Adrian stood in the doorway, breathing hard, looking like he’d just run a marathon.
The silence stretched between us. Heavy. Loaded.
“Five minutes,” I reminded him.
“Right. Five minutes.” He ran both hands through his hair, making it stand up in ways that would have been endearing if my heart wasn’t hammering out of my chest. “I don’t, I don’t know how to start this.”
“Try the beginning.”
“The beginning.” He laughed, but it sounded broken. “The beginning is that I’m a terrible father who’s so scared of his son getting hurt that I’m willing to hurt him myself to prevent it.”
“You’re not a terrible father.”
“I just made my five year old cry because I’m throwing out the first person who’s made him happy in three years. That’s pretty terrible.”
I couldn’t argue with that.
Adrian moved
