And that old rage?
It surges higher.
“You don’t grab kids hard enough to leave bruises,” I say.
The man scoffs. “Mind your own business.”
I step closer before I can stop myself.
Suddenly, my skin feels too tight, and my chest feels full of broken glass, and all I can think about is someone should’ve stopped my father, too.
Someone should’ve fucking done something.
“Daltyn.” Ford’s voice comes from behind me.
I barely hear him.
The man notices the other players approaching and shifts uncomfortably.
Connor steps up beside Ford, his usual grin completely gone. “What’s going on?”
“Nothing,” the father says quickly.
Bullshit.
Ethan’s eyes dart toward me again.
And then, he takes one tiny step sideways, closer to me.
The movement nearly stops my heart.
Abused kids know exactly what safety looks like. Even when they’ve barely experienced it.
Behind Ford and Connor, I spot Peyton moving toward us.
Her eyes lock on mine. Concern flashes across her face.
And suddenly I become horribly aware of myself.
My clenched fists. My rapid breathing. The rage burning just under my skin.
Don’t scare her.The thought cuts through the fury hard enough to ground me slightly.
I exhale slowly through my nose.
The father grips Ethan’s shoulder again. “We’re leaving.”
Ethan flinches again.
Jesus Christ.
Every instinct inside me screams not to let them walk away.
But before I can move, one of the event coordinators rushes over nervously. “Everything okay over here?”
The father forces another fake smile. “Fine.”
Coward.
