Page 60 of Forbidden Romeo
But you know me too well, I think.
“But,” I sigh, “I’ve never known you to back down when you want something.”
He gives a humorless snort. “That’s the Dorsey way. Strong arm everyone until you get what you want. I’m trying to not be a Dorsey.”
I tilt my head, giving Holden a sympathetic look. “This is different. This is potentially your son. And you have a right to know him.”
He takes the cap and puts it back on the whiskey, sliding the bottle over to me.
“Give her space,” I say, agreeing with him. “But not forever. Promise?”
I hold out my pinky to him. With a smile, he hooks his around mine and squeezes gently. “Promise.”
He carefully places the whiskey bottle back into the wood box.
Then, standing tall, he cradles the box in one hand and offers me his other hand to help me up. His touch is warm and reassuring as he helps me rise to my feet, our fingers intertwining for a brief moment. The scent of aged whiskey lingers in the air, adding a sense of warmth and comfort to the moment.
“Come on. We’ve got to get you home. You have a lot of reading to do before tomorrow.”
“Are you going to come home with me?”
He struggles for a moment, lost in his own thoughts before brushing my hair back behind my ear. “Not this time, Rose. This is one assignment you have to do yourself.”
CHAPTER 24
Holden
Five years ago…
“Dorsey! Get your head in the fucking game or get off the field!” Coach shouted at me from the sidelines.
It was only a practice, but still… I could feel how right he was.
I hated this field.
I hated this game.
And other than Duncan, I hated my teammates.
“You know what, Coach? You’re right.” I tore the helmet from my head and started for the locker rooms.
“Where the fuck do you think you’re going?” Coach yelled, footsteps stomping in the grass behind me.
“Taking orders. I can’t get my fucking head in the game… and I don’t think I will ever again. So I’m getting off the field.”
“Dorsey, I swear to fucking God if you walk off this field right now, you’re done. I’m not covering for you again! I don’t care how much your daddy donates to the school. You’re fucking finished.”
“I’ll do you one better,” I muttered, then lifted my hand high in the air, flashing him the middle finger.
There. That should do it. Pretty much a nail in the coffin of my football career.
I shower fast and get dressed even faster, clearing out my locker and shoving as much as I can into my duffel bag.
Good riddance.
Football was something I’d been pressured into from a young age.
A hobby my dad forced on me because it was what he did.