Chapter 7 - The ConfrontationSloane stepped forward immediately, placing herself between Brendan and the porch steps. “What are you doing here, Brendan? It’s eight o’clock on a Tuesday.”
“I came to drop off the legal papers for Theo’s private school tuition,” Brendan snarled, pulling a thick envelope from his coat. “But it looks like you’re too busy playing house with the hired help.”
He looked up at me, his face twisted in mockery. “Tell me, Porter, does it feel good living off my table scraps? Driving my son in your beaten-up sedan, sitting on my ex-wife’s porch?”
I stepped down the wooden stairs, standing taller than him, my hands resting comfortably in my jacket pockets.
“I don’t live off anyone, Mercer,” I said calmly. “And the only thing scrap-like around here is your effort as a father.”
“You think you’re a hero?” Brendan scoffed, taking a step closer, his breath smelling faintly of whiskey. “You’re a thirty-three-year-old physical education teacher making peanuts. You give my kid rides because you have nothing else going on in your pathetic life. You’re a glorified driver.”
“At least I show up!” I raised my voice, the anger I’d suppressed for weeks finally spilling over. “I know his favorite pitch. I know he hates math but loves history. I know he waits on those cold bleachers for an hour because he’s too proud to cry when his billionaire father forgets he exists!”
Brendan’s face flushed red with anger. He raised a hand, pointing a finger at my chest. “He is MY son! He carries MY name! You are NOTHING to him!”
“That’s where you’re wrong, Brendan,” a quiet voice spoke from the doorway.
May you like
We all turned.
Theo stood on the porch, holding his worn leather glove in one hand.
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