Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 378(@250wpm)___ 315(@300wpm)
I shrugged his arm off me. “I’m not in the fucking mood, Peter.”
“Well, then get in the mood, cuz. Gosh, you’re always so wound up. Relax.” He rubbed my shoulder with his hand. “Drink a little,” he said, tossing whiskey straight into my face.
The rage I felt in my soul was seconds from boiling over, yet I tried my best to keep it at bay. I knew that was what Peter was looking for. He wanted me to snap. I couldn’t give him that satisfaction.
I wiped the alcohol from my face and took a few deep breaths. “You’re a fucking mess, Peter. Get help.”
I turned to walk away from him, and he followed me into the living room like a fucking annoying rodent that didn’t know when to be evicted. “Come on, Theo. Lighten up. It’s not like your lifetime enabler didn’t die and then your deadbeat mother showed up in his place,” Peter said loudly enough for other people to hear.
“Dad, what the fuck?” Jensen said from the side of the couch, staring at his father as if he’d just witnessed a monster appear.
“Peter,” I growled, my voice low and controlled. “Maybe it’s time for you to go home.”
“What? No way.” He took a swig from his bottle. “The night is still young. And isn’t this what PaPa wanted? For us to act like everything’s just one big party. Yes! Let’s celebrate, everyone!” he shouted, holding the bottle up in the air. “Let’s celebrate the life of the man who played favorites his whole fucking life! The man who couldn’t manage to love his grandchildren equally. The one who spoiled Stuttering Theo because he had a fucked-up weak personality. Let’s all raise a glass for Harold Dwight Langford,” he shouted. “The man who went out of his way to love Theo’s weird ass the most.”
“Now that’s enough, Peter,” Grandma said, walking over to Peter, and snatched the bottle from his hand. “You’re making a fool of yourself.”
“Right, Grandma. That’s right on time, isn’t it? You telling me how much of a failure I am. How much of a fool I am.”
I glanced around at the crowd holding their phones up to record Peter’s outburst. I didn’t like the asshole, but he lost PaPa, too. It wasn’t my place to tell him how to mourn. But I was certain he’d regret seeing the recorded videos of him drunk out of his mind the following morning. That would only add more grief to his life.
“Peter, you’re drunk. Let’s get you some fresh air,” I said, placing a hand on his shoulder.
“Don’t fucking touch me,” he yelled, shoving me hard against my chest, forcing me to lose my footing.
“Dad, don’t!” Jensen blurted out, leaping over toward the two of us. Without thought, Peter shoved Jensen backward, making him stumble into a side table. My mind shut down instantly from watching Jensen get shoved to the side.
I didn’t even realize that my hand made a fist and slammed into Peter’s jawline until I saw him stumbling backward. It only took him a second to recover from the punch. He dove toward me, and we both fell to the ground, wrestling back and forth like fucking idiots while everyone stood around and watched.
“That’s enough!” Grandma cried out, trying to untangle Peter and me from one another. “Peter, Theo, that’s enough! Stop it right now.”
We kept going at it. I had him pinned down because he was too drunk to get any true movement or hits in. I held him until I felt another hand on my arm and looked up to see Willow standing over me. “Theo, hey, hey. It’s okay. Let him go. It’s all right,” she told me. “Let him go,” she begged. The fear and panic in her eyes scared me enough to let go of my hold on Peter.
Fuck.
I didn’t want this.
I didn’t want any of this.
I stood to my feet, feeling embarrassed and ashamed of myself for allowing my emotions to take the lead. I should’ve never even let Peter get me to that level of irritation, but that day was already hard. I’d simply reached my breaking point. Unfortunately, that scared Willow, which was the last thing I wanted.
Peter sat there on the floor, laughing slightly with a shake of his head. Blood from his busted lip dripped down his chin. He took the back of his hand to it and wiped it away. “Fuck you, Theo,” he blurted out. “Fuck all of you.”
“Why do you have to be like this?” Jensen cried out. “Why can’t you just be normal, Dad? Look what you did!”
“What I did?” Peter asked, stunned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m the one with the busted lip, not Theo.”
“You started it,” Grandma said.
“That’s right, Grandma.” Peter pushed himself up to a standing position. “Take his side again. Mr. Perfect Theo, who was always our grandparents’ favorite,” he slurred.