Of fucking course. Your father just had to say something stupid about your relationship with Paige. During a calm family dinner, your dad tried joking, by saying, “If you aren’t going to date a man, Paige is the next best thing.” Though meant as a lighthearted knee-slapper, you absolutely lost it.

God, sometimes you were embarrassed to be a descendant from his bloodline and wished you were the bastard child from some affair your mother had.

Just because Paige dressed like one, doesn’t make her a man.

Whatever was said and done, it ended with both of you standing from your seats, your chests heaving with anger. Your dad had to resist the urge to lunge at you from across the table. Paige had to hold you back with her hands on your waist, trying to get you to calm down.

You couldn’t stand being in the same room as him. Deciding to be the bigger guy, you walked away, Paige’s hand staying on your lower back as you two walk outside to the back porch.

You ignored his shout of, “Don’t come back until you learn how to take a joke,” and slammed the sliding door.

Tch. You just wanna—

“Are you alright, baby?” a raspy, yet soft voice asks, interrupting your previous thought.

You turn your head to face Paige, seeing how the crisp air nips at her sharp features, turning them a rosy color. Her breaths come in cold, white puffs, yet they’re warm on your skin. Paige’s hand stays on your lower back, rubbing it in a comforting manner.

What a keeper. She’s the one that your asshat of a dad insulted, yet she’s comforting you.

Your father was wrong for saying that, because it’s moments like these where it contradicts whatever the hell he yaps about.