Page 22 of Vincent
"You better watch out, Vincent McDermot, because I'm coming after you."
*****
He drove around aimlessly for more than an hour. Ignoring the ringing of his phone after making certain it had nothing to do with David, he just drove and stopped after a while at an off-beaten dirt road. Adjusting the seat, he kicked his feet out and leaned his head back.
He shouldn't be feeling this way. It was all wrong. Every bit of it was wrong. The wrenching feeling of jealousy, the part where he had wanted to haul her into his arms and kiss her until they were both breathless, it was wrong. She had been his best friend, that's it.
He had no business. What? he thought in despair. Had no business doing what? Wanting her? And dear God, he did. What he felt that had him bolting from that cottage as if the hounds of hell were after him had been a desire so keenly intense it felt as if it was coming from his pores. It was wrong.
He loved Lizzie, he thought fiercely. She had sacrificed her life to bring their son into the world, and he was being disloyal to her. Having feelings for the very woman she had asked him to stay away from.
He was betraying her. Dragging restless fingers through his hair, he scrubbed them over his face. He did not need this complication. He had his son to think about. David was his life, part of the woman he loved. Love! he amended hastily. Of course, he still loved her and would go on doing so for the rest of his goddamned life!
So, he would stay away from Thea. They had been apart for eight years, so they could go on as if she had not returned. Adjusting the seat and satisfied with his decision, he started the vehicle.
*****
"Daddy?"
Vincent was tempted to bury his head under the pillows. Last night had been rough on him and he had resorted to drinking, something he wouldn't normally have done, especially with his son in residence. But sleep had eluded him.
"Daddy?"
Dragging the pillows off his head, he sat up. "What do I tell you about creeping into my room in... what time is it?" He glanced at the clock and saw with a groan that it was almost four in the bloody morning. Sometimes being a parent was far from easy.
"What are you doing up?"
"My throat hurts."
The boy looked so pitiful that Vincent felt his irritation drifting away.
"It's a school morning, David. Does this have anything to do with the fact that you ate four slices of pizza and then three cookies and are thinking you can con your way out of going to school?"
"No." He shook his head. "I think I'm sick."
"David Zachary McDermot-"
"I'm not fibbing. My throat hurts." He coughed just then and had Vincent snatching him up.
"Okay, buddy." Vincent laid the back of his hand against his forehead and frowned thoughtfully. "I think you might be running a temperature." They both looked up at the sound in the doorway.
"I heard him on the monitor. What's wrong?" Mrs. Paddy asked from the doorway.
"He said his throat is hurting."
"Poor little man," Mrs. Paddy clucked as she came into the room. "Why don't you let me-"
"I want my daddy." David clung to his father's chest tightly.
"It's okay. Could you get him some of that medicine from the cabinet?"
"And a nice spot of warm milk," the housekeeper decided.
"Thanks, Mrs. Paddy."
"I'm not fibbing."
Vincent brushed his hair back gently. "I know you're not. Why don't we get you fixed up and you stay home from school today?"
