Sean had walked into the foyer expecting a solicitor or maybe even a reporter. Even now, a year after his sister’s marriage into the Sherbrooke family, they stopped by from time to time. When he spotted the man waiting for him, though, rage consumed him. Although much older than he remembered, Sean recognized him immediately.
“I said leave.” He tensed the muscles in his upper arm and forced himself not to take a swing at his father. At any moment a guest could walk in; finding him in a fight would be disastrous.
“A son should show his father a little more respect.”
His head filled with red, his body and brain stopped communicating with each other and he took a step forward. From somewhere outside his body he registered that he’d raised his fist, prepared to do the one thing he’d dreamed of doing for the past eighteen years. Through the boiling rage in his head, he felt something warm and soft on his forearm. Slowly, his brain identified the object as a hand on his arm and he stopped in mid-swing toward his father’s face.
“You’re not welcome here.” He’d like nothing more than to open the door and kick his father’s ass out, but the last thing the bed and breakfast needed was a lawsuit.
His father glanced over at Mia who stood next to him, her hand still on his arm was a reminder that he was running a business.
“I’ll leave, but, Sean, all I want to do is talk.” His father nodded toward Mia. “Maybe your girlfriend can convince you to listen.”
A swear-laden retort sat on his tongue, but he kept it from spilling out. Instead he stood frozen as his father walked out of the door, taking him back eighteen years to the last time he’d seen his father walk out the very same door.
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