Damaged Grump (Bad Chicago Bosses)

The latest crap about Vance Haydn. Every article sports headlines far more sensational than anything Roland’s old gossip mag could produce.

Only, every last bit of these monstrous scandals is true.

“Still checking up on the lawsuits, huh?”

“I can’t help it.” He smiles sheepishly, leaning forward and setting the tablet down. The morning autumn sun looks misty through the thin lace curtains, but it’s enough light to highlight every chiseled edge of his naked chest, the pure wild artistry of his body.

“I’m just glad that mess is over.”

“For us, you mean,” he says, taking a sip from his mug of melted sugar masquerading as coffee. “I need to know that justice is grinding on. I need to be sure, Callie. I may not be out for blood anymore, but knowing he’s in a world of hurt...that helps.”

“What’s the latest?” I ask, rubbing his shoulder.

“More charges of exploitation with minors and assault. Ugly shit,” he says with a grim sigh. “More than one of the girls who contacted you anonymously went on record to say he had a relationship with them before they were legal. He even pressured them into drug and alcohol abuse that kept them in treatment for years. Between the highly illegal contract clauses, what he did to Easterly and those girls, drug charges, plus one count of assault with intent to murder...he’ll not see the bright side of a cell for the rest of his life. He’s straight-up fucked.”

There’s a dark satisfaction rolling in his voice when he says it.

But it’s different from how it was before.

When I first met him, the hunt for Vance Haydn consumed this beautiful man, twisting him into a predator, ruthless and willing to use anyone and anything to get his prey without a care for the consequences.

He’s so different now.

He’s free.

Free to be a man, instead of a grieving brother, instead of an obsessed hunter out for revenge.

Free to be whole.

Free to love me.

Every single change in his heart warmed mine, too.

So does how willing he’s been to be warm and open and sweet with me.

I thought I loved Roland Osprey before the final showdown.

I hadn’t known what it meant to feel the full force of his love, to be allowed to know him so openly as I have over the last few months.

To the point where we feel less like boyfriend and girlfriend, and more like family.

Especially considering I’ve gotten closer to Barry Osprey, too.

I’ve had the pleasure of sharing Roland’s joy as Barrett’s recovery inches forward one step at a time with continued therapy. He made seriously shocking leaps during our breakup, Roland told me. Mental pathways his brain needed to start rebuilding dormant neural connections linked up or found new ways to adapt with a stronger foundation.

No, Barry won’t ever be a fully recovered adult.

But he’ll get to live his own life with a helping hand, make his own choices, and recover some of that soulful music that was stolen away.

The overwhelming happiness overflowing my heart for Roland is the same as if he’s my own brother.

...and it makes me realize that if he was my brother, I’d have dragged him out of bed by now.

I lean back in my chair, craning my head toward the second bedroom in our family-sized suite. “...is he still asleep?”

“Oh, hell.” Roland snorts. “He stayed up watching anime all night. He says he’s trying to catch up on ten years of animations while he was out of it. He always was a massive nerd that way.”

My heart flutters at how he says nerd.

There’s so much love and a soft twinkle in his rippling blue eyes.

If this is how Roland loves his family—how he loves me—he’ll make one unbelievable dad someday.

“He binged all that before his big day?” I ask, the question stuck on my lips.

“It relaxes him,” Roland says with a shrug. “I think it lets him feel more in control. To experience what he missed while he was so hurt and out of it.”

“Makes sense. I guess that’s why Julia’s not up, either.” I smile, taking a sip of my sweet tea. “Think I should wake him, or let him sleep in longer?”

“Let him sleep, and the nurse, too.” Roland laughs. “Right now, we’ve got all the time in the world.”

* * *

New Orleans moves at its own lazy pace, especially in the cooling months.

And it’s slowed down and peaceful when we finally gather in Crescent Park late in the afternoon. There’s a lovely spot with a great view of the water. Dad’s already waiting there with a few of his old musician friends from back in the day.

They all turned out for Barrett today.

It’s honestly amazing just how much my dad took to him.

I mean, he’s even warming up to Roland.

Apparently reconsidering his opinion of him as “tabloid tapeworm” after Roland took a fist to the face that permanently altered his features to protect both me and his brother.