“Well f**k this.” The vet exclaimed in anger, “I show up here at the odd hours of the morning every time one of you boys calls, and this is how I get treated? Don’t try to call me again after this.” He droned on, finally threatening to stand up to Blake.
That was not a good idea. There was no way that Blake was going to let anyone, no matter how drunk and regrettable, talk to him like that.
“Get the f**k out.” Blake ordered.
It was as simple as a demand one could make of the man. It wasn’t a shout or a threat, it was an order – clear and meant to be obeyed.
With it, the drunk stormed from the kitchen with his tail between his legs.
We all heard the front door slam shut.
Good.
Blake then nodded to me. I felt the immediate pressure of being put on the spot. Well, I had asked for
