He doesn’t speak. I watch as his jaw ticks and his eyes grow harder.
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t, um … have those kind of feelings for me,” I hedge.
“I told you not to insult me.”
“Right.” I sigh, dropping my head and looking down at my booted feet. “Are you saying you don’t have an issue with your twenty, almost twenty-one-year-old daughter crushing on a man who is almost thirty?”
“Didn’t say that, did I?” he growls at me. He uncrosses his arms and steps up until he’s in my face, and I brace, thinking he’s changed his mind about that ass kicking. “What I said was my little girl’s happiness means more to me than kicking your ass. Seeing her smile is the reason I fucking live, so when I see the reason for her smile runs hand in hand with her feelings toward you, I’m willing to put my own feelings aside, for now, to get that back on her face where it belongs.”
“I respect you there, Maddox, I do, but what I’m asking you isn’t about her smile.”
“You want my little girl.”
His response is enough to shock me stupid. The venom in his voice says enough. He knows my ‘want’ is a fucking lot more complicated than that. I fucking crave her.
“I’m going to ask you again because I would really like to not have any surprises here. You do understand what you’re saying … right?”
Again, he doesn’t talk. His eyes don’t even blink as he continues to level me with those black orbs of intimidation.
“I’ve been in love with her since before it was legal to feel that way,” I tell him honestly, voicing my feelings for her for the first time out loud.
One eye twitches, and on the opposite side of his face, I see his jaw tick.
“She hates me.”
That gets him, and he steps up until we’re chest to chest. “She doesn’t hate you, you clueless fuck. She’s hurt because you fucked up major. That’s my baby girl, so I really don’t like talking about this shit, but she’s a woman and I’m not stupid. Remember. Think really fucking hard, Nate, and remember your sister’s reception. Fix this shit and bring back that smile, but I warn you … the next time you call my daughter babe, you’re going to know how she felt that night before she ran off and her smile died.”
What. The. Fuck.
No. That’s not possible.
My breath stills in my throat when his implication hits the mark. Vivid images of that night—that dream night—hit my brain, only this time I know the same thing that’s kept me up night after night has also been keeping her up, but for different reasons.
And as if that wasn’t enough, I know now that her very overprotective father knows I fucked his baby girl without realizing whom I had in my arms.
“Oh fuck,” I grumble.
“Yeah, oh fuck is right. You fix this and me and you … we aren’t done with this shit,” he tells me with another intimidating look before turning and walking back into my parents’ house.
PLACING THE LAST BRUSH BACK in its designated drawer, I look over at the sunrise landscape that I had been working on for the last two days. I study it with a critical eye and a deep exhale.
It’s beautiful, stunning even, but looking at it just causes me to feel nothing but sadness when it should inflict the exact opposite.
I started with the tall maple trees lining each side of the canvas and the center focusing on the rising sun. The sun is and should be the spotlight, but for me, the grassy field that takes up the whole bottom half is. The sun’s rays hitting the empty field cast an entrancing effect, as each blade appears to be glowing.
I’ve always had a talent at making my work look as if it was a picture rather than a painting, and this one is no different. My fingers itch to reach out and see if I could feel the light sheen of dew covering the valley between the trees.
The bright green blades look just like Nate Reid’s eyes.
I know exactly why I escaped to my art after the family dinner two nights ago. Painting has always been the only thing, other than being near him, that made me feel like I was complete. An outlet that I can channel to express the feelings I never know how to separate in my jumbled