“Gotcha.” She winked at me, moving past us. “You guys get ready for some Twister Sister food, and you’ll never eat at another place again. Montreal’s won awards for his creations at the grill.”
“Thank you, darlin’.”
She winked at ‘Pops’ before she left.
Jordan moved closer, saying under his breath, “What’s her name?”
I elbowed him in the stomach.
He harrumphed, cradling his stomach and shooting me a look.
I ignored him, standing at the end of my dad’s table until he took a silent breath. He nodded to the empty stools on the other side. “Thinking you should claim one of those, hmm? Maybe your boys can take a walk.”
“Or play a game of pool.” Jordan was already spying the last open table.
The back of Cross’ hand grazed mine. “You okay here?”
I nodded, grazing mine against his arm in response. “I’ll be fine. And if I’m not, you’ll come running.”
A crooked grin was my response.
Jordan had started for the table, and he picked up a pool stick, holding it over his head. “You break, buddy.” He started pulling the balls out from the dispenser. “Have I told you how seriously phenomenal I am at pool?”
I couldn’t hear Cross’ response.
“They ain’t stupid, are they?”
I turned back, taking the inside stool across from my dad. It gave us enough space, and I shifted so my back was to the wall. I was facing most of the room, my feet resting on the stool’s footrest beside me. “Why do you ask that?”
He dipped his head, his gaze somewhere. “Because they’re about to get hustled.”
I looked over at them.
Three of the guys playing pool at the neighbor table were moving in.
Jordan started to converse with them, but Cross looked back at me. He held his hand in a small wave, motioning for me to stay where I was.
“You forgot how rough Roussou is? You get dementia in prison?” I flashed him my teeth, knowing it wasn’t a smile. “Maybe you were actually in there longer than you thought.”
He was reaching for his coffee but paused. A soft laugh came out as he finished his grip and lifted the mug to his lips. “Right.” He took a sip, putting it back down. “But this ain’t Roussou. These guys follow a different set of rules than your crew.” He gave me a steadying look. “You’re out of your depths in this world, and for once, I’m eternally grateful. You got a foot in the good world, and by good, I mean at college and find a job that’s not bounty hunting. You find your niche there, embrace it, and you stay out of this world. I don’t want you here.”
I swallowed a whole fucking knot, because damn, that stung.
“You get all that because I stabbed you?”
He snorted a laugh. “I got all that because you walked in here with your boys, without a trace of fear on your face.” He scowled. “I don’t like that. I don’t like that at all. This world, I do not want you in it.”
“So you said.”
“I’ll say it again,” he bit those words out, roughly. He pounded a fist down on the table. “Not my girl. Not my daughter. No. Your brother did a horrible job raising you—”
I hopped down, shoving back the stool. It crashed into something behind me. I didn’t care.
This wasn’t a quick reaction.
This had been building from years of listening to him and Channing fight, years of watching him walk out that door after Mom died, years of hearing him coming back drunk and stumbling. Years.
And I snapped, again, because apparently I needed to.
I let loose and this time, it felt damn good. This time, I knew exactly what I was saying. “Fuck you.”
He went still, his eyes narrowing. “What’d you say?”
I raised my voice. “Fuck. You.”
His eyes got big, showing off the whites, and his cheeks filled out, showing off more redness. I noticed then that he had a slight mustache growing, and he wasn’t keeping it combed. It was all mangled, the strands pointing in every which way.
“Excuse yourself. Right now.”
I was experiencing whiplash. The room was spinning around me.
Who did he think he was?
No.
This, this was what I came to tell him. He was laying it out for me, all nice and to the point, so here goes my turn.
A sad laugh came from me. He heard it, growing even more still.
I shook my head, just barely. “You got out of prison for killing someone, and you came right to my door. You want to know what Channing did, right? He shooed you away. He got between us, and he kept you away because of this.” I skimmed him up and down, my lip curling up in disdain. “You don’t have a right to tell me to ‘excuse myself.’ You don’t have a right to judge Channing on taking care of me. He was there. You weren’t. You want to know what you left behind? A goddamn mess. That was me. I went to jail, Pops.”