Page 233 of Severed Heart

“Annnnd, that’s my cue to leave,” Russell chuckles.

“Thanks for the heads-up, and for bringing him home,” I say.

“No problem, but damn does he have a set of balls on him,” Russell muses.

“Which haven’t yet fucking dropped,” I counter, knowing Zach can hear us.

“I’ll drop it off in the barn. Text you later, man,” Russell says before getting back into the tow truck. The sight of my mangled hood as he drives away brings actual stinging fucking tears to my eyes before I shift my gaze to scan Zach.

“Okay. You meant to hurt me, and I’m hurt, so mission accomplished, but you could have fucking killed yourself, kid. You can barely reach the fucking pedals, which is no doubt why you wrecked. What in the hell were you thinking?”

He stands mute, which is infuriating. The only thing I’m thankful for is that there’s no real fear in him. Maybe not enough.

“What is going on with you?” I ask. “I thought we were good.”

“I’ll pay for it,” he offers dryly.

“That’s a given. You’ll be working it off with double your chores and no Ranger for six months.”

His mouth pops open. “You can’t do that.”

“Want to make it a year? You’re delusional. You’re thirteen years old and drove my fucking classic forty minutes across town.”

“I was just riding,” he says in shit excuse. I cross my arms as he shakes his head. “Whatever.”

“Tell me what’s going on,” I say. Tell me why you’re so pissed at me.”

“I’m not.”

“And I’m a ballet dancer,” I utter dryly. “You can go all night bullshitting me, and I can play along, or you can simplify this for us both.”

“You didn’t let me say goodbye,” he snaps. “You didn’t let me say shit!”

I manage to stave off my flinch. “I apologized for that.”

“Fuck your apology,” he snaps. “You don’t get to apologize for things like that.”

“Watch your mouth,” I warn, palming my neck. “You need to back it up and speak to me with respect, right now.”

“Fine, sorry.”

“Sorry what?”

“Oh, fuck this,sorry, sir.” He stalks off. I’m instantly on his heels as he continually spouts off, “You’re not my dad... I don’t know why in the hell I’m here.”

“I told you why,” I counter, undeterred, “because I want you here, and I asked you to stay.”

“Because your girlfriend died,” he tosses over his shoulder, the blow landing as intended.

“Please don’t go there, not that low,” I utter hoarsely. At my tone, he stops and turns to me, his eyes watering as mine threaten to follow. “I did what I thought was best, and I’m sorry.”

“You could have let me talk to her on the phone,” he condemns, tears falling. The pain still fresh for us both. Her funeral barely a month ago.

“I’m sorry. I am,” I offer hoarsely, my eyes filling at the utter devastation in his face. “I could have, should have put you on with her, but I was running out of time. I was so fucking sad, Zach, and maybe it was selfish, but she didn’t want you there. She didn’t want you to see her go. But she loved you. I miss her too. Every fucking day. So much.”

“It isn’t your job to protect me. You’re not my father,” he repeats.

“Yeah, you keep saying that.” I swallow.