Patience, Sal.

I took a deep breath. “You think…” I was speaking about a word a minute so that I wouldn’t burst a capillary in my eye from how strained I felt on the inside. “He was mean to my dad?” My dad?

“I think that he was,” she responded nearly as slowly. “I’ve never seen your dad look like that. Especially not after he had Valentine’s Day in his eyes right before, and then didn’t afterward.”

P-a-t-i-e-n-c-e. Be calm. Count to ten.

I opened and closed my mouth to try and release the tension in my jaw, and nothing happened. The next thing I knew, my arms were shaking as I remembered the look on my dad’s face.

Fuck it.

I tried. I could live with the fact that I really did try to not get so pissed. I put in the effort. Then again, there were very few times that I’d ever gotten so mad so fast. I was usually calm, and if I wasn’t, I understood there was a time and a place to be angry.

Most of the time.

I took a step forward. “I can’t—“

Like a good friend, Harlow understood that there was no talking me off of the ledge I’d set myself on. She herself was protective and knew that you didn’t ever hurt a person’s loved ones, so she let me go. Later on, if I ever really thought about it, I’d remember that she’d said she was going to let me do the honors despite the fact she’d had the urge to stand up for my daddy’s pride, too.

“Just don’t hit him in front of everyone!” Harlow ordered me as I marched toward… well, I didn’t know where exactly. I only knew my destination and that was wherever the hell that German bitch was.

In the time it took me to find and speed-walk toward him, I calmed down enough to tell myself that I couldn’t punch him. I also couldn’t and shouldn’t call him Führer or anything else that could potentially get me in trouble. Fortunately for me, I thought well on my feet.

My goal: ripping him a new asshole without getting in trouble.

I took my mental Big Girl Socks off and threw them on the floor. Fuck this motherfucker. If I would have had earrings on, I’d be taking those off and handing them to Harlow, too.

My shaking arms and pounding heart egged me on.

I found him.

He was just there, minding his own business looking over some notes in a binder. Tall and solemn and completely oblivious to the fact that he’d hurt the most important man in my life’s feelings.

I didn’t think or bother to look around me to check and see who the potential audience was going to be because I didn’t give a single shit.

Don’t talk outright crap to him.

Don’t call him a curse word or Führer.

In that moment, I didn’t give a crap who this man was or who he had been. He was just some asshole with an attitude problem that had done the unthinkable. It was one thing to be an ass to me or my teammates. But he’d hurt my papi’s feelings, and that shit just didn’t fly.

“Hey,” I snapped the minute I was close enough.

He didn’t look up.

“Hey, you German bratwurst.” Did that just come out of my mouth?

When the German bratwurst in question looked up, I figured out I’d actually said that out loud. Well I guess I could have said something a lot worse, and it wasn’t like I could back out at that point.

“You’re talking to me?” he asked.

I focused on how my forearms were tensed, on the anger that had flamed to life in my chest and I let the words out. “Yes you. Maybe you don’t give a crap about helping the team out and that’s fine. I get it, big man. Want to talk shit to us, when you know you’re in no position to say anything about what people should and shouldn’t be doing?” I shot him a look that said I wanted him to remember what exactly I’d done for him.