“Who the fuck are you?” my father snarled, red-faced. “You should know me,” Johnny seethed, shoving my father so hard that his back hit the side of the car with a loud bang. “I’m the rugby prick, remember?” Fisting the front of my father’s shirt, Johnny reared his head back and bopped my father in the face. Blood sprayed everywhere and I flinched. “I’m your daughter’s boyfriend,” he continued, shoving my father against the car once more before swinging his fist and connecting with my father’s jaw. “And I’ve been dying to meet you.”
