as I gently lay the ice pack on his hand.
“Anderson is going to kill you if this ruins how you play in next week’s game.”
He shrugs. “Once he finds out why I punched the son of a bitch, I don’t think he’ll have much to say besides clapping me on the back.”
I arch a brow. “Look at you, punching two people in two weeks over me already.”
His smile is devilish with a hint of that blush I’ve been craving to see. “I’ll stop punching people when they stop saying stupid shit.”
I roll my eyes.
The silence stretches, the house for once quiet as everyone’s out, seemingly giving us privacy.
Grayson’s gaze turns pensive. “I should be the one taking care of you today.” He takes the ice pack from my hands. “Not the other way around.”
“You have been,” I respond softly. No words could ever convey how much Grayson stepped up the moment I got that phone call. Even before that, he’s been here for me. “Thank you.”
“Nothing to thank me for.”
“Most men would have run.”
“Those who do are cowards.”
My lips thin. “That they are.”
Grayson’s gaze locks with mine and there’s a flicker of emotion in them I can’t decipher. “I have something for you…from your mom.”
My back snaps upright. “From my mom?”
He nods. “She asked me to give it to you after the funeral.”
As if he’s been waiting for the right moment, Grayson rounds the kitchen bench, opening the cupboard to his office and printing supplies. Pulling out a small black box with gold trim workaround the lid, he walks toward me like he’s carrying the most precious thing in the world.
“She was working on it the past two months.”
“What is it?”
His swallow is audible as he holds out the box. “Take a look for yourself.”
A lump rises in my throat. My heart is racing, my mouth suddenly dry as my shaky hands lift to clasp it. Just the mere knowledge of knowing this was something my mom touched has the back of my eyes burning.
The kitchen fills with the sound of my gasp.
In the box, there are labeled letters, written in my mom’s telltale cursive handwriting.
