My Fiancé’s Dad

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Chapter 28


My life is so fucking messy.
Kurt is in the back of a police car, and I’m standing in the ruins of what is my house.
I’m so over his shit.
But I’m his dad—there’s no way I can see him get arrested.
My words rasp out, and the officer raises his eyebrows with surprise. His eyes scan my bedroom behind me, his brow moving into a frown.
“You don’t want to press charges?” He checks, giving me a once over.
He’s probably checking I’m sane.
“Just bring him back in when you’ve finished with him.”
“Okay, Sir. I’ll let him stew in the back while we fill our paperwork out.”
My phone vibrates in my pocket, but I haven’t got time to fuck around with that.
I need to clear up.
“Lincoln?” A shrill voice calls, followed by whispered curses and shocked gasps.
“What?” I snarl, pinching the bridge of my nose.
Her face falls when she sees me, her hand gesturing at the wreckage.
“What happened?”
“I just decided to smash my house up; what the fuck does it look like?”
I’m not in the mood.
Timea purses her lips, throwing her bag into the stairs.
“Let me help you.”
I shoot her a look that tells her not to touch a thing, but she’s already in the kitchen, sweeping broken glass up.
The television is fucked, a giant crack across the screen the cause of its demise.
After about forty-five minutes, Kurt shows his sorry ass, doing a double-take at the sight of Timea in the kitchen, mopping the floor.
Staring at him, rage pushes through my veins with a force that scares me.
“Who the fuck do you think you are?”
Kurt looks bewildered, his face screwing up into one of anger.
“What?! You think I did this?!”
“Kurt. Don’t fuck with me. Who else did this?!”
Kurt shakes his head, dragging his hair back so hard his hairline turns pale.
“I don’t know! I had a party—”
You were too fucked to know what was going on. How long have you been sniffing coke? The NFL won’t like that much, will they?”
I’m pushing every button I can, and he knows it.
Paling beneath my gaze, he licks his lips, holding his hands up.
“All I’m guilty of is having a party. Yeah, maybe I did have some powder, but it’s just a party thing. It’s not serious.”
My nostrils flare at his words, and I think nothing of slamming him against the wall, my mouth twisting in anger.
“It’s not serious? You want to take drugs, go and take drugs. Ruin your fucking life. No one can stop you, Kurt. But not in my house! Look around you!”
Kurt drops his gaze, nodding.
“I’m sorry, I’ll find out who did this—”
“Get the fuck out of my house. Go to your mother's. I can’t with you anymore.”
Timea clears her throat, and I stare her down.
“I appreciate your help, but I don’t need it. So do me a favour, and leave. Please.”
Timea and Kurt exchange a glance.
“But, I thought we could talk….”
I don’t even answer Timea, opening the door.
“Out. You—” I bark at Kurt, “—get your shit and get out. Don’t think about coming back until you’ve sorted your fucking life out.”
Timea hesitates by the door, and I grit my teeth.
“Timea, I’m in love with someone else. Stop hounding me; I’m not fucking interested.”
Timea colours, her fists clenched by her sides.
Bracing myself for confrontation, I lift my eyes to hers, but all I see is devastation and rage.
Kurt stomps upstairs, and Timea slams the front door behind her.
Good fucking riddance.
I don’t fucking want to, but I need to call Jennifer.
Punching at my phone, I close my eyes while I wait for her to answer. She’s too much of a narcissist not to answer.
“Lincoln, what a lovely surprise.”
“Jennifer. Listen, Kurts out of control.”
There’s a sigh, followed by the tapping of fingernails on a solid surface.
Probably her granite top island that she barely uses.
“He’s smashed my house up.”
“Well,” Jennifer drags out the word like it’s a ball of yarn spilling down the stairs. “You have been fucking that little whore.”
I haven’t got the strength for this.

“And he got fucked off his face on cocaine.”
That makes her inhale sharply, her gasp telling me she’s concerned about that fact, at least.
“The police asked if I wanted to press charges.”
“You better not!” Jennifer screeches. “He’s got the best chance of being drafted—”
“Get him help. I can’t be near him right now.” I interrupt, ending the call.
I can’t listen to her banging on about the NFL right now, let alone address the fact she’s just branded the woman I love a whore.
Kurt leaves shortly after, and I flop onto the sofa, allowing my head to roll back, so I’m staring at the ceiling.
How fucked up can life be?
My phone rings and I answer without checking the caller ID.
“What?” I growl, closing my eyes.
There’s a silence, brief enough for me to check the screen.
My heart soars, despite everything.
“Lincoln? Is everything okay?”
Her sweet voice soothes my frayed nerves, and I exhale with desperation to see her.
“No, not really.”
I could’ve lied, but I didn’t want to.
Alison understands me.
“I’m coming over.”
The call ends, and I let the phone drop to my side.
My energy is zapped.
My house is a mess.
I can’t even go to bed.
Somehow I shift my ass, cleaning up as best as I can before Alison arrives.
Her hair is pulled into a loose ponytail, tendrils framing her face, which is filled with concern.
Her gaze sweeps over the trash bags, the boxes of beer bottles and the ripped shirts.
Her hand covers her mouth, but she still walks over to me, tugging me close to her.
Her small, tiny body holds me tighter than ever before.
“It’s okay. We’ll fix this.”
She didn’t even question it.
I pull back, resting my hands on her hips.
“You don’t need to. I can sort it.”
Alison cocks her head, pressing a finger to my lips.
“No. We can sort it. Then I’ll order us some take out, and we can sleep like logs.”
Alison doesn’t wait for my answer, her eyes already planning her attack.
“Let’s start upstairs.”
“It’s shit.”
“Then we make it better. Are you okay?”
Alison studies me, the concern in her eyes reassuring me.
She cares so much for me.
I’m so fucking lucky.
“I am now.”

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