Chapter 13

I like to think I learned something from my asshole father: that I know myself well enough not to impose my shittiness on other people, the way he did. So my plan was, I was going to take my assholic mood and drink it into oblivion in the company of Henry and Clark. I wasn’t going to subject Maddie or Gabe to it.

My mood wasn’t Maddie or Gabe’s fault, not in the slightest. It was shit happening at work again. For the, I don’t know, tenth time in as many days, the rich, entitled clients had changed their tune—this time about the flooring materials. And once again my crappy boss made my crew scapegoats so he could look good to his bosses at the greedy out-of-town building company that employs all of us. The whole thing is such a fucking land grab—building cheap houses out of the lowest-grade materials, not even trying to make them blend in with the vibe of the town or Revere Lake’s existing housing stock, and selling them for outrageous prices to people who don’t know better. I’m so tired of being part of it. That’s what had me so ballistic when I walked through the door.

But I hadn’t expected Maddie and Gabe to have cooked for me. I didn’t count on coming home and having Gabe bouncing up and down because he’s so excited that he’s made me dinner.

Their excitement and the expectation on their faces makes the way I feel instantly worse. So much worse. Because I have all this twisted, balled-up anger inside me, and it doesn’t think Gabe is cute or Maddie’s amazing for having cooked. Instead, when I walk into my house and see them there, I just feel like they’ve invaded my space and I want it back. Gabe’s antics are annoying and the look on Maddie’s face, like I’ve kicked her puppy, amps up my need to lash out. And all I can think about is my father, and how this is what he felt when he walked in the door and saw me. Another irritant in a world of things that failed to live up to his expectations.

So I get the hell out of there and into the shower. She follows me down the hall and tries to talk to me through the door, offers to have Henry and Clark over for dinner, as if that’s going to solve everything, and I don’t think I can take it. I get ready to haul off and shout at her to get out of my hair, to give me some space. The words are choked up in my throat, harsh, ready to be hurled, and the only thing I can do is clamp my mouth shut around them. I stand there, under the shower, not yelling.

The water is too hot, but I let it punish me.

What I want, what I really want, is for her to crack the door, slip in, take her clothes off, get in here with me, and let me bury my frustration in her body.

After a while I think I hear her retreat down the hallway, and I take a breath, and the band around my chest loosens and I think I’m gonna be okay.

I soap myself fast, roughly, and get out of the shower as fast as I can. I don’t deserve to lounge around enjoying it. I definitely don’t deserve to jerk off to the hot, fast arousal that crashed down on me when I imagined her in here with me.

I dress slowly. I guess I’m dragging my feet.

When I go out into the kitchen, they’re sitting there, eating together, and they both look defeated. And something shifts and settles in my chest. I don’t make a conscious decision or anything. I just—I sit. I pull out a chair and sit down at the third place they’ve set and haven’t cleared.

“Daddy! Are you going to eat wid us?”

I nod. Again, it doesn’t feel like I’ve decided anything—more that it’s been decided for me.

Gabe’s face lights up like you wouldn’t believe.

It feels—

It feels good, and scary, too. Like, I have this power over this little person. I have the power to ruin or make his day. I have the power to teach him to be a strong, generous man or to turn him into the next generation of fucked-up Parker males in line for my dad’s legacy.

And I have no idea how to do it right, you know?

Then I look over at Maddie and while she looks a little more cautious than Gabe, I can see that something has softened in her face, too. There’s a little smile teasing around the corner of her mouth.

(I’d like to tease around the corner of that mouth.)

(Nope. Nope. Nope.)

And that little smile is scary, too. Because it tells me I have some power over her, too, and—

Well, that’s the last thing I ever wanted.

She spoons some chili into a bowl, balances a hunk of cornbread beside it, sets a plate of salad at the corner of my placemat.

My stomach growls. It smells amazing. I dig in and let myself enjoy the situation. Home cooking, sexy woman in my kitchen, even if I can’t feast on her the way I can on what’s in front of me.

“You want a beer?” she asks, getting up.

“Sure.”

She crosses the kitchen to the fridge and comes back with two bottles and a church key. She has her long hair pulled up in some kind of hair clip, but strands of it have gotten loose and are curling up around her face. Her makeup is smudged from a day of work, but it looks good that way, her eyes dark-rimmed and ultra-green. She’s still wearing work clothes—a pretty cranberry-colored blouse tucked into light gray pants that hug her ass like a glove. And she’s barefoot.

I am a fucking caveman, but I love those bare feet on my kitchen floor.

She hands me the bottles and the key and I pop one for each of us and tap my bottle against hers in a makeshift toast. Gabe wants to clink, too. He runs to the cabinet, finds a plastic cup, and asks for it to be filled with water so he can join in. The three of us do “cheers”—“chee-ahs!” in Gabe’s case—and then I enjoy the first cold swallow.

Cold beer. Hot, spicy chili with hunks of tender beef and kidney beans. And this cornbread with honey that’s—

There are no words.

I do, however, try to hold back the actual grunts of pleasure. I’m not a total caveman.