Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111742 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 559(@200wpm)___ 447(@250wpm)___ 372(@300wpm)
We speed walk outside, breaking into a jog around the building as soon as we’re clear. “There,” I tell him, jerking my chin toward Glenn.
Janey is kneeling down, her purse contents scattered everywhere, and Ashley’s attempting to help stuff it all back into Janey’s tiny clutch. But Janey’s delaying her with every item she picks up.
“Sorry! I’m such a klutz! I’ve got it all, except for what I need. Band-Aid? Got it. Tampon? Yep. Breath mint? Two flavors. These peppermint ones are the best because they double as a fix for an upset tummy,” she rambles, putting her skills to good use as she holds up a red Altoids tin. “I’m always prepared. For anything. Like a Girl Scout. Or is that the Boy Scout motto? I can’t remember. But if you slice your finger open, I’m your girl. Cool, calm, collected, and could probably whip up some butterfly stitches in a pinch if necessary. But a safety pin to keep from flashing the whole wedding party? Nope. Apparently not.”
She meets Ashley’s eyes with a self-deprecating smile, and I wonder what in the world she said to get them to stop. Then I realize she’s holding her skirt together. She didn’t use a pin for the dress last time and doesn’t need one today, either, but it’s a great cover, keeping them out here long enough for me to get back with Kyle.
We step up, and Janey switches gears, quickly and easily shoving everything into her purse now that she doesn’t need to stall them any longer. She flashes me a smile, proud of herself. I give her a tiny nod of appreciation, keeping my mean face on as she steps out of the way.
I square up to Glenn, giving him a withering glare. “Leave now,” I order. “You’re not welcome here.”
This isn’t a negotiation or conversation. It’s a declaration, of peace if he chooses wisely, or war if he chooses unwisely.
He blusters, used to being the one to give commands, not take them. “I don’t know who you think you are, but I’m the father of the bride. Now, if you’ll excuse me.”
He tries to push past me, bumping my shoulder like he’s the threat here, but I don’t move an inch. Kyle steps up to my side, creating a united front.
“I know who you are. You’re a sperm donor who bailed on your family for new pussy, and Samantha doesn’t want you here,” I tell him, low and harsh. “That’s why you weren’t invited.”
I’m not holding back.
I’ve worked cases with some real assholes—guys who’ve taken out loans in their wife’s name, hid money, hid children, cleaned out retirement funds so they couldn’t be split in the divorce, and more. But Glenn is worse than most. Because he hurt my family. Samantha’s been part of my family for months now, ever since Chance fell in love with her. Today only makes it official.
And this man left Samantha penniless, full of distrust, and traumatized while Susan was working her ass off to pay bills and fighting to keep her family together, and Olivia was hurt and angrily lashing out.
Yeah, I know exactly who he is.
“I’m going in there and walking my daughter down the aisle. I raised her, so I earned that right.”
“You didn’t earn shit,” I spit. “You’re not a father.”
He rears back, blatantly telegraphing that he’s going to throw a punch, and I don’t do a thing to stop it. I want him to hit me. Once.
The impact is pretty solid for a man his age and condition, but it glances off my cheekbone, right below my eye. There’s a roar in my ears, but distantly, I hear Janey gasp, and I glance over to make sure she’s not close to the action.
Then Kyle does what Kyle does best.
He throws a solid uppercut to Glenn’s gut, folding him in half. I expect him to stay down, but Glenn comes back with another punch of his own. He’s giving it his all, but he’s fighting in slow motion, trying to take on two guys half his age. Not that we’re pummeling him. We want him gone, not gone.
So we stop when he holds up a hand in surrender, bent over with the other hand propping him up on his knee. “Tell her I’m here. She’ll want me here.”
He’s delusional, utterly delusional if he thinks telling Samantha that he’s here will be good for him. Has he met his daughter? She’ll march out here in her wedding dress, beat the hell out of him herself, and spit out some things that’ll have him rocking like a baby in therapy for the rest of his life.
And I’d happily stand back and watch her do it, except today’s her wedding day, and this shit stain isn’t going to mess that up for her.