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“Ow.” I glare at him, rubbing my wrist.
Gray winces. “Sorry. Are you okay?”
“Yeah.” But I’m not looking at my wrist.
My father is standing in the doorway, his dark brows forming a line over narrowed eyes. He’s in a suit, though it’s rumpled around the edges like he’s come here straight from the airport. I’d forgotten he was coming home today.
“Hey, Dad.” Shit. What he walked in on couldn’t have looked good.
“Ivy.” His tone is pissed. Pissed-Off Dad takes things slow and steady. Right before he blows.
Gray tucks his hands in his pockets, as if this will somehow convey innocence. I want to roll my eyes. We are innocent. But he’s not looking at me.
“Mackenzie. Hi.”
Dad raises one brow. “Want to tell me why you were on top of my daughter, Grayson?”
“Uh...”
Smooth, Gray. Really smooth.
“Dad, stop with the overprotective father act.”
“It’s not an act. I am an overprotective father, Ivy.”
I shove past both of them and head to the kitchen. “Do you want a beer?”
Dad grunts. “I could take a beer.”
Gray finally finds his voice. “So you just get back in town?”
“Yes. And not a moment too soon, it seems.” Dad’s glaring a hole into Gray’s forehead. “We have things to talk about, Grayson.”
“Yeah, sure.” Gray doesn’t recognize Dad’s I’m-going-to-give-you-a-lecture-from-hell tone, but I do.
“For now,” Dad says. “I need to discuss some things with Ivy.”
Great. Cue the needless lecture to me, as well.
“Right.” Gray nods. “I’m headed out anyway.”
I’m about to protest, but Gray edges toward his coat, keeping his gaze on my dad as if he’ll attack when his back is turned. I almost roll my eyes again, only I’m not so sure my dad won’t attack.
“See you tomorrow, Mac.” Gray gives me a look that I read well. Don’t argue with him. Just get it over with.
I’ll be good, I answer with my own look. At least I will until Gray is well and gone.
Chapter 8
Ivy
I’m waiting for the first strike. But Dad goes for my underbelly instead.
“You look good, kid.” My dad gives me a ghost of a smile. He’s pissed but trying to play nice. “Glad you’re here.”
He doesn’t say Glad you’re home. He never does. And I’ve never really noticed until now. It hits me; I have places to stay, but not a home. Our family is too transient for that.
Forcing a smile of my own, I give him my standard reply. “Glad to be here.”
