“Fuck you, Dad.”
The words were out before Grayson could stop them—not that he tried. Oh, hell no. He was too pissed to see straight, and after everything that had happened that day, he was just done. “You and I both know it was your work that killed Mom, not the other way around.” He ignored his father’s flinch. “I don’t need you coming in here and shoving your fucked-up guilt in my face.”
For a moment, his father’s mask slipped, revealing the scar honed by the pitiless claws of regret and heartache. Then he blinked, and it was gone. “That’s not what I’m doing.”
“Isn’t it?” Grayson didn’t give him a chance to respond. He’d heard it all before. Instead, he stuck to the important stuff. “Why the hell is Burton calling you, anyway?”
Dylan rested a hand on the back of the barstool. “He’s a friend. He called—asked if I was in town and wanted to get together for dinner at some point. I agreed, and then he mentioned running into you and where. Imagine my surprise when he shared you were with the oldest Ambrose.”
“Alcmene,” Grayson corrected.
“Excuse me?”
“Cass prefers Alcmene over Ambrose.”
“Cass, is it?” He looked at the bedroom then back at Grayson. “Just how serious is this?”
“Again, none of your business.”
Dylan threw up his hands in frustration. “That’s where you’re wrong. Not only is my son walking into a pit of vipers, but based on this”—he motioned to the books—“you’re sliding back into shady shit, and you think I’m going to ignore it?”
Grayson ignored the whispered echo of guilt that had been birthed years earlier. “It’s what you do best, isn’t it?” he drawled.
Hurt flashed over Dylan’s face, but his spine snapped straight as he pinned his son with a narrow-eyed glare. “Are you serious with that?”
“Yeah, Dad, I am.” Realizing he couldn’t hear the shower anymore, Grayson decided it was time to move the old man along. He dropped his arms, stalked to his father, and lowered his voice. “You shared your opinion, for what it’s worth. Now, leave.”
“No,” Dylan shot back. “Not until—” He broke off as the bedroom door opened, and the unmistakable tension swirling between them leveled up.
Grayson turned his head to see Cass in the doorway, her wet hair in a sloppy bun, wearing one of his shirts and her leggings. She adjusted her glasses and turned her attention to Dylan. Whatever she saw there made her stiffen, drop her hand, and angle her chin warily.
“Is everything okay out here?” she asked.
He shot his father a dark look of warning. Then he went to Cass and set his hands on her hips. “It’s fine.”
“Liar,” she said softly, holding his gaze. “Introduce me?”
He ground his teeth. That was the last damn thing he wanted to do.
Her fingers brushed along his clenched jaw as if willing away the tension. “Please.”
Unable to deny her, he relented with a terse nod. He turned, keeping her close to his side. “Cass, this my father, Dylan Beck.”
“Hi.” Whether it was because Grayson kept his arm around her waist to hold her back or because his dad was glaring at her, Cass didn’t offer her hand but gave a small wave.
“Evening.” At least the old man was polite enough to offer a tight nod. Unfortunately, he couldn’t have been more obvious about the fact that he didn’t welcome Cass’s presence.
“I’ll just grab my tea and leave you two alone,” Cass said uncomfortably.
Grayson felt his temper start to boil over. She started to move to the kitchen, but Grayson tightened his hold in silent demand, and she stilled. He glared at his father. “He was just leaving. Right, Dad?” he said coldly.
A flare of frustration washed through Dylan’s face as he glared right back. “I guess I am, but this conversation isn’t finished.”
Grayson curled his lip, not in a smile but in warning. “Yes, it is.”
For a long moment, the two stared at each, but Grayson knew he wouldn’t blink first. Sure enough, it was Dylan who turned and gave Cass something close to a polite smile. “Apologies on dropping in so late. I’ll leave you two to it and see myself out.” He turned and strode out.
Grayson stared after his father, the caustic feelings of old resentment and anger settling into worn grooves, and wondered when watching the man walk away would no longer matter. The door closed with a deafening snick that echoed through the tense quiet.
