That hot anger that rumbled beneath his skin began to radiate, filling him with a heavy surge of energy that wasn’t going to do anyone any good.
Keep it together, he thought.
“I’ll ask you one more time. Why the hell are you here?”
Delilah took a long sip from the can and set it on the table. She leaned her hands there, arched her back slightly and smiled at him. Matt didn’t say a word. He looked her in the eye and made no effort to hide his dislike. When the moments ticked by and the silence became uncomfortable, she cleared her throat and pushed away from the table, grabbing her beer. She moved to the bed and sat down.
“I told you. We need to talk.”
“You drove across eight or nine state lines in that piece of shit truck because you want to talk to me? What the hell could you possibly think I’d want to hear?”
“Don’t you dare talk to me like that. I deserve some respect.”
“Respect?” He laughed, a nasty, cold sound. “That’s something that needs to be earned. Something that needs work. There is not one thing about you that I respect.”
Her mouth opened and then clamped shut. Blotches appeared on her neck, nasty little patches of red. She thrust out her chin and got to her feet.
“If your father was here, he’d knock some respect into you.”
Matt clenched his fists together and the look in his eye must have been deadly—she sank back onto the bed and reached for her beer. She finished the can of Bud and then tossed it into the bin beside the bed. It wasn’t the first.
Silence stretched between them, a long thin line that pulled at him something fierce. He had to unclench his fists because the muscles along his forearms began to ache. It went on for another minute or so and Matt took a step back.
“I’m not doing this.” He reached into his coat pocket and retrieved his keys. “I have no idea why you’re here. But you need to understand there is nothing you have to say to me that I’m remotely interested in listening to.”
She didn’t move and for a second he wondered if she’d heard him. Matt decided that he didn’t care about that either.
“I’m done.”
She glanced up, mouth narrowed into an unattractive thin line. The gloss was gone and her colorless mouth had a cruel bent. “Who’s the girl?”
“The girl is none of your business.”
Delilah’s eyebrows shot up and she got to her feet. “Since when do you get worked up over a piece of ass?” The rasp in her voice was more pronounced and the color was high on her cheeks.
Matt glared at her. “Women like you are nothing more than a piece of ass, and being nothing more than a piece of ass gives you no right to comment on Grace.”
Her face whitened at his insult and her chin trembled. “I can’t believe you just said that to me.”
He turned to the door and was reaching for the knob when she spoke again. “Your father is dying.”
Matt went still.
“Benjamin is dying. The doctors think if he lasts until Christmas, it will be a miracle.”
He opened the door.
“We need to talk about Justin.” Delilah grabbed his arm. “Matt.”
He went cold. And then hot. “Let go,” he snarled.
“Mattie.”
He yanked out of her grasp and slammed the door shut behind him. His only thought was to get home to Grace. To walk into his house and hold onto someone good and kind and compassionate. To breathe in the essence of a woman who wouldn’t do what he’d just done.
He was walking away. The reasons wh
y didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Because he was no better than his father.