Page 183 of The Holy Grail
Being told to ‘shut-up’ was his line in the sand.
“What are you doing?” Malcom asked.
“I’m getting the fuck out of here, that’s what I’m doing. I refuse to shut-up, so I’m leaving.” Evan dug his wallet out of his pocket, grabbed two twenties and tossed them on the table. “Enjoy the rest of your meal. And don’t forget dessert for Jules.”
“Where are you going?”
Instead of answering, Evan said, “Careful, Mal, your dad might see you showing some emotion toward me and think you’re making the wrong decision.”
Then, Evan turned and began walking out of the restaurant.
Despite telling himself he shouldn’t, Malcom glanced over to where his father was sitting with several colleagues from his firm, likely there to discuss a case over dinner and drinks—and found Monroe watching, having probably seen the entire exchange between Malcom and Evan. Monroe’s expression was a mix of displeasure, disappointment, and disgust, and Malcom felt his stomach churning with anxiety.
He was a grown man and yet, still felt like a fucking child who’d done something wrong, and was going to get a belt to his ass as punishment.
Forcing himself to his feet, he pulled his own wallet out of his pocket with shaking hands, and threw some more cash down on the table. This time, he resisted the urge to look over at his father, before following Evan out of the restaurant.
Evan was almost to his car before Malcom caught up with him. “Evan, wait—”
“You should have told him to shove a sharp object up his ass, right then,” Evan said, unlocking the driver’s side door.
“You don’t understand. Your dad didn’t treat you like this—”
“Because apparently your dad is a bigger asshole than mine, and my dad set the bar pretty high.” Evan pointed back toward the restaurant. “You heard him. It’s him or me, and the fact you didn’t choose me right away, kind of means you chose him. At the very least, you didn’tnotchoose him. He won that round, and that motherfuckerknowsit.” Evan gave Malcom a flat, hurt look. “Do you know how humiliating that was for me?”
“Humiliating for you?” Malcom scoffed. “It wasn’t about you.”
“Of course it was. It was about your relationship with me, and your decision to not stand up for it, or for me. And your dad watched you treat me like I was nothing. So, once again you were a scared little boy,and—”
The fist Malcom planted on Evan’s mouth took both of them by surprise—Evan, because he didn’t think Malcom had it in him to deliver such a hard punch, and Malcom because he’d never hit anyone in his life.
They both stared at one another in horrified disbelief, and when Evan tasted blood in his mouth and felt it trickling into his beard, he put his hand up to wipe at it, feeling where his lip had been split open.
Malcom heaved a dismayed sigh, knowing the physical attack was displaced—meant for his father, but taken out on Evan. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”
“You’re sorry?” Evan repeated, then, before he could think twice, he struck back, catching Malcom in his left eye with enough force to send him falling back to the pavement. “Now I’m sorry, too.”
Stunned at being hit for the first time in his life (another two firsts in one night), he was slow to get up, and by the time he did, Evan had gotten into his car and driven off.
Chapter 61
Whiskey dick
All thoughts of chocolate dessert vanished the second Jules walked into the kitchen, and saw Malcom seated at the island with a glass of scotch in front of him and a bag of frozen peas pressed to the left side of his face.
“Oh, my God,” she said, immediately going to him and pulling the peas away. Seeing the swelling around his eye and on his cheekbone, as well as the beginnings of a large bruise, she asked, “What happened?”
With a sigh, he answered, “Evan hit me.”
Her eyes widened in shock. “Hehityou?”
“Yes. After I hit him.”
“You hit himfirst?”
“Yes.”
Jules took note of the fact that Evan appeared to be absent. “WhereisEvan?”
