Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55738 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“Come on.” Lexi squeezes my arm gently. “Let’s finish our food.”
“No way. I’m not going back in there. Not today.”
“Sam…”
“I mean it,” I snap. “It’s too awkward.”
She sighs. “Okay, fair enough. What should we do instead?”
“No way. You’ve got class. I’m not ruining your education, too. I’ll be okay, honestly.”
“Are you sure?” she asks, frowning.
No, I’m not. I don’t know if anything is going to be okay. If it isn’t the bullets firing in my memory, it’s the doubt firing in my soul. “Yes,” I tell her.
Once she’s gone, I walk to the bus stop, replaying the confrontation with James. He said everything I wish Fletcher would: He knew when he first saw me. He loves me, even if it didn’t make sense, but it’s coming from the wrong Jacobson.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Fletcher
Loki watches me as I hit the heavy bag in the garden. I was cautious about using it at first. Loki normally loves to watch me work out. Initially, he’d whine and try to get involved, but these days, he enjoys lying on the patio stones, staring, tongue hanging out. I thought the bag might be too loud for him today, but he’s resilient, back to his old ways. I hit it repeatedly, wilder than usual, thinking of the bastard who tried to hurt my woman.
“Dad?”
I turn to find James standing at the back door. Loki runs over to him. I smile as James kneels down and strokes Loki. James might talk a big game about not being a dog person, but he can’t hide the boyish grin on his face as he greets Loki. James hasn’t asked how I got Loki back, so I haven’t told him.
“You okay, son?” I ask.
He wanders onto the patio. “Not really. I just made a fool of myself at Samantha’s school.”
My blood turns to ice. The bag whines behind me. My fists are clenched tight in the gloves. “Why were you at Samantha’s school?” I ask, my voice dark.
James swallows. Maybe he thinks I’m going to lose my shit on him. If he were anybody else, I would.
“I hired a barbershop quartet,” he says. “I wanted to impress her. Show her I’m worth a second chance.”
“But why?” I growl. “You only went on one date. I don’t understand this at all.”
I’m being a major hypocrite here. I didn’t even need a single date to know she was the one for me, but I can’t stand the idea of my son feeling this way. If I had to choose… Jesus, I can’t even think like that. Maybe I haven’t been the perfect father. Hell, there’s no maybe about it, but this is just too much.
“I can’t help how I feel,” he says quietly, looking down at Loki’s smiling, happy face. “She’s the one for me. That’s it.”
I swallow, shaking my head. I’m not sure how much longer I can take this. I’m not sure if there’s a way out of this. I’ll have to tell him the truth at some point. I’ll have to reveal how much she means to me, and then what?
The worst part is, I can’t even keep asking him to explain how he can feel so certain so soon. It’s the exact way I feel. This is so messed up. If—no, when—Samantha and I get married one day, she will be his stepmom. How is that ever going to work, considering all this?
“I take it she didn’t like the quartet,” I say after a pause.
“No,” he sighs. “That’s why I wanted to speak with you, Dad. I wanted some fatherly advice. You know what that is, right?”
I bow my head, meeting eyes with Loki. He looks at me as if to say, What’s up? We’re doing okay, aren’t we? Finally turning back to my son, I touch him on the shoulder. “We need to talk.”
He tilts his head, looking at me curiously. “About what?”
“Please, son,” I say. I expect him to get sarcastic when I call him son, as he often does, but I must say it in a different tone.
“Okay, Dad,” he replies.
I strip off the boxing gloves and toss them onto the patio. Loki follows us into the house. I wish I could speak with Samantha before I do this, but I can’t put it off anymore. This has gone far enough already. There’s too much heat and certainty in my heart, aimed at my woman, for me to let it go. I can’t even try to let her go.
In the living room, I gesture to the chair. James sits slowly, looking at me with the concern I’ve seen in my own eyes many times in the mirror. After an operation. Before an operation. The day he was born.
“I have to tell you something,” I say, aware I’m delaying, but this is a conversation I never dreamed I’d be having. Ever. Not once. “It’s going to be difficult to hear, okay?”