Two Weeks of Sin

I cringed and looked up at Marcus, who was also cringing. His body stiffened and he let me go, taking a protective step in front of me as my dad stared daggers at us. His face dark with rage, my dad walked toward us. He'd apparently been standing out front, watching us. All four tires on Marcus' car were flat and there were several long, deep gouges down the side of it. I felt sick to my stomach as I looked at my dad who was holding a knife in his hand. His face was filled with a deep, abiding rage I'd never seen from him before and it set my every nerve ending on fire with fear.

Standing there, holding the knife like he was, with a crazed look in his eyes, my dad was terrifying. I had no idea what he was going to do or what he was capable of. In that moment, I was half-afraid that he'd do something to hurt Marcus, something I never thought my mild-mannered father was capable of.

I was suddenly scared of him, and scared for Marcus.

His face was red and his eyes were wide as he screamed, “Emma, go home. Right now.”

“Dad, listen – ” I tried to say, but my father stopped me.

“Now,” he said, his voice colder than ice.

For a second, I started to move, almost doing exactly as I was told, as usual. I'd always been the good daughter, the one who obeyed my father without question while Riley did whatever the hell she wanted. And yet, I was the one who always did the right thing, made the smart decisions.

Not this time. I wasn't about to leave Marcus to face my d

ad's wrath alone. I was fucking done letting my dad run my life for me. I was done with him telling me who I could and couldn't spend time with, who I could and couldn't be involved with, who I could and couldn't love.

“No,” I said, my tone every bit as cold as his. “You're going to listen to me this time. I'm not a goddamn child anymore and it's not for you to tell me who I can spend time with. It's not your place, Dad.”

He scowled at me, but then turned his anger toward Marcus. He marched up to him and put a finger directly in his face. “You said you weren't sleeping with my daughter,” he hissed. “You looked me in the goddamn eye and said that your relationship was purely professional.”

I looked to Marcus, half expecting him to lie. I wouldn't blame him in the least if he said that we were still keeping things professional, that we weren't sleeping together. I would stick up for him and back his story to the hilt if he went in that direction, I would do anything to protect him. But he surprised me, and showed me exactly the sort of man he was; a good man, an honorable man.

Instead of lying, he said, “I'm sorry, Dan. It's not what it looks like,” he said. “At the time, I wasn't doing anything with Emma, but things have changed since then and – ”

“So you're sleeping with her?” dad yelled, coming toward us with the knife in hand. “You took advantage of my little girl? You fucking pervert. What in the hell gives you the right?”

“Dad, listen – ” I said, holding my hands up. “Drop the knife, please.”

My father looked at it like he didn't realize he was still holding it, and then dropped the knife to the ground. Then my father shoved me aside in his hurry to get at Marcus, and I fell down the steps and into the grass. I wasn't hurt, but Marcus rushed over to me, obviously concerned. He dropped to a knee and helped me get to my feet. I looked at my father, my eyes wide and full of tears, not because I was hurt, but because I was shocked that he'd put his hands on me. It had never happened before in my life.

“Dan, you need to leave. Now,” Marcus said firmly.

“I'm not going anywhere without my daughter.” His voice slurred as if he'd had too much to drink. My dad wasn't a big drinker, except when upset.

“Emma is an adult,” Marcus said, calmly. “She doesn't have to leave if she doesn't want to. This is my house and I'm asking you nicely, this once, to get off my property.”

“Like hell she doesn't.”

A scowl and a look of pure hatred on his face, my father came toward me, and Marcus stepped between us. My father, not usually the violent type, raised his fist, ready to fight. I couldn't believe what I was seeing, but he actually threw a punch. Marcus though, was ready for it, and grabbed him by the wrist before it made contact with his face. Marcus was stronger, being a former elite athlete, and my poor father never stand a chance. If Marcus wanted to beat the shit out of my dad, he could have.

But he didn't. Instead, Marcus just stopped him, and held his arm back so he couldn't throw anymore punches. I could see by the look in his eye that he was sad it had come to this, to my father throwing punches. But I could also see the look of determination in his face. There was no way in hell he was going to let my father drag me back home if I didn't want to go.

“You may have a hard time seeing it, but Emma is a grown-up now, and I promise, I'm not taking advantage of her,” he said. “Just the opposite actually, I'm trying to protect her. I care about her, Dan. I may even love her.”

My heart stopped in my chest. “Wait, you love me?”

I stammered, suddenly forgetting everything in that moment. Everything except for his words – that he said he loved me. Despite the craziness happening and all of the anger in the air, my heart was doing somersaults in my chest. Marcus loved me? I couldn't stop the smile from spreading across my face any more than I could stop my heart from thundering in my chest.

“She's a goddamn kid, Marcus. You're a washed-up athlete who can't even stay clean long enough to go pro,” my dad said, his tone sharp and vicious. “You sleep around, you're a player.”

“I haven't slept around since college, since Gina,” he said. “And you know that, Dan. You know all of my secrets. I've never been anything but honest with you.”

I was still stuck on the fact that Marcus might love me and wasn't really paying much attention to what the two men were saying.

“Gina deserved better than you,” my dad said.

There was something in his voice, something personal, that snapped me back into the moment. I could tell by the way he looked at Marcus, and by the tone in his voice that there was a lot more below the surface of that comment than he was going to explain. At least, not with me present.