“Thank God Callen makes me get vaccinated. I’m immune to rabies, Ethan Jackson Blackhawk.”
Ohhhhh…
He just full government named him.
Callen knew this was about to go sideways. When Timothy used any of their names, their full names, he was annoyed.
“Well, caring is sharing,” Callen offered.
Timothy looked over at him.
“Callen James, don’t.”
Oof.
“Why am I catching strays?” he asked. “I think we need more beer or sedatives,” he muttered under his breath.
Timothy ignored him.
“Would you like to get it off of your chest?” he asked his grandson. “If you’d like, I’m willing to take it and carry it as my own.”
Ethan stared at him.
When he looked at Timothy, all he saw was his face in that rear window as he was being driven away by CPS, and how he waved like he was taking a cab to the airport to go to summer camp.
It pissed him off.
“Honestly, Timothy, you don’t want this rage.”
He said one thing.
“It’s Granddad or Shaman. We areNOTon a first-name basis when it comes to you talking to me. I am not your friend,” he stated. “I raised you.”
When Ethan opened his mouth, there were so many vile things on the tip of his tongue.
What kept them from being launched?
Gene.
“My love, please,” he whispered, keeping his voice low. “For me.”
That did what it was meant to do.
Ethan came to a full stop.
There was only one person he’d back down for, and Timothy got damn lucky. He was sitting beside him on that threadbare couch.
The last thing he needed was an all-out fight in front of him. This was his personal mess, and he wouldn’t drag the man into it.
He did a one-eighty.
“So, Callen, how’s work?” he asked, catching his brother off guard.
He actually stared at Gene like the man was a miracle worker, or some kind of witch to make Ethan back off of a fierce verbal neutering.
That was unheard of in their world. Ethan Blackhawk was known for a few things.
His good looks.
