Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134057 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 670(@200wpm)___ 536(@250wpm)___ 447(@300wpm)
Jagger clenched his fists at his sides. “I did. And I’ll spend as long as it takes making it up to her.”
Trevor nodded. “Yeah, you will. And she’s already forgiven you. I’ll take longer. But I will too. Because you’re a son to me. And a parent will always forgive a child, no matter how big their mistakes are. And son, this is a fucking big one.” He gave his scar a long and pained looked. Jagger was used to it. It didn’t bother him, strangers witnessing his pain, gawking at it—no matter how much it bothered Caroline. But the stare of his family, the way they looked at it as if it were their own scar tissue, that burned more than the wound that created it.
“It’s been a hard fifteen years,” Trevor said. “For my daughter. But it doesn’t seem like it’s been much better for you.”
Jagger laughed. “You could say that.”
“It looks like it’s looking up for you, son. Because my daughter is at your side. I trust her.” He paused. “She wasn’t covering a story in Arizona, was she?”
Jagger shook his head.
“That patch, that gonna bring any danger into her life?” he asked, the first person to openly acknowledge the piece of leather.
Jagger wasn’t sure if they simply didn’t notice it, or because there was only so much information a family could take in in a day.
“Maybe,” Jagger answered honestly. “But Caroline has made it clear she’s never going to live a life without danger. But now she’s not gonna do it alone. This patch has turned me into a lot of things, not a lot of them good, but it means that I know how to protect her, and I’ll go all the way to do that.”
Trevor nodded once. “I don’t doubt that.” He looked inside to where Caroline was standing at the window. Her mother was beside her. Both of them beautiful. Strong. “Liam.”
Jagger turned. Trevor walked toward him, raised his hand and didn’t punch him as he expected. He clapped his hand on his shoulder. “I’m thinking that patch hasn’t turned you into a lot of bad, ‘cause it’s what brought you back here.”
He didn’t agree. But he was here.
His father laughed at the question he asked when he finally made it home. His mother was inside with Caroline, doing the dishes, though she found reasons to come out to the porch every five minutes just so she could lay eyes on him. His father’s laugh was easy, throaty, just like he remembered. How could it be just like he remembered after what had happened? After everything he’d done?
“Son, no matter what a child does, a parent does not hate them,” his father replied. “Trust me, your sister has tested that theory out plenty. Still love that little shit.”
Jagger smiled, even though he didn’t think he’d smile such a smile again.
“I was afraid,” he choked out. “That you’d hate me if I came back. Hate me if I didn’t.”
His father was silent for a long time. Jagger looked over to see tears glistening in the man’s face. It punched him right in the fucking chest.
Then he looked at Jagger, straight in the eye, with all that naked emotion, love that men—especially in the South—were not meant to have, let alone show.
He leaned over to take his son’s hand, even though it didn’t look like his son’s hand. Even though it was covered in ink, in blood.
“Many parents live their whole lives with children that didn’t come back to them. We had fifteen years. And that felt like a lifetime. I’ll be honest, kid, it was no picnic. But it wasn’t a lifetime. And you came back. There’s likely some stuff to work out, with Caroline, not with us, because our son is home. Sometimes it’s that simple.”
He wanted to agree with his father. He was a smart man. A man he looked up to. Whom he idolized. He had been in the army, had an illustrated and distinguished career that he gave up when his wife became pregnant. Worked to own his own business. To teach his son how to treat women, how to pull apart an engine and put it back together. How to be a man.
A weight had been lifted from his shoulders at his family’s reaction—it hadn’t been to jerk back in shock or horror, to sling accusations. It was simple to them, Liam was home.
“I’m not Liam,” he said finally.
His father looked back out onto the yard. “I know, son. But you’re still our son.” He squeezed his hand. “And it’s that simple.” He took a pull of his beer. Looked to him. “With us, it’s that simple. With Caroline...you’ve got work to do.”
Jagger downed his own beer. “Don’t I know it.”
“She’s worth it.”
His father’s words weren’t a question.
“Yeah. She is.”