“Your father should know better.”
Grant lowered his phone.
“Excuse me?”
She pointed at him.
“You’re filming your son threatening a woman.”
Grant’s face hardened.
“He’s not threatening her.”
Mrs. Alvarez stared at him.
“Then what exactly would you call it?”
No one answered.
Logan looked embarrassed.
Angry.
Cornered.
Then his eyes found mine again.
And something about his expression changed.
The smile returned.
But it wasn’t the same smile.
This one was colder.
“Fine.”
He backed away.
“You don’t want to fight?”
“No.”
“Then I won’t make you.”
He turned toward the garage.
I watched him walk away.
The crowd began to disperse.
Phones lowered.
Conversations started.
The tension slowly drained from the street.
I picked up the gloves and placed them beside Logan’s garage door.
Then I went inside.
I found Noah sitting at the kitchen table.
He looked up immediately.
