He eyes me warily, his gaze drifting to the scar on my head. “Is my son here?”
I shake my head. “He’s at training.”
He frowns. “Doesn’t he have a game tomorrow?”
“They have a light session.”
“Can I come in?”
I contemplate slamming the door in his face. My head is still pounding, the medication not having fully kicked in yet, and the last thing I want to do is make small talk with Noah’s arsehole father. I clench my jaw, but step aside for him to enter.
I shoot a quick text to Noah before following his dad into the living room. Crossing my arms over my chest, I stare him down. “If you’re here to threaten me and Noah, it won’t work. I know what you did to Nathan, and I’m not scared of you.”
The man doesn’t flinch. “I’m here to talk to my son.”
“And if he’s not ready to talk to you?” I arch a brow. “It’s a long way to come if he doesn’t want to see you. Maybe you should’ve called first.”
“I don’t think that’s any of your business.”
“With all due respect,” I say in a tone that lets him know I don’t respect him at all, “I’m not about to let you do or say anything that hurts Noah.”
He studies me. “What about you?”
“What about me?”
“What about what you’re doing to hurt his future?”
I shake my head with a humourless laugh. “You’re unbelievable.”
He shrugs. “At least he and Hannah made sense. With Hannah’s family connections, he’ll make a name for himself in the oil industry.”
“When are you going to get it?” I grit out. “Do youreally think controlling his life and making him miserable is protecting his future?”
His eyes widen at my outburst, but I’m not done.
“He’s been dealing with so much trauma over what you did to him and Nathan, and he’s finally moving on from that. He doesn’t deserve to feel like he’s broken because of who he loves.”
For a moment, I think I might be getting through to him, but then he lets out a derisive scoff. “I know my son. Noah knows his responsibilities to his family. He’ll do what he’s told.”
“No, I won’t.”
My head snaps to where Noah’s appeared in the entryway. His hair’s damp with sweat and he’s still wearing his training gear.
“What are you doing here, Dad?”
“We need to talk.” Carl looks at me pointedly. “Alone.”
Noah shakes his head and moves to my side. “Say whatever you’ve got to say. The quicker you talk, the quicker you leave.”
“Show some respect,” his father snaps.
“I will when you do.” Noah reaches for my hand, and I grip it tight, letting him know I’m here for him, no matter what happens. “You don’t get to come into my home and make demands of me.”
Carl narrows his eyes. “You have three months to get all of this out of your system, son. Then you’re coming home.”
Noah stiffens. “No, I’m not.”
“You’ll return home, or you’ll be cut off.”
