My Fiancé’s Dad

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Chapter 9


Alison storms out of the house, her face pics red and blotchy from crying.
“Hey, hey!” I jump to my feet, reaching for her.
“Leave me alone!” Alison sobs, pushing past me. “Kiki!”
Kiki gives me a sad look before following Alison to her car, which peels away from the road.
“What the hell…” my words die on my lips when two girls leave my house, two very smug-looking girls. “No, he didn’t.”
The girls avert their eyes, giggling as they pass me.
They’re wearing next to nothing, and it’s clear what’s gone on.
My sons had a threesome.
My engaged son, no less.
“Damn you, Kurt.”
Taking the stairs two at a time, I find my boy sitting on the edge of his bed, naked. His head is in his hands, and he lifts his red eyes to mine with a grimace.
“Don't lecture me.”
The room stinks of sex.
Poor fucking Alison.
“Don't fucking lecture you? You’re a prick, you know that right?” I bellow, unable to keep my cool. “You’re getting married, Kurt!”
He laughs hollowly.
“I’m not now.”
Clenching my fists, I shake my head with disbelief.
How is this dickhead my son?
“You need to go and see Alison, apologize—”
“She needs to cool down,” Kurt yawns, falling back onto the bed. “She always overreacts but she’ll calm down soon. She knows what I’m like.”
Is he joking?
“Why did you fucking ask her to marry you, you prick?!”
Kurt sits up, his eyes wide.
“What the fuck, Dad?”
But I can’t contain my anger.
You asked her to marry you! She’s been looking at houses, planning your future!”
I’m trembling with rage, but maybe it’s working. Kurt looks guilty, frowning at my words.
“Because I love her.”
The laugh that snaps from my lips is sharp and bitter, coming from the knowledge that my son knows nothing about love.
“You don’t love her,” I spit. “If you did, you wouldn’t have had two whores in your bed last night.”
“Hey, Amber and Leila are nice girls.”
“Kurt! Wake the fuck up. Those girls are after a meal ticket, and you’re perfect for that. On your way to the NFL with your good looks, talent, and ripped body. But no fucking brains.”
Kurt stands up, tugging his joggers on.
“I’m not marrying them! I’m marrying Alison.”
I step back, shaking my head.
“I don’t think so, son. You’ll be lucky if she ever talks to you again. Oh, she made you a homemade chocolate cake for your birthday. You fucking suck.”
“Dad, I—”
“No, Kurt. No. You don’t have to say shit to me, I’m not the woman you’ve lied to. Take your sorry ass out of my house for a few days because I can’t bear to look at you.”
Kurt clenches his jaw but nods subtly.
He knows not to cross me.
Slamming the door, I jog downstairs, wondering what I can do to make Alison feel better.
I feel terrible, and it’s nothing to do with me.
My fucking son needs a punch.


