“Did what happen between us on your birthday have anything to do with what your dad did to you?” Slowly, so slowly, he turns to face me. He gently sets the bottle of whiskey on the bar, and I swear he looks right through me, turning my blood ice cold. “No.” With one single word, the world beneath me seems to collapse. Anger rushes to the forefront, reddening my vision. Tears sear the corners of my eyes, and I have to squeeze them shut so they don’t escape. It’s the same face he gave me ten fucking years ago when he lied and told me it was Billy Sharpe who was hurting him.
