DARE-TO-LOVE-TRUTH-AND-DARE-DUET-COLLECTION-by-Lylah-James-pdfarchive

She reminded me of why I was here, made me think of
my parents when I was so hell bent on forgetting their
existence.
Daddy dearest caught me smoking today, lounging on
the couch and watching TV. He walked in with his business
associate. Oh, he knew I smoked, except he never cared.
But Brad Coulter didn’t want me to set a bad example in
front of his business partners; his image had always been
more important than my health.
“You don’t smoke in my house,” he hissed in my face,
taking a threatening step toward me. There was a time
when my father was taller and bigger than me. He used to
be intimidating, and his words were law in our house. But
that time was long gone.
Now, I was bigger… taller… meaner.
He didn’t scare me.
Now, he just pissed me off more often than not.
“I’ve been smoking since I was thirteen. Never knew we
had a rule. You didn’t seem to care before, father.”
His lips curled up in disgust, and I felt it. I fucking felt it
– his anger, his disappointment, his revulsion. My hands
clenched into fists, and I exhaled through my nose. At a
young age, I had quickly learned how to mask my emotions
until I became a solid wall of nothingness. You’d cut me
open, and you’d find something hollow inside.
“I constantly question if you really are my son.”
When I was seven years old, my heart had frozen in my
chest. But his words, to this day, could still burn me like
acid in my veins. My father held an arrow in his hand, the
tip of it aflame, and it was aimed right at my chest – my
goddamn heart was his target.
“Nah. I’m definitely your son. You’re an asshole, I’m an
asshole. It runs in our blood.”
His blue eyes – the same as mine, darkened and his face
was vicious.