I blinked at the priceless antique carpet in front of me.
“Bally?”
“Davi’s been buzzing in my ear,” he stated.
Uh-oh.
“Bally, I think?—”
“I have apologies to make to you for my behavior with Helena but now is not the time. Now is the time to admit I inadvertently shared some information with my son that it seems took your relationship on a wrong turn.”
So Bally was the one who told Dair about the photo.
I’d been wondering about that (or, to be honest about it, almost obsessed by it along with my heartbreak).
“Please take no offense”—or, please do—“when I say I’m not talking to you about this.”
“Aye, we are, lass, considering my daughter tells me my son is a wreck.”
I sat very still.
“You must understand that Signe—” he began.
That pulled me out of my stupor.
“Trust me, I very much understand about Signe,” I snapped.
“I was looking out for him when I told him what I told him about you.”
“And you did your fatherly duty well,” I returned. “You saved him from being tied to another crap individual.”
“Sorry?”
Oh no.
He didn’t get that.
“What I’m saying is, this is for the best, Bally. For Dair. For all of us. What you did with Mum. Who I am. Dair will come to that realization eventually.”
My son is a wreck.
My son is a wreck.
A wreck.
How could a broken heart beat so fast?
“Who you are?” he asked.
“I explained myself to Dair,” I retorted. “I’m sorry, but I don’t feel I need to explain myself to you. It says a good deal you’re trying to look out for him like this, but please, lose my number.”
“Blake—”
I hung up on him, and although I didn’t block Dair, I had no problem blocking his father.
My son is a wreck.
A wreck.
