This led to his tone being hard and tight, and his affect being mildly terrifying (and it was only mildly because his fury was not aimed at me) when he demanded, “So…explain. Tell us why ye put us through this. Why ye broke Mum’s heart. Find those words, Dad. We’re waiting to hear them.”
Bally swallowed and then started, “A man?—”
And with that, not that he had that firm of a hold on it, Dair lost it.
Entirely.
Spiking toward his father, he shouted, “Fuck that! Bloody fuck that fucking shite!”
“Step back, son,” Bally said in a shaky voice.
Dair did not step back.
“All my fucking life, you’ve drilled into me, the last thing ye wanted me to be was a weak man.” He reared back only to thump his chest like a caveman. “Real men hunt. Real men dress their own game. Real men play rugby, not football. Real men have a natural seat on a horse. Real men belch after a good meal as a compliment to the chef and can drink their weight in whisky.” He got in his dad’s face again and continued, “Real men provide. Real men protect. Real men gather as much pussy as they can before they find the one, but when they do, they cherish her. Did ye cherish Mum while ye were fucking Helena, Dad? Is that what ye were doing?”
“I-I’ve disappointed you.” Bally turned to look at Kenna and Davina. “I’ve disappointed you all.”
“Did ye aye, Dad,” Davi sneered.
“I think perhaps, at this time, you might wish to take your leave, Bally,” Kenna suggested.
“We’ll talk,” Bally said quickly. “When we’re all home, as a family, once it’s not as fresh, we’ll talk.”
“It isn’t fresh, Dad. You’ve been doing her for decades,” Davi said. “We’re all just tired of pretending we dinnae think you’re an arsehole for doing it.”
Bally took that hit and looked wretched.
I didn’t feel bad for him.
In fact, I thought every man who broke a woman’s heart and shattered a family should have to go through much the same thing.
“Blake—” Bally started, his attention coming to me, and I tensed.
But then Dair was blocking his view of me and growling, “Dinnae even fuckin’ look at her.”
Good Lord.
My belly warmed again as my gaze pinged from Kenna (who was studying her lovely flats, but her mouth was curved up) to Davina, who was openly grinning as she examined her fingernails.
Okay, okay, okay.
Seriously!
What was happening?
“Bolt,” Dair grunted to his father.
“I understand why you’re upset with me, Alasdair,” Bally said quietly. “It guts me I did that to ye. To all of ye.”
“Stop fucking havering,” Dair gritted. “And bolt.”
There were several very tense moments before movement resumed at the door. I couldn’t see much with Dair’s big body in the way. Though I did see the door open, I heard the wheels on a bag wheeling, and the door shut.
For good measure, but unnecessarily, Dair slapped the security latch closed before he stalked back to the couch and threw himself on it.
I would have bounced, but he was sitting so close to me, he was nigh on sitting on me, so he kept me in place.
Whereupon he muttered to himself many words, only a few of which I caught, and they included “bawbag,” “arsepiece,” and “fuckin’ walloper.” Although I could put two and two together and understand what those words meant (loosely), it gave me the impression he was curbing his Scottish considerably while talking with me. Seemed they all were, which was kind of sweet.
