My eyes stay on the ground, trying to drown out the rage-filled man standing next to me. “Emerson owns the club,” I say delicately. I wish she and I could have this conversation alone. I hate myself for waiting this long. My mom is understanding; she wouldn’t have cared if I could have just told her everything before he found out.
“Oh, Charlie…” she says, lowering her head and rubbing her forehead.
“But I never sold myself,” I bite back, this time directing my frustration at him.
“Bullshit!” he yells.
“Let her talk, Jimmy. She’s an adult—"
“A guy I work with saw you, Charlie! He saw you there three times. He said you got up on stage, in some auction, and sold yourself!”
The dark, scrutinizing eyes of the man I saw last night come back in my mind. I knew I had seen that man somewhere, and now I can see it all so clearly. I had met him when I was younger, and I knew he worked at my dad’s law firm. I wince, thinking about him seeing me on that stage in almost nothing, being carted off by Emerson, in the voyeur room last night with Eden. I groan at the memory.
“That man who won was my boyfriend,” I reply, forcing myself to keep my shoulders up and not cower in shame. Over and over in my mind, I just keep chanting: I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong. I didn’t do anything wrong.
“Oh, your boyfriend,” my dad replies. “I heard all about him too. Emerson Grant.” It’s the way he emphasizes his last name that I know what he’s about to imply. “Beau’s dad, Charlie?”
“Oh, Jimmy, will you leave her alone? She’s an adult. You can’t just come here and—”
He holds up a hand, pressing it right in her face to silence her, and a feeling of red-hot rage flows through me.
“You have no fucking say anymore, Gwen. I never should have left them with you. Look how you’ve fucked them both up. First, it was…” He waves his hand toward the house, and I know he’s about to bring Sophie into this. He’s about to dead name my little sister, and everything in me wants to explode with anger.
“Don’t you dare bring her into this,” my mother snaps, stopping him before he even has a chance. “You lost that chance when you abandoned her.”
When she tries to shove his hand away from her face, he pushes her backward, and I snap. My dad has never been violent with me or my mom, but he’s always dominated the conversation. He constantly silenced her or talked down to her, and right now, the sight of him shoving her away like her voice means nothing has me seeing red.
“Don’t touch her!” I scream, trying to force my way between them. But my mother is fighting back too, and he’s too busy screaming at her around me that he doesn’t seem to care that I’m trying to stop him.
The scuffle between us intensifies quickly. I distantly recognize the sound of more voices from afar, two car doors closing. But I have tunnel vision, focusing solely on getting my dad as far away from my mother as I can. There’s so much yelling, though, him shouting at my mother, her screaming back at him.
Suddenly, I can’t even believe what my eyes are seeing as two large, broad hands grab my father by the collar and throw him hard against the wall of the guest house.
I must be hallucinating because Emerson has his face in my father’s, snarling at him like an angry animal. “Touch either of them again, and I’ll fucking bury you.”
“Emerson!” I scream.
“Emerson?” my dad echoes in surprise. “You’re the asshole fucking my daughter?”
My hand covers my mouth, and I glance toward the house again to make sure Sophie isn’t around to hear this.
My mother grabs my hand, pulling me away, and I feel the way she’s trembling. But I can’t take my eyes off of Emerson, the anger and hatred dripping from his expression and the tone in his voice.
He looks unhinged as his brow furrows even more. “Watch your mouth, you piece of shit.”
“You make me sick,” my dad snaps.
“Both of you, stop!” I scream, coming toward them.
“Stay away from him, Charlie. Call the police,” my dad snarls, but Emerson shoves him back up against the wall.
“Please, stop,” I beg, wrapping a hand around Emerson’s arm. When he glances down at me, there’s a hint of softness in his eyes. And he seems to struggle with his next breath as he lets out a heavy sigh. Carefully, he pulls his hands away from my dad’s shirt and backs away. The moment is wrought with tension as the two men stare daggers at each other.