Dirty Toe Drag (Nashville Assassins Next Generation 6)

He winks at me, and my heart flutters as I force myself to leave. I shut the door behind myself as I check the status of my Uber. I know I have time, so I walk around, picking up and keeping myself busy while I wait. Wes’s phone is on the bar, and I notice that it keeps lighting up. Not my business, so I move on. Wes isn’t messy by any means, but there are a few things here and there. An empty glass, loads of protein bar wrappers, and even some socks on the floor. As I’m wiping down the kitchen table, I notice an envelope with a pack of 8x10 photos. Being the nosy person I am, I look inside to find pictures of a younger Wes and a gorgeous blond woman. Since Wes basically mirrors her, I can only assume she’s his mom.

And goodness, it brings tears to my eyes.

There are photos in a wooded area, in a backyard, at hockey games, both of them always hugging so tightly. When I get to the last one, it’s a photo of his mom in a hospital bed, and I know it’s when the cancer was winning. Her eyes are empty, and her body is frail. Wes, even at a young age, is massive, holding her with tears in his sweet eyes. My eyes burn as I take in the photo, my heart hurting for him. I know she didn’t want to leave him, and pray God, I wish she hadn’t.

I hear vibrating once more, and when I glance over, it’s Wes’s phone again. I pack the photos back up and go to his phone to see it’s a number with no contact info. I also notice his phone is almost dead. I walk over to the couch table and grab his charger to plug it in. As I’m doing so, the number calls once more.

My brow perks. Maybe it’s important since they’ve called over and over again. But why haven’t they left a voice mail? I’m not sure this is the right thing to do, but I answer.

“Hello?”

A gruff voice fills the line. “Um, sorry, is this Wesley McMillan’s number?”

I cock my head. “Yes, it is.”

“Is he available?”

“No, he’s sleeping. Can I take a message since you wouldn’t leave a voice mail?”

He pauses. “Figured if I called enough, he’d answer.” I don’t know what to say to that, so I don’t say anything. “Um, okay, can you tell him that he can reach his father at this number, and I would really like to speak to him?”

My stomach drops. Instantly, my heart kicks up in speed, and I feel like it’s going to come out of my chest. Rage spreads through me from the tips of my toes to the top of my head, and I swear I can see red. “His father?”

“Yes, Cline.”

“Cline,” I repeat, shaking with anger.

“Yes.”

“Well, Cline. Here is the deal. Don’t you ever call this number again. Wes wants nothing to do with you, and he is healing and becoming the man you wouldn’t allow him to become because you didn’t protect him!”

“Now, wait a second—”

“No! You wait a fucking second. Do not call this number again, and stay the hell away from Wes. Also, go fuck yourself.”

I slam my finger to the End button, and my vision is so shaky, I have to check twice to confirm that I hung up. How dare that motherfucker? I am appalled he would actually reach out after everything that has happened. I know it’s not the first time because his phone number has been showing on the screen since last night. Yes, we were busy spilling our souls to each other, but Wes never answered the phone. He ignored it each time, so obviously, he didn’t want to talk to him. My stomach aches as I look toward Wes’s door. Then my heart sinks.

Did I just fuck up?

* * *

Audrey looks at me from across the bar, her brows hidden by her bangs.

Everyone else is outside, setting up balloons, and Dad is helping direct the taco truck to its spot. Audrey and I are putting cupcakes on the puck display that Shea and Dad made. There are over three hundred pucks, stacked and mounted in the cutest little way. Since we are a family of hockey players, of course the reveal would be hockey-themed.

I just hope it’s a boy so Aiden doesn’t have a heart attack.

“So, you channeled your inner Emery and told his dad to fuck off?”

I shrug. “I did.”

“Okay,” she draws out, side-eyeing me. “That’s very unlike you.”

“I know, and I wish I could tell you what that man put Wes through, but I can’t. I was so damn mad.”

“I can tell. Your face is still red.”

I nod. “It was horrific, AA. Legit horrific, and I hate him. Don’t even know him, but I despise him.”