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“You’re telling me.” Was there a hint of disgust in the old man’s voice? J.D. really didn’t care. He couldn’t be a part of Santini Brothers as long as his father insisted on pulling everyone’s strings.
“Listen, Dad,
I’m driving to Portland tomorrow. I’m selling my stock, my boat, my bike and my condo. And I’m paying off Philip’s debts to the company.”
“But why—”
“Tiffany needs this place. Her kids need it. I want her to own it free and clear.”
“I’m not trying to push my grandkids out of a home,” Carlo said. “I just want them closer.”
“Forget it. This is their home. Now, I’m paying off the debt, and you’re accepting it, or we’re going to court.”
“Always the lawyer.”
“Always.” J.D. wasn’t taking no for an answer.
“You don’t have to do this.”
“Of course I do, Dad.”
“She’s got her claws into you.”
“Big-time.”
Carlo sighed. “I don’t know what’s going on down there, son, but if that woman’s turned your head around—”
“What? You’ll what?” J.D. demanded. “Find a way to tie her up financially even more than she is? Strap her so that she’ll be forced to move closer to you and Mom?”
“Would it be so bad?”
“Yeah, Dad, I think it would. She’s her own woman. Independent and tough. She’s dealing with her own problems and seeming to get by without any of our interference. The least you could do—we could do—is have a little faith.”
“But—”
“Draw up the necessary papers. I’ll see you tomorrow. Goodbye.” J.D. clicked off and half expected his father to call back and the phone to jangle insistently. Thankfully it didn’t. J.D. opened the window a crack to let in the evening breeze that was turning the leaves of the tree next to the house. Along with a breath of cool air came the sound of voices, young voices, drifting up from somewhere near the carriage house.
“I mean it, Santini, if you breathe a word of this to anyone, you’re dead meat.”
J.D. looked into the yard and saw Stephen and another boy, one who looked a little older than he, standing on the asphalt beneath the new basketball hoop.
“I’m not sayin’ nothing to no one.”
“You’d better not. We had a deal.”
“I know, Miles.”
So the scruffy-looking kid with the two-toned blond hair and bad complexion was the infamous Miles Dean. He didn’t look all that intimidating; in fact, truth to tell, he seemed more frightened than tough.
“Yeah, well, you already screwed up once.”
“It...it was an accident.”
“You were hiding the keys from me, you little freak. If you woulda given ’em to me like you said you would, then the cops wouldn’t have found ’em.”
“If you wouldn’t have started hitting me, the cops never would have come.”
Miles’s eyes slitted, and he took a step toward Stephen. “Just don’t do it again. Stick to the story. You know what’ll happen if you mess up again.”
