Truth Be Told (Blackbridge Security 4)

“I didn’t want this for your mother. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I thought pushing her away gave her better opportunities, the ability to be more successful.”

He continues to push his food around on his plate but doesn’t take another bite.

“This town chews people up and spits them out mangled and broken. I was eighteen, thinking that she was better off without me.”

“Without us,” he clarifies, and it makes me wonder what all Tinley told him about our relationship. Knowing her, she gave bare facts, but even those don’t win me any humanitarian awards.

“I didn’t know about you.”

“And if you had?” His eyes look up from his plate at me as if he’s waiting to determine if I’m going to lie to him like I’m sure so many other people have.

Placing my fork on my own plate, I shift in my seat. “I’d like to think I would’ve gotten my shi—” I pause. Lead by example, right? “My stuff together, but I don’t know how things would’ve ended up. I wasn’t given the opportunity.”

“And that’s Mom’s fault?”

Technically, yes.

“She made the choice she thought was best. I could sit here and tell you that you’d have a perfect life with nothing to worry about if she had told me about you because I never would’ve walked away from you had I known, but I don’t have a crystal ball or the ability to change how things are now. I can tell you that I want to be a part of your life.”

“It’s a little too late to walk into my life and play daddy.” The bitterness in his tone almost makes me grin. He’s so much like I was at that age.

“I’ll take what you’re willing to offer.”

“Shoes and gifts? Anything I want because you’re trying to buy my love?” He sneers at me, unable to keep the acidity out of his words.

I guess that’s one good thing about boys his age. It’s nearly impossible for them to hide their true emotions.

“I’m not trying to buy your love, but the offer still stands. If you need something, I want you to feel comfortable asking me for it. It’s not a favor. I don’t offer expecting anything back from you. I should’ve bought you a million things already. It’s my job to take care of you, not an obligation.”

“Mom has done the best she could.” Clearly, he’s reading more into my words than I expect him to.

“I know she has, and at the risk of keeping you from ever accepting my offer to hang out again, there are a few things we need to talk about.” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this conversation without pissing him off further. “Not coming from a parental position but from a man who lost his mother at a young age and would give nearly anything to have her back, you’ve got to stop making things harder for her.”

He frowns, his jaw working back and forth as if he’s grinding his teeth.

“Getting in trouble at school—”

“I haven’t gotten in trouble once this week,” he snaps.

“I know.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “And that’s awesome, but letting me help out will also help her.”

I don’t see it as a form of manipulation, but he also doesn’t seem too keen on the idea when he plops his back against his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.

“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan to help?”

“You could let me take you home every day after practice. Your mom wouldn’t have to wait in the parking lot. She has to leave work early to do that, doesn’t she? She drops you off and goes back?”

He tilts his head up, an annoyed look on his face.

“What else?” he asks, not denying the offer outright but also not agreeing.

“I could take you to grab groceries for the house,” I offer.

“What did I say about throwing your money arou—”

“Does Brooke still like those little toffee candies? How long has it been since she’s had some?” I interrupt, already well aware that although this kid has a chip on his shoulder, he also understands the significance of family.

Despite the lies, I know Tinley raised him to be respectful and loving. That’s one thing in the plus column. She loves this boy.

“You ask her to keep it when I buy her a new car. The one she has is complete shit.”

“We don’t need—”

“Does it crank every time? I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to be running a little late to work only to have the car not crank.”

He snaps his mouth closed.

“What’s her favorite color? It used to be turquoise, but I think such a flashy color would draw the wrong kind of attention. Maybe black or silver would be better.”

“She likes silver,” he mutters, and I do all I can to hold back a smile.