Larry grunts, rubbing his temples. “Fine. For tonight, he can stay.”
“And tomorrow.” No fucking way I’m leaving him. I’ll sleep in my goddamn car in the driveway if I have to. “Don’t care if you disagree.”
Larry’s eyes harden a degree. “Don’t push it, Mr. Walsh.”
My skin itches, like the name has been carved into it and freshly scabbed over.
Mr. Walsh. Mr. Walsh. Mr. Walsh.
I’m not my goddamn fucking father.
“Fine, you can stay tomorrow as well.” He flicks his gaze to Ryan and back to me. “In the guest room.”
I almost laugh. Almost. But it’s not the first time I’ve heard of some absurd bullshit. Alexei told me Eli’s parents made him sleep in the guest room even after they were engaged.
I grab one of the grilled cheese triangles from the platter. Larry does the same. Ryan just leans his head on one hand, stirring his soup, spoon clinking against the ceramic.
Larry finishes chewing, then leans back in his chair. “Kiddo, I think you should consider going to counseling again.”
“Was planning to. Had an appointment. Then got the email.”
God fucking dammit.
Ryan sets his spoon down, then pushes back from the table. “I need some air.”
I’m halfway out of my chair when Larry lifts a hand and shakes his head. “Give him space.”
Every muscle in me rebels. But I sit anyway. The front door closes, and now it’s just Larry and me, which is uncomfortable as fuck.
Larry finishes the rest of his grilled cheese, then stands and takes his plate to the sink. I do the same, setting mine on the counter.
“Don’t care if it’s my place, but you should look into counseling too.”
My spine goes rigid. “I’m fine.”
He huffs a grunt as he turns on the water and starts rinsing the bowls before placing them in the dishwasher. “The way you handle problems, Connor, that comesfrom somewhere. And that boy out there loves you. God knows why after what you did. But he does.”
“I know.”
“Do you?” He turns the faucet off and faces me, his eyes boring into mine. “Because from where I'm standing, you've got a lot of work to do if you want to deserve it.”
I lean against the counter, fingers gripping the edge. “No shit.”
“Watch your tone, young man.”
Young man.
I snort. Can’t help it.
But fuck, at least he's not calling me Mr. Walsh like I'm my piece of shit father.
“Look, I paid his tuition for the year and the next two. He won’t have to worry about a scholarship anymore.”
Larry's eyebrows shoot up. “That's—”
“Not enough. I fucking know.”
Larry grunts, eyes narrowing.
