Bad Boy Ink (Get Ink'd #5) - Ali Lyda Page 0,25
was quickly confirmed when Aiden said crisply, “You would think that, wouldn’t you, Dad?”
8
Aiden
Of course my father was here. As soon as Bryce had pointed out the bistro, my heart had twisted into a cool stone lump in my chest because it was one of my parents’ frequent haunts. Or at least, it had been a few years ago when I still was part of their lives. Still, I had allowed myself to hope as we went in that they wouldn’t be there.
Things had been going so well, too. Which probably surprised Bryce as much as it did me. But we were so engaged in the conversation and trying to crack the case that I had forgotten that I was supposed to be annoyed and cynical and grumpy.
And between decrypting the data and discussing it with Bryce, I’d allowed myself to get so into the case that I had stopped scanning the tables for the patrons coming in.
But I had felt my father's terrible energy, the crackle in the air before lightning struck, as soon as he approached our table. I had managed to avoid my parents since they kicked me out when I was eighteen, putting a hefty check in my hand and then shutting the door as soon as I'd made my way out.
Now Bryce was gawking at me while my father stared, his scrutinizing gaze both familiar and making my skin crawl.
“You look healthy enough,” my father snipped in his carefully cultivated upper-crust accent, “but you could use a haircut and a shave. You may be on your own, but you still carry the Porter name. Despite not being in the proper circles, I'd have thought you'd want to carry yourself with at least a smidge of class.”
I prided myself on having walls that were thick to the point of being impenetrable, strengthened by years of shouldering my parents’ disappointment. Boarding school, with all its teasing and pressure and stone walls and rules, had taught me how important it was to present a straight face. And dating sugar daddies had solidified my ability to keep my temper in check.
Yet my father always seemed to find the one loose stone. He could knock through my armor with just a look. And his words were like acid that he poured inside, corroding and weakening all of my walls.
He'd been the one to officially kick me out. It had been his decision to forgo putting more effort into me if I wasn't going to bend over and do exactly as he wanted. My mother, who had never been my greatest champion, hadn’t even attempted to be my defender. Oh, sure, she watched with sad eyes as I packed my bags and headed out. But she chose my father's side, and she didn't say a damn thing when he kicked out his only son.
“It doesn't matter how I look or how I carry myself—the minute you kicked me out, you lost the privilege of invoking the family name to get what you want.” Anger rose up in my belly, liquid and molten. “You don't get to treat your son like trash, throwing him to the curb, and then pretend you get an opinion about how he lives his life.”
This last part I made sure to say loudly. If a restaurant was a favorite of my parents, it wasn't just because the food was good, but because they would be seen there by people they held in high esteem. So let those people hear how this man treated his only son. I wanted them to see him for what he really was: a cold, calculating monster.
“Lower your voice,” my father hissed, leaning in toward me. It was too late; my anger had a hold on my tongue, ready to lash out again, but Bryce spoke up first.
“I'm sorry, sir.” He held out his hands in an apologetic fashion, which only added fuel to my fire. I couldn't believe that Bryce was going to try to suck up to my father. “We’re discussing a project for school, and you're right, we've been too loud. But kindly back the fuck off from telling a grown man to ‘present himself with class’.”
I felt the pressure of the stares from every table in the restaurant glued to us. Everyone was watching, waiting to see the drama unfurl. I was sure that at any moment the waiter or the owner would come out and ask us to leave.
My father's shoulders were stiff and the scowl on his