It took a moment for Bally to answer, and when he did, he just jutted his chin.
Proof.
Dad totally had it going on.
He also took this as an affirmative and escorted Kenna away.
“Ye can give me the rental keys, Dair,” Bally said to his son.
“Ye can fuck off and walk for all I care,” Dair returned.
I got close to him and said, “I can drive you and Davina wherever you want to go.”
Or, at least, give me an hour or two to drink loads of water and sober up and then I could do that.
Alternately, I’d put them in one of the cars Dad had ordered to take drunk people home.
A muscle was leaping in his cheek when he looked down at me.
But I saw the pain in his eyes.
God, this was such a mess.
He then dug into his trouser pocket and pulled out a fob.
He tossed it to his father.
He looked down at me again. “Go, darling. Order me a whisky. A big one. I’ll see them to their car.”
“I…don’t want to leave you,” I whispered, no clue why, but what I said was the truth.
His eyes flashed, his face got soft (damn, that looked good on him), and he said, “I need a whisky more than ye helping me with this chore.”
“Okay.”
Oof!
I was still whispering.
And obeying.
He tipped his head toward the pergola.
I nodded and started to move away.
“I will not soon forget you struck me, Blake Charlotte,” Mum threatened.
I turned to her. “And I will not forget the lifetime of your neglect punctuated by casual cruelty. Not what you aimed at me. Not what you aimed at Dad. Not what you aimed at Alex, including tonight, pulling this stunt at her wedding. You should be ashamed of yourself, and the worst part, the one that hurts the most, is that you won’t be because you don’t have even a thread of the moral fiber that would tell you, you should.”
Mum just stared daggers at me.
“Go, lass,” Dair urged.
I glared at my mother one last time.
She glared right back.
I was not proud of the red welt on her face delivered by my hand.
