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But what if he could be what she really wanted—or what if he really was what she wanted, just as he was?
No. It couldn’t be that. What did he have that could possibly be something she wanted? He earned okay, but she obviously didn’t need money. He was decent at sex but she didn’t need him for that. He had a sense of humor but it probably wasn’t the kind girls meant when they said a sense of humor was hot. He wasn’t especially smart, wasn’t educated, had no power at work or in the club. He was good in a fight and could protect her if she needed it, but so was Dre. And Dre already had that job.
Fucking Dre. He hated that asshole.
No, she couldn’t possibly really want to be with him. She just hadn’t figured that out yet. He didn’t want to be around when she did.
But now he was sitting in Dex and Kelsey’s back yard, sweltering in the late-August sauna, watching a bunch of hardcore men and women ooh and aah and coo over one-year-old Tildy’s mountain of pink-wrapped birthday presents.
Duncan was building one of the first gifts opened: a ridiculously complicated trike-walker-wagon thing. Dunc had gone all soft and sappy over his niece from the second she hit the world, like she was his kid.
Jay was sitting on the ground, his back against Dex’s huge, climate controlled doghouse, as far away from all the kiddie bullshit as he could get.
Dex and Kelsey had six dogs, and four were in the thick of the commotion near the house, but Jay had Lizzie, a chihuahua, on his lap, and Ripper, a Doberman, stretched out beside him with his head on Jay’s leg. They were both tense, watching the people crowding their space. They weren’t any happier about all that happiness than he was.
He preferred the company of dogs. People sucked, but dogs were the best. Always.
Then Jay sighed. His father was walking toward him, a beer in each hand. They hadn’t said anything substantive to each other since the talk about the ASE. When Pop had called him self-destructive.
If he could have done it without looking like a pussy, Jay would have tried to escape now.
“Hey, son,” Pop said. “Why’re you off by yourself?” He handed Jay a beer and slowly, groaning, worked his way down to sit on the ground beside him.
Rather than answer, Jay took a long swallow from the bottle. “Thanks.”
“Jacob,” Pop said. Nothing more, but Jay got that cattle prod at the base of his skull. That one word, his actual name, was a whole fucking book detailing all of Pop’s disappointments in his youngest son.
He wanted an answer, so Jay gave him the easiest one. “Just not feeling the party. Tildy doesn’t care about me.”
“Tildy’s a year old. She doesn’t care about anythin’ but the wrappin’ paper. Dex and Kelsey care, though. The whole family cares about you.”
Jay studied the group on and around the patio and wondered if that was true. Everybody was smiling, talking, laughing. Most were focused on the family of honor—Tildy sitting on Dex’s lap, the two of them opening the presents Kelsey handed over after reading the card—and Duncan and Maverick already at work building some of the bigger presents. Jenny was writing the list of gifts and givers down in a notebook.
There were a few side conversations going, too, including an animated one between Athena and Sam. As it was happening in ASL, Jay knew they were arguing over the guy who’d dumped Athena last week. Not caring enough to translate ASL more than that, Jay let his attention wander back to the main crowd.
Point was, nobody but his parents gave a rat’s ass if Jay was here. He didn’t matter.
When Pop said, “Yeah, they do,” Jay realized he’d been shaking his head.
He stopped his head but didn’t reply.
Pop sighed heavily. “What do you want, Jake?”
He wasn’t sure exactly what Pop was asking, and he didn’t want to get into an argument in front of everybody—or worse, sit here on the ground while his father delivered another lecture about how a man worth his shit behaved—so Jay had no intention of answering. Stonewalling made the best chance of getting out of a stilted father-son moment. It could end up with Pop shouting, or he’d huff with irritation and give up, but either way, it was better than having it out with him right here.
But words were piling up on his tongue anyway, and his mouth was opening. He didn’t even know what he was going to say—“I want to be ... worth it.”
Jesus fuck, he was such apussy.
Pop said nothing, but Jay could feel his glare. He didn’t turn; he knew the look and didn’t want to deal with the way it made him feel. That was too much right now.
He put the bottle to his mouth and finished it.
As soon as Jay set his empty down, Pop reached over and grabbed a fistful of his kutte. He yanked hard, forcing Jay to twist at the waist and face him. Lizzie growled softly, a warning, and Ripper’s head came up, ears perked high, but Pop was unfazed.
He was staring straight into Jay’s eyes, the lines between his grey eyebrows deep as mountain crevasses. “Why the fuck would you think you’re not worth it right now?” he growled.
Jay scoffed and tried to get loose, but Pop gave his kutte another yank, shaking him. Lizzie hopped off his lap and trotted toward the party. Fair weather friend. Ripper was still on alert, but seeing how Pop still had his insides on the inside, the Doberman obviously read Pop as an authority, or didn’t see Jay as his responsibility to protect.
