The moment Brad saw Angela standing face to face with Jonathan Anders, he rushed out of the store, not even bothering to collect his change. In just a few steps, he reached the entrance and, brushing Angela aside with his shoulder, placed himself between her and the tall, fifty-year-old man in a sports blazer.
"I believe I asked you, Mr. Anders, to stay away from my nieces," Brad tried to keep his voice steady, but even he knew that his polite tone was anything but polite.
"In that case, you should teach your charges better manners. This girl ran into me as she rushed out of the store."
"Did you apologize to the gentleman?" Brad asked Angela curtly.
"Yes," she admitted, tucking her head between her shoulders.
"My niece apologized. I don't see any reason to make a fuss over a child's moment of carelessness."
"Children should be properly raised," Anders declared, puffing out his chest. "But what can one expect from THAT family?"
Those words struck like a whip. Anyone could criticize the Lipskis—they were far from perfect—but not him. Not that man...
"You are hardly an authority on child-rearing," Brad growled, immediately regretting his words. Not because Anders' face turned red with rage, but because he didn't want the girls to hear such a conversation.
But it was already too late...
"Don't you dare speak about my son..."
"Angela, go to the car with your sister."
"But—"
"Go." He didn't raise his voice, but the sheer force behind his words left no room for argument. The girl didn't dare protest.
Brad didn't want to continue this conversation. Just looking at this man made him sick, but he had to make one thing crystal clear.
"Leave the girls alone," he said through clenched teeth. "If you come near either of them again—"
"You'll do the same thing your brother did to my son?"
"More effectively," Brad murmured, the left side of his lip curling as if he were about to bare his teeth.
"Are you threatening me with death, you mangy—" Jonathan Anders' lips twisted into a malicious, satisfied grin. Brad knew he was trying to provoke him.
"Stay away from the girls," he repeated. "You can fight me how much you want, but children are off-limits."
"What's all this commotion? Gentlemen, you're interfering with my business!"
Brad didn't even glance at the approaching, pot-bellied supermarket manager, probably alerted by one of the clerks.
"Apologies, Fred," Anders responded without looking at him. Despite his words, he had no intention of backing down.
Fred stepped closer, slapping Brad on the back with one hand and Anders with the other.
"Gentlemen, not in my store!" he said, his pats firm enough that both men might have involuntarily stepped forward—if not for their sheer stubbornness rooting them to the ground. "If you want to kill each other, be my guest, but not on my turf, alright? There are customers here. Kids, watching. And they shouldn't be seeing this spectacle."
He was right, Brad thought, suddenly wondering what the girls must be thinking. Damn it. He should be looking after them, not looking for a fight with Anders. But he couldn't even move a foot. He couldn't back down. Not to him. Not now, not when he was already on edge, and this man dared to question his nieces' behavior.
"Fred, this isn't your business," he growled, but the manager just laughed, raising his hands in a defensive gesture.
"Oh, but it is, my friend. When an argument starts scaring off customers, it becomes my business." Fred eyed both men, his brows furrowed. "So, gentlemen? Are we putting on a show, or are we walking away like adults?"
Anders narrowed his eyes, his lips twitching as if he were about to throw another insult, but then his gaze flickered to the growing crowd. A few people stood hesitantly by the entrance, watching the scene, and an elderly woman with a basket full of vegetables shook her head in disapproval. Maybe he realized the audience was getting a little too large. And he did have a reputation to uphold.
"By all means, Fred," Anders sneered, taking a step back and spreading his arms theatrically. "I won't interfere with your business. But let Mr. Lipski remember," he spat the name as if it were filth caught in his mouth, "that I will not tolerate slander against my family."
"Your family?" Brad scoffed, but Fred raised a hand to silence him.
"Brad, enough. Angela already went to the car, right? There's no point dragging this out."
Brad clenched his jaw. He took a deep breath. He had to let this go, whether he wanted to or not. Not for Fred, not for the store—but for Angela and Olivia, who shouldn't witness scenes like this. His gaze, however, never left Anders, ready to react if necessary. One more deep breath, and he was ready.
"You're right, Fred," he finally said. "This isn't the place or the time. I apologize." The last word was directed at the manager, not at Anders, to whom he still shot a hostile glare.
"Fred," Anders nodded at the manager. He lifted his chin and, with a triumphant smirk, turned toward his car.
The tension still hung in the air, but Brad could finally breathe. He had made it through this confrontation without smashing his fist into Anders' face. He really ought to be proud of himself.
When Anders walked away, Fred watched him go before turning his gaze to Brad.
"Are you alright?" he asked briefly.
"Sure. Sorry for the trouble."
Fred patted him on the shoulder in a friendly manner.
"Go back to the girls."
"Yeah, thanks."
Brad was now able to lift his feet off the ground, but as he walked, he felt like he was moving through molasses. Keeping his urge to smash Anders's face in check was no small challenge, but he couldn't do it with witnesses around—especially not with the girls present. Such matters were settled quietly, when no one was watching.
Imagining such a scene took him only a moment, but it noticeably lifted his mood. As he walked toward the car where the girls were waiting, he felt the tension leaving his body.
It'll be fine, he thought. The twins are safe. Crisis averted. At least for now.
But a day of peace is better than a day of war. At least when you're raising kids. He might not have been prepared for the role of a guardian, but he'd give it everything he had to do it right.