He didn’t hear the word “please.” He only heard the loss of control.
His voice exploded, ugly and sharp. “You think you can just walk in here and—”
My cheek burned. My head snapped to the side.
The world tilted. The hallway blurred. I caught the edge of the console table to keep from falling.
I looked up at him, stunned—not by the hit, but by the fact that he could do it after knowing.
“I just came from the hospital,” I whispered.
Logan raised his arm again, rage making him taller in his own mind.
And that’s when the air changed.
A presence filled the doorway behind him—silent, heavy, final.
My father.
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