Her Silent Revenge novel Chapter 37

"Don't apologize. The feeling's mutual," he growls. I splutter to a halt.

Ouch.

I wasn't expecting that.

So, maybe Patton doesn't have to like his secret son—and I get why he doesn't, just like I understand why Arlo has this weird love-hate thing going on with him—but knowing what I know makes it feel like an uppercut.

"He's just a kid." I stare at him, biting my lip.

"Yes, we've established that. Have you always let your son insult your bosses?" he asks, his tone clipped. Back to being asshole incarnate, I see. "I'm starting to see why your past ventures never got off the ground."

I flinch back in my seat.

Rude.

The silence crackles with heat, smothering us, but I can't think of anything to say.

I'm sure there's some way to play this off cool.

If there is, it eludes me. I'm too busy restraining myself from leaping up and slugging him in the face.

Then again, so what?

So what if he thinks I'm a serial failure? Anyone else would think the same thing after seeing my résumé. It's not the end of the world.

It's just one more low blow that reminds me why he's awful, and no truce will ever change that.

The irritation on his face fades as he studies me.

"Shit, what are we doing?" His eyes are the same arctic shade as before, but instead of a wall, I sense emotions there. I pick them out like colors in a rainbow.

Regret. Frustration. Anger. Mostly aimed at himself, I think.

There's also something else I can't identify like the blurry line between indigo and violet.

"I'm sorry," he says. "Salem, I didn't mean it." "But you did," I mutter quietly.

Maybe I should be so pissed, but there's no room for anger past the disbelief squeezing my lungs.

"I shouldn't have said that." "For once, we agree."

He takes a step closer.

He could touch me now, if he wanted, but thankfully he doesn't. I'm not sure I could stop myself from throwing the small trash can next to me at his head if he did.

"Tell me what I can do to make it up to you," he says.

This is it.

What is it about this ridiculous man that turns me into a pretzel of pure chaos?

How is it we can have an almost human conversation one minute yet it feels like pure torture the next?

I'm starting to see why your past ventures never got off the ground.

It's the kind of quippy thing I might say when I'm angry. Lashing out, claws extended, just like a cornered cat. Pure defense mechanism.

But he knows where it hurts, and with the disbelief fading, I'm left with the sting that resonates to my core.

"Blue-eyed prick," I mutter, picking up where I left off. Why couldn't he have shown his evil side the night we met?

But if he had, I'd be trading Arlo for a different life, and I'd never do that in a billion years.

I just hate the fact that I'm stuck living this one, where he gets to be the biggest dick I've met, and I still have to thank him.

Without Patton Rory, though, my sweet son wouldn't exist. That's a cruel, cold fact written in the stars.

The price is this creeping insanity, living another day where we're playing a game of chicken, and managing my feelings like I can somehow talk a volcano into staying calm.