My mother beams at us, her gaze drifting to our intertwined hands before returning to my face.
This time I’m not worried about her getting it wrong or reading too much into the situation. Quinnismy girlfriend and I’m fucking crazy about her.
Quinn drops my hand as we approach my parents, and I open my arms wide to embrace my mom. She lifts her arms and her black cape—which is way too fancy for a football game—falls away, revealing a splint on her wrist.
I freeze, my blood running cold.
This is why they’re late. Why my father wanted to meet at the stadium instead of the apartment. He thought if they arrived right before kickoff, when there was a crowd around, I’d keep my mouth shut.
Thought I wouldn’t follow through on my promise.
Mom’s eyes dart to the splint and she folds her arms back in the voluminous fabric of the cape, hiding them from view. “It’s so good to see you both.”
“I wish I could say the same,” I bite out, rage building deep in my gut. “What happened to your wrist?”
“Oh, it’s nothing,” she says, a self-deprecating laugh spilling from her lips. “You know how clumsy I am.”
How many times have I heard that lie over the years?
Too many to count.
She cups my cheek with her good hand. “Don’t worry about me, sweetie. This is your day.”
My gaze slides to my father, who stands idly by, as if the entire conversation is beneath him.
It’s the final straw.
My pulse throbs at my temple and I explode like a goddamn supernova, unleashing years of pent-up rage and frustration.
“What the hell happened this time?” I shout, getting right in his face. The bastard flinches at the ferocity of my words, but he doesn’t back down. He never does. “Did she forget to iron your favorite shirt? Burn your toast? Tell me, Dad. What exactly did she do to deserve a broken wrist?”
“It’s just a sprain, Cooper. I’m fine. Really.”
Is she fucking serious right now?
Like a sprain is so much better than a broken bone.
“Keep your voice down,” my father orders through clenched teeth. “Don’t make a scene.”
“Don’t make a scene?” I echo, breath coming hard and fast.Un-fucking-believable. “I wouldn’t have to make a fucking scene if you’d keep your fucking hands to yourself, you piece of shit!”
His eyes harden and he steps forward, fists clenched. “How dare you speak to me that way.”
“How dare I?” My heart pounds against my ribs, beating double-time as I grab the front of his jacket and slam him up against the plate-glass window. His head rebounds off the spotless surface and his feet scramble for traction as he struggles to right himself. “How. Dare. You. What kind of sick fuck needs to hit a woman to feel powerful?”
“Cooper.” Quinn’s quiet voice cuts through my rage and I relax my grip.
“It’s not his fault,” my mom says, pleading on his behalf. “It’s mine. Your father is under a lot of pressure and—”
A red haze blurs my vision as I draw my fist back and drive it straight into his face. Searing heat slices across my knuckles, and I welcome the pain as I raise my fist again.
I’m about to throw another punch when a small hand clasps my bicep and a familiar voice begs me to stop.
It’s too late for words.
The only thing this man understands is violence.
I jerk my arm, shaking off the restrictive grip, and from the corner of my eye, I see Quinn stumble back. She trips over her feet and nearly lands on her ass, but Reid appears out of nowhere and swoops down to catch her just as powerful hands clamp down on my biceps, pulling me off my father before I can land another blow.
