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“Leave now or something worse is going to happen,” I say, my voice flat and cold. “And I promise you’ll like it even less than that little tap I just gave you.”
His eyes are wide and shimmering with tears he’s struggling to keep from falling. Truth be told, I’m as surprised that I slapped him as he looks to be, but I feel like it made my point. I don’t like resorting to violence. And I really don’t like the fact that I slapped my kid, but he needs to learn some fucking respect.
“Listen, I’m sorry you’re upset, Micah. But you have no right to be,” I tell him. “And you sure as shit don’t have a right to speak to me or Harlow that way. Whatever existed between you two ended a long time ago. It’s time you grow the fuck up.”
“Gee, thanks for the advice, Dad,” he says, his eyes narrowing and his voice dripping with scorn. He slaps at my hands. “Get the fuck off me.”
“It’s time for you to go,” I tell him and let go of his shirt. “And I don’t want you coming back here until you learn to speak to us with some fucking respect. You hear me?”
“Yeah, no problem.”
Muttering to himself darkly, Micah storms out of my place, slamming the door so hard behind him the windows rattle in their frames. I turn to Harlow, who still has the sheet pulled up to her chin. Her eyes are red, and tears are spilling down her cheeks. She looks at me with a look of absolute sorrow on her face. Her lips quiver, and she shakes her head.
“Some things never change. It’s just like it was back when we were dating,” she says, her voice a trembling whisper. “I’m so sorry.”
With just one sentence, I get an idea of what her relationship with my son was like. Why she finally had enough and walked away from him. It sends a sharp jab of pain through me when I think about her having to live that way. More than that, I’m impressed by the strength it must have taken to walk away. She’s stronger than I think even she realizes.
“You have nothing to be sorry about. I do,” I tell her. “I’m sorry he spoke to you that way. I’m sorry he treated you that way when you were together. I … I didn’t know.”
“Nobody did. I didn’t want anybody to.”
I don’t like the way knowing she was so badly treated makes me feel. It hurts my heart for her. She should have never been made to feel like she was less than, or that she wasn’t worth being treated well. Wasn’t worth being honored. Cherished. Held up and put on a pedestal and treated like the queen she is. She’s worth that and more.
“I can promise you that you will never be spoken to like that or treated less than you’re worthy again, Harlow,” I tell her. “Not while I’m around.”
She raises her gaze to mine, her eyes still watering. This time, though, it’s not fear in her eyes. It’s something more intimate. It’s something that seems a lot like love. And I hope she can see the same reflected in mine.
12
HARLOW
It’s been a few days since the scene with Micah at Hunter’s place, and I can tell it’s still bothering him. A lot. He’s distracted. But worse than that, he’s angry. He’s doing his best to hide it, but I can see through him. I not only feel terrible for him, but I feel completely powerless to do anything about it. I hate that he’s hurting, and I can’t help. I can’t take away the pain of having fought his son.
Perhaps the thing I feel worst about, though, is that I feel responsible for it all. Hunter only fought with Micah because of me. He was defending me.
I’ve thought about it incessantly for the last few days. To be fair, Hunter hasn’t been the only one who’s been distracted by what happened the other day. I haven’t been able to think about much else but that. Seeing him and his son get into it, not just verbally but physically, is one of the most terrible things I’ve ever seen. And I can’t help but think that if I wasn’t in the picture, none of that would have ever happened. Their relationship wouldn’t be damaged—perhaps even damaged beyond repair.
“Are you okay?”
Hunter’s voice pulls me out of my head, and I focus on him sitting across the table from me. After my shift at the hospital, Hunter took me out for a nice dinner. We’re sitting in a cute little Italian place with great food and wine, and an amazing atmosphere. It’s been a nice evening overall, but I can see the strain the situation with Micah is putting on him. And I’m not sure it’s going to get any better until they talk it out.
Hunter says it’s on Micah to make the first move if he wants to repair their relationship. But knowing Micah like I do, there’s a better chance of Hell getting an expansion hockey team than there is that he actually does try to fix what he broke.
Micah seems to have inherited his stubbornness and obstinate nature from his father. They’re more alike than either of them would care to admit. But Hunter is right about one thing—Micah has a lot of growing up to do yet.
“Harlow?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” I say. “I’m fine.”
“I can see you’re not. What’s going on?”
I put my fork down and sigh as I raise my eyes to him again. “I can’t stop thinking about you and Micah. Thinking about the fight the other day…”
He shakes his head as my voice tapers off. “It’s not worth thinking about. Micah was in the wrong. Way in the wrong. And the sooner he realizes it, the better.”
“And if he doesn’t come to realize that?”
Hunter shrugs. “I don’t know. I haven’t thought that far ahead yet. But I’m sure he’s going to calm down and realize he was being an asshole. I’m sure once that happens, he’ll come back around and apologize.”
