Page 137 of Summer Holiday Lifeline

Jet glanced at Myles, then let out a tsunami of annoyance. “Uncle Myles was right. Bentley Priory is a stuck-up asshole.” He dumped himself onto the couch, fiddling restlessly with the multiple leather bracelets around one wrist. “I’m like some kind of pet project to keep himself busy while he dies or something.”

“Maybe he’s just re-evaluating what’s important, now he’s running out of time,” Myles suggested. He wasn’t going to say another word against Priory. He never should have let his feelings for the man be known in the first place, and instead allowed Jet to make up his own mind. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.

“As much as I hate how Mom handled it,” Jet said, “at least what she did, she did out of love. She wanted to protect us. Maybe it was the right thing to do for Shelly, even. She’s little. She wouldn’t have really understood.”

“But?”

“Priory is only about making himself feel better. He keeps saying he’s doing it for me, but really, all he wants is for me to pat his hand and be grateful so he can feel better about ignoring me my whole life. Like this makes up for it.”

“I’m sure he’s doing his best,” Pat offered, glancing at Myles over Jet’s head and shrugging.

“You have to remember he didn’t have great parental role models,” Myles added. “His own father wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.”

Jet glowered at him. “Neither was yours, but you and Mom turned out just fine.”

He couldn’t help it. Myles snorted. “Your mom, maybe⁠—”

“Don’t do that,” Jet said, voice so soft Myles almost didn’t hear him. “Don’t put yourself down.”

“Jet, I’m just being honest. My life is hardly exemplary, and I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ve screwed up so many times.”

“Yeah, but you know when you fuck up⁠—”

“Swear jar!” Shelly called from her spot on the carpet. She didn’t even look up from her drawing, which was recognizably a hot dog cart.

“Mess up,” Jet corrected himself even as he dug in a pocket for a loonie, which he tossed down to her. “You know when you do, and you at least try to fix it and do better. I mean, you had a shitty life, and you made shitty choices, but you got better.” He pulled Shelly to his lap when she came over to stand in front of him, hands on her hips. “When it came down to it, Uncle Myles, you were there. You put your own shit aside, and you were there, and you just tried, which shows that you give a fuck about us.”

“Of course I do.”

“All Priory wants is for people to stand around at his funeral and say what a good thing he did, dragging his poor-ass son out of poverty at the end.”

“We’re hardly destitute.”

Jet squirmed. “Compared to him?”

“Well, okay. When you compare it to multiple millions, maybe.”

“So he pulled strings at his alma matter to get me in, and he gave me all these brochures for where to finish high school.” He kicked his backpack, and Myles tried hard not to feel like all his trying was never going to live up to the shiny life Priory was dangling in front of his nephew.

Jet hugged Shelly tight enough to make her squeak, and laid his cheek against her hair, turning his gaze on Myles. “He doesn’t even remember what she looked like. Did you know that? He thought she was blonde.” He blinked. His lashes clumped, and he swallowed. “How could he love me if he never loved her?”

Ignoring the screaming pain of bending his hip enough to do it, Myles leaned in and hugged Jet and Shelly close. “She loved you, Jet. So much.”

To his horror—or maybe it was relief, Myles couldn’t tell—Jet sobbed quietly on his shoulder for a few minutes while Myles hugged him, and Shelly snuggled him and told him she loved him too.

Pat left them alone in the moment, taking the mugs to the kitchen to clear up the tea mess.

After a bit, Shelly straightened and tapped Jet on the shoulder.

He sniffed and turned his head enough to peer at her.

Holding up her hand, fingers splayed, she said, “Five, please.”

“Five what?” Jet pushed himself upright and wiped at his face.

“Loonies. For the jar.”

“Dude. You counted?”