I nod, because anything else would make it worse.
“See?” He bends down to retrieve the bottle. “Now, let’s have a drink.”
“I—” I struggle to my feet and turn. “Get some?—”
Julien skids to a halt in the doorway, shoulders filling the frame, face carved from stone. Did he just arrive?
My father’s laugh turns vicious. “Look who’s here.”
“Dakota.” Julien’s eyes take me in. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” I say. “We were just talking.” His gaze drops to my cheek, and I turn my head to the other side. “It’s f?—”
He crosses the room in two strides, fisting my father by the front of his shirt and hauling him to his feet. The chair topples backward with a crash.
“If you touch her one more time, I swear to God?—”
“Don’t.” I grab his arm. “This isn’t helping anyone.”
My father doesn’t struggle in Julien’s grip. He just smiles that empty one that always precedes his cruelest moments. “Go ahead, boy. Show her what kind of man you really are. Show her you’re just like me.”
The words land, Julien’s knuckles whitening around the fabric of my father’s shirt.
“Please,” I say. “ Let him go.”
Julien’s jaw works, muscles jumping beneath his skin. Then, with visible effort, he releases my father, who slumps back against the table.
“Next time,” Julien says, voice deadly soft, “I won’t stop.”
My father straightens his shirt, reaching for the bottle with deliberate slowness. “She’s not worth the trouble.”
“Say that again,” Julien says.
“She—”
“Stop it!” I wedge myself between them, forcing Julien to risk hurting me too. “He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying. Trust me, he’ll be fine in a few hours.”
Julien’s eyes snap to mine. “This happens regularly?”
My father snorts. “She’s being dramatic.”
“I’m not talking to you.” Julien’s eyes stay on my face. “Dakota?”
Suddenly, the kitchen feels too small, air thinning as both men stare at me. One with blank indifference, the other with an intensity that makes my skin prickle.
“You should go check on Amelia,” I say. “She?—”
“Answer the fucking question.” Julien steps closer, voice dropping. “Does this happen regularly?”
“No.” Can’t he just let it go?
His gaze drifts to my ribcage. “Those weren’t from stairs, were they?”
My father laughs, the sound hollow. “Always playing victim when it suits her. What lies did she tell you?” He takes another swig from the bottle. “Did she?—”
“We’re done here.” I grasp Julien’s wrist and yank him toward the door. “Please.”
He resists, murder written in every line of his body.
