“And it means nothing.”
His eyes flash.
“I’m not a kid anymore,” I go on. “You don’t get to loom over me like you matter. You don’t.”
“I’m your father?—”
“Don’t.”
The word comes out like a warning.
But he keeps going.
“I said, I’m your father. That’s my blood in your veins?—”
Big mistake.
“Don’t call yourself that,” I growl, stepping right into him now. “You wanna talk facts? Let’s talk facts. You knocked up a teenage girl working your ranch, then you walked away like she was nothing. Left her alone. Pregnant. Struggling.”
My chest is heaving now, years of this shit boiling up and over.
“You might be my sperm donor,” I snap, “but you sure as hell aren’t my father.”
Silence hits.
Heavy.
Charged.
Then he laughs.
Actually laughs.
“Careful, boy,” he says, shaking his head. “You and your little operation might think you’ve got something going, but my connections are bigger. My reach is longer. You’re gonna want my help.”
I bark out a harsh laugh.
“Your help?” I shake my head slow. “Are you fucking delusional? I didn’t want anything from you when I was a kid, and I sure as hell don’t want anything from you now.”
I jab a finger toward his chest.
“You don’t get a say in my life, Ace. Not then. Not now. Not ever.”
His jaw tightens.
Good.
Let him feel it.
“I get it,” he says after a beat, voice turning patronizing. “You’re trying to impress that little lady over there. Puff your chest out, play the tough guy. But you don’t understand how this world works?—”
“No,” I cut him off, stepping in again, voice dropping low and lethal. “You don’t understand.”
Something in my tone makes him pause.
Good.
“Interfering with my business?” I continue. “That’s bad for your health, old man.”