I can’t breathe.
I’m doing the motions, but my lungs refuse to inflate, causing me to choke and sob as I drive. I don’t even know where I’m driving to, but I have to get away from him.
My fiancé.
Kiki whines beside me, and I can’t console her.
Two girls.
Amber and Leila.
I can’t get the image of their heavily made-up eyes like slits, peering over the sheet at me, out of my head.
The smug bitches.
That fucking cunt.
The pain in my chest confirms the rumors are true; you can die from a broken heart. I pull over, resting my head on the steering wheel as I give in, the pain owning my body.
How many times has he done this?
Mom was right.
He’s a boy.
I can’t bear going home to tell them how right they were, to see the disappointment in their eyes.
Stupid Alison, thinking she’d tamed the quarterback.
Thinking I was good enough for him when it’s clear that he needs two stick witches in his bed.
I’ve never hated him more.
Kiki puts her paw on my lap, and I hold it, trying not to sob too loudly.
I don’t want to scare Kiki.
I just don’t know how to exist.
I call Olivia, but it goes to the answering machine.
There’s only one person I want to speak to right now and it’s that bastard, Kurt.
Examining my reflection in the mirror, I curse.
No wonder he cheated on you with them.
My eyes are swollen and puffy, my nose is streaming.
I look like shit, which is acceptable considering my day.
Fuck this.
I’m going to confront the bastard.
Kurt may be a prick, but I deserve an explanation or apology.
I need something because I can’t cope with this.
What if the stick witches are still there?
A wicked smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I hope for their sakes that they’re not.
Poor Kiki looks bewildered when we reach Kurt's house, but I’m on a mission.
Striding up to the front door, I bang against it, adrenaline pumping through my veins.
I’m going to kill him.
The door swings open, and Lincoln’s eyes widen at the sight of me.
“Can I see him?” I ask through gritted teeth, but Lincoln rubs his stubbled jaw apologetically.
“He’s not here.”
Frowning, I turn back to the drive.
His car has gone.
Has he given those bitches a ride home?
My stomach churns.
“Fucking prick,” I mutter, shaking my head. “Do you know where he is?”
Lincoln swallows, opening the door wider.
“He’s not coming back for a few days. I don’t want him here. I’m so sorry, Alison—I’m disgusted with him. If I’d have known they were up there…” Lincoln runs a hand through his hair with a heavy sigh.
“I wouldn’t have let you go up there.”
Tears sting my eyes but I nod, hoping he knows it’s not him I’m raging at.
“You’ve done nothing wrong,” I choke out, reaching down to pet Kiki.
She’s lacing herself through my legs and I know my mood is affecting her.
“Do you want to come in?”
I study Lincoln, a lump forming in my throat at his kindness. His eyes are soft and warm, not the usual icy blue I’m used to seeing.
Why not?
He offers me a small smile, and I nod, waving Kiki in.
“Have you got anything to drink?” I ask, collapsing onto a kitchen stool like a sack of potatoes. “I’m sorry to ask, but I feel so shit.”
Lincoln closes the front door, hesitating as he glances around.
“I’ve got some beers and whiskey if that’s any good? Or did you mean coffee?”
“Not coffee, Lincoln.”
I laugh bitterly, my thoughts on the room above my head.
The room my fiancé fucked two women.
Pain pierces my heart and I sob again, covering my face so Lincoln can’t see me.
“Hey, come on, don’t cry. I’ll get you a beer.”
I nod, accepting the kitchen roll he presses into my hand. He rubs my back reassuringly, then moves to the fridge. A cold beer is pressed into my hand as Lincoln fusses Kiki.
The first swallow is bitter, but I don’t care. I keep glugging the icy liquid, that soothes my aching throat.
When I’m sucking bubbles, I release the bottle, finally making eye contact with a surprised Lincoln.
“I didn’t think you drank.”
“I don’t, but can I have another?”
He nods, heading back to the fridge.
He’s still in his shorts, and I can’t stop staring at his back. Something about back muscles make me weak, and right now he looks so much like Kurt it kills me.
“Have you ever done it?” I ask bluntly, taking the second bottle from Lincoln greedily.
Alcohol numbs the pain, and that’s all I want right now.
I don’t want to feel the pain.
“Cheated on someone I loved? Yeah. I was seventeen, and I hated myself for it. But looking back, we weren’t right for each other anyway.” He catches my accusing gaze and holds his hands up, his lips pulling into a grim smile. “Not that it makes it okay.”
“Was she beautiful, the woman you cheated with?” I tilt my head to watch him, wondering why I’m asking him this.
This isn’t about Lincoln.
“All women are beautiful, but it wasn’t just about that. We connected on a different level.”
“Poor girl.” I drain the second bottle, feeling surprisingly better.
“Well, I did marry the girl I cheated with.”
I look up in surprise.
“Kurt's mom?”
Without asking, Lincoln grabs more beers, nodding to the lounge.
“Deep and meaningful conversations don’t take place in kitchens, love. Bring Kiki.”
He strides into the lounge and I eye the whiskey, wondering if I should just drink it from the bottle.
“It’s not whiskey time yet, Alison. Breathe.”
Lincoln is watching me from the lounge, a sad smile on his face. “Maybe some ice cream?”
I turn back to the cake I’d made earlier.
“What about birthday cake?”
“Only if it’s homemade.”

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