Page 10 of Playing Dirty

Which is why, despite my desire to defend Mom, I let out a relenting sigh.

“Look, maybe we just need to…start over, all right? We’re family now, so—”

The rest of my thoughts die on my lips when Theo barks out a laugh, one laced with bitterness and venom, only to snarl, “You’re not my family. You and your mom? You’re nothing more than fucking strangers.”

As if I couldn’t say the same thing about his father and him. But at least I’m trying here, putting in the effort to make this work. For their sake.

“That might be the case right now, but we’re not going anywhere.”

Another sharp laugh leaves him, and he shakes his head before motioning toward the stairs. To where our parents are.

“If you think that’s going to last, you’re even more delusional thanthem,MadDog.”

I may as well be arguing with a brick wall, he’s so hard-headed and stubborn. Any effort I make for peace is in vain at this point, and I’m aware we’ll only spend the night arguing ourselves in circles. But that doesn’t stop me from throwing back a spirited little jab either.

“Whatever you say,Teddy Bear.”

His nostrils flare, the sage of his eyes now lit aflame. “Don’t fucking call me that.”

Ah, so he can dish it, but he can’t take it.

I can’t help but smirk from the irony that Theo is acting like nothing short of a grizzly right now; there’s nothing cute or cuddly about him. No doubt he’d love to run me down and rip my throat out too.

“Sure. Right after you stop being a dick and start accepting—”

“Nah, I won’t be accepting a damn thing,” he cuts in, a deadly edge to his tone. “You see, whatever this…midlife crisis is, it won’t last. He’ll grow tired of being a sugar daddy to a woman fifteen years younger than him, and he’ll throw this marriage away too.” He lets out a scoff and rolls his eyes. “I just hope he was smart enough to get a prenup.”

The insinuations he’s making set my blood to a boil.

I’ve been talked down to most of my life, having been viewed as the trash kid with the junkie, deadbeat dad and the mom who “wasn’t smart enough” to not get pregnant in high school. Even when I proved, time and time again, to be more than the circumstances I was born from, there was always someone trying to shove me back into that little box.

So I learned to take it—the criticisms, the bashing, all the negative bullshit spewed my way—and let it slide off my back.

But speaking of my mother like she’s some gold digger trying to sink her claws into his dad? Nah. That’s when the gloves come off and shit gets real.

Keeping my voice low and even, I lay into him without holding back. “You know nothing about my mother or her relationship with your dad. How could you, when you haven’t been around enough to see it? If you were, or if you’d open your fucking eyes to what’s right in front of you, you’d know how happy the two of them are. But instead, you’re too busy throwing temper tantrums to get daddy’s attention.”

“Yeah, well, at least mine decided to stick around to do the job. Which is more than can be said for yours, apparently.”

I gape at him, floored by the words that just left his mouth. Bringing my father into this is a low blow, one I wasn’t anticipating, and it’s a gut-punch to my system, momentarily stealing my ability to think.

Then again, that was likely what he intended: a final attack to make the enemy submit to defeat. I don’t have to be the enemy, though. He’s just hell-bent on making me one.

“The two of us were getting by just fine before your dad came into the picture,” I mutter, my voice nothing more than a whisper now.

“‘Getting by,’” he echoes, something of a sneer pulling his lips back. “You’re not making your case any better.”

God, I’ve never met anyone as volatile as him. And he’s like this for no reason.

The people he’s making me and my mom out to be? They don’t exist. They’re a figment of his imagination, drawn up as nothing more than a scapegoat to blame for his life falling apart while he was helpless to stop it.

But I think the saddest part of all this is that he really, truly believes the shit he’s spewing.

Doesn’t mean I have to stand here and listen to it.

“If you’re gonna be a piece of shit, go do it on someone else’s time,” I snap, taking a step toward my room. Our shoulders brush as I duck aroundhim, and my hair stands on end, feeling his gaze on me the whole time. It stays there, fixed on my back, but I don’t turn around—don’t look at him—even when I finally find the words to say, “And for the record, my father’s dead.”

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