I made it to his floor then wheeled the bag down the hallway.
I knocked.
No answer.
I knocked again.
He must not be home.
I unlocked the door and pulled the clubs inside. His bedroom was probably the best place to store them since he had a huge walk-in closet, so I started to wheel them across the hardwood floor in that direction.
Then I heard him yell—and it made my bones crack.
“Just put him on the goddamn phone!” His voice echoed across the entire residence, all 6,000 square feet, powerful enough to shatter all the windows if they weren’t double-paned.
I halted on the spot, wishing I’d never let myself in.
“Valerie!”
Shit, he must be talking to the ex-wife.
I turned around and started to creep back to the front door.
His heavy footsteps pounded down the hallway, heading right toward me.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I pulled the clubs too hard, and they toppled to the side, landing on the floor. “No…”
He entered the room, screaming. “I just want to talk to my son! Put him on! Now!” He was shirtless in just his gray sweatpants, his tanned skin tight over layers of muscle. He had an eight-pack that was so tight, he seemed more like a wax figure than a human. The muscles of his arms were flexed like he was a quarterback in the NFL. And his face…was so red. The veins in his forehead popped out, the tint of his skin almost cartoonish. He’d been a dick to me every time we interacted, but it was nothing compared to this.
Now I realized I should be grateful.
“Valerie.” He didn’t seem to notice I was there because he was so absorbed in the conversation, standing in his living room with his entire body shaking with adrenaline. “I just want to talk to my fucking son! Don’t you hang up on me. I swear to fucking god—” The line must have gone dead because he stopped talking, the phone still pressed to his ear with the light shining. Then the phone turned black. The cords in his arms and neck popped, his stomach tightened even further like he was about to enter a boxing match, and he went so still, he seemed like a statue. But his breathing had gone haywire, deep and rugged, full of explosives that were about to be set off.
Then he threw his phone against the opposite wall, screaming as he did it, shattering the glass that covered the expensive painting he’d bought without thinking twice about it. His hands covered his face, like he was wiping sweat from his forehead after a workout. He slowly dragged his hands down, revealing watery eyes. Then two angry tears dripped down his cheeks.
Fuck, I should not be here.
His hands moved to his hips, and that was when he noticed me.
I was about to die.
I was on my knees next to the fallen bag, looking up at him because I didn’t know what else to do. I was like a deer in the headlights, so terrified that I couldn’t run, not even to save my life.
He stared at me as he continued to breathe hard, his tears gone but his eyes still watery. His powerful chest rose and fell with his rage, like a beast that couldn’t be tamed. The look on his face hadn’t changed, just as aggressive as it had been when he was on the phone, but he didn’t say a word to me.
I had no idea what to do.
Then he abruptly turned and moved to the couch, taking a seat as he rested his elbows against his knees, his body leaning forward, his palms pressed against his face. He sat there as he tried to calm himself down, to process that phone call along with the fact that I was on my knees near the front door.
He eventually moved his joined hands to his lips, staring straight ahead at nothing, his strong body even tighter sitting than it was standing. His brown eyes were dark like shots of espresso, and his five-o’clock shadow looked coarse like a bunch of small blades protruding from his face. He blinked a few times, but his eyes still remained wet, as if there would never be enough time for him to forget what just happened.
I couldn’t stay there forever, even though I was embarrassed for him, embarrassed that I’d been there to witness such a personal phone call that obviously ripped him to shreds. I should have texted him first. I shouldn’t have made such a stupid mistake. I got to my feet as I lifted the bag. Instead of making it more awkward by putting it in his closet, I just left it against the table before I turned to leave.
“I just want my son…” His deep voice was steady and calm, strong like a piece of steel. The emotion on his face was a complete contradiction to that, but he managed to control that part of his body.