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“Hi.” He gave me a little wave. He rocked on his heels, unable to stand still. Was he nervous? Well, he should be. His gaze flicked back and forth like he wanted to be anywhere but here.
He wasn’t going anywhere. Not until we talked at least.
I used my foot to pull out the chair next to mine. “Sit.”
He swallowed, the movement emphasized by his pale throat adorned with a simple black choker. “Yes, sir.”
My breath got trapped inside my lungs, and I furrowed my brow. Was it how he said “sir” in that low register of his or the way the choker clung to his neck? The simple piece of jewelry reminded me a long time had passed since I held someone down for a real proper fuck.
My dick twitched.
What the hell was that about?
Scottie folded his bottom lip between his teeth—bracketed by purple braces—and drummed his fingers on top of the bar. The bartender rushed forward, probably assuming Scottie was impatient, not realizing he was nervous.
“What can I get you?” the man asked.
“Whiskey. Make it neat, thank you.”
“I’ll need to see some ID.”
Scottie’s cheeks flamed. “I’m twenty-five!”
“You don’t look it. Either I see your ID, or you take a Coke.”
Scottie mumbled under his breath and fished his driver’s license out of his wallet. The bartender took a long look at it and at Scottie, then handed it back. “One scotch coming up.”
At least he was legal. He hadn’t lied about his age.
The bartender returned with his drink, and Scottie politely thanked him. Instead of drinking, though, he kept his hand wrapped around the glass. He stared at me long and hard. I didn’t say anything, just let him, but I silently questioned the flutters his curious gaze set off in my gut.
“Is it really you?” he asked softly. “Are you really Griff?”
“It’s me.”
“When did you get out?”
“A few weeks ago. Took me a while to get here and find a temporary place to stay.”
“Oh.” He finally took a sip of his drink, made a face, and put down the glass. “So…you’re not staying?”
“I am staying. My son is here.”
“Of course.” He gulped down some more of the scotch, and his eyes watered behind his glasses. Why was he still pretending to be someone he wasn’t? It was almost as if he wasn’t comfortable being himself.
“You see, I don’t think Jay will be happy about this.”
“But you don’t know that for a fact.”
“It makes sense, though. He threw away every letter you sent him.”
Didn’t he think I’d considered my son’s rejection all this time? I couldn’t even blame Jay. My actions had forced him to grow up without a father. And without a competent mother too. She’d overdosed, leaving him to be raised by relatives. If the stuff Scottie had told me in his letters were true.
“I still have to try, and you’re going to help me.”
When he reached for the glass again, I couldn’t take it anymore. I snatched it from his hand and flung back the liquid all at once. He gaped at me. I signaled the bartender, who came over instantly. It was a slow night at the bar.
“I’d like a Coke.” I gave him back the glass.
