Irvin's POV
I locked eyes with my father, and he stared right back like we were strangers sizing each other up in some twisted standoff.
Zero warmth passed between us. No trace of paternal worry—just that familiar icy assessment I'd endured my entire life.
The atmosphere grew suffocating whenever he showed up. Like even the air had to follow different rules when he entered a space.
I exhaled slowly, dragging my hand through my damp hair and pushing it back in pure frustration.
My skin still radiated heat from the shower. My muscles, battered from the fight, throbbed with each tiny motion.
But that ache was manageable. Way easier than dealing with the man standing before me.
"I'm assuming you didn't drive all this way just to have a staring contest," I said, my voice barely above a whisper, dripping with sarcasm.
My father didn't take the bait.
"Something's come up," he replied, completely brushing off my dig—exactly like he always did.
