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Ajax had talked to Marcella about calling him ‘Dad,’ so she should have been prepared to hear it, but she was not.
Eight looked pretty stunned himself, with their kid’s arms around his waist. He patted Ajax’s back awkwardly and said, “Yeah, me too.”
They stood quietly as Ajax picked up his pack and went to his room.
“I can see you’re pissed,” Eight said.
Marcella shot her hand up to shut him up. “Wait until he’s in the shower.”
Acknowledging that with a reluctant nod, he lifted the box. “You want me to put this in the fridge?”
It was stupid, but just now, while she wanted to rip his skin off and dunk him in lemon juice, Marcella didn’t want him any farther in her home than the front door. She snatched the box from his hands and took it to the refrigerator herself.
He followed her. His voice low, he said, “Marce, I—”
“I said shut the fuck up and wait until he’s in the fucking shower,” she snarled.
He shut the fuck up.
They were standing silently in the kitchen when Ajax came out with his pajamas in his hands. He smiled, and then frowned a little as he got a good look at them.
“Am I in trouble?” he asked from across the room.
“No, honey,” Marcella said.
At the same time, Eight said, “Nope.”
Marcella side-eyed him and then focused on her son. “We’re just talking. Go on and wash.”
“Okay. Dad, will you stay until I’m done so we can say good night?”
Eight blinked. “Uh … yeah, sure.”
His grin restored, Ajax went into the bathroom.
When she heard the water spraying, Marcella said, “Balcony. Now.”
Eight followed her through the living room and out the sliding glass door. She kept the drapes closed; they were insulated and hopefully that meant sound as well as light and heat.
When she slid the door closed, he said, “It was his idea. He wanted to see the clubhouse.”
Marcella whipped around. “Are you seriously blaming my ten-year-old on your fucked-up decision?”
“Ourten-year-old,” Eight came back.
“Not if you pull shit like this.”
Suddenly, Eight looked like he was about to erupt. “You can’t fucking hang that over me every time I do something you don’t like. You want me to stick, well, I’m stuck. I’m here. I’m being a father. I like it. He calls me Dad and I feel like I’m having a damn heart attack. But I’m not the fucking help, Marcella.”
She scoffed and crossed her arms. “You think a few weeks of playing Daddy gives yourights?”
“No, I think half his DNA gives me rights.” He came close and loomed over her, making the threat clear.
“Is that how you want to play it? You want to take this to court?”
That made him take a step back. “Fucking hell! No! But I’m already tired of this power trip you’re on. I want to be his dad. I want you to be my woman. I want this fucking family. I don’t know what else I have to do to get you to trust me.”
Power trip? That was rich. “Not taking him to your murder den would be a fucking start!”
