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“Oh, well.” Gosh, Teller must be feeling suicidal tonight. “Tell him ‘tough shit.’Skipping itisn’t an option.”
“That’s what I said.” He shoves his phone in his pocket. “Let’s stop by his place on our way to Furious.”
“Only if you promise not to choke him.”
“Baby doll, I can promise you a lot of things.” He steps in front of me and rests his hands on my hips, pulling me closer. “That’s not one of them.”
Rock
Hope’s calm, rational presence is probably the only thing stopping me from throttling my son today.
“You have to at least stop by,” I warn Marcel. I swear if he gives me one more dickish smirk…
“I’m going to be busy here.” He holds out his arms. “With all my little guests.”
A spot behind my right eye throbs. Hope was right about that button-pushing thing.
Our gazes stray to the small maze Marcel and Carter built for the kids out of hay bales. Alexa and Grace had spent most of yesterday running through it. And screaming bloody murder the few times they’d run into a dead end. Today, Grace is more interested in grabbing fistfuls of hay and tossing them in the air. Hope runs after her, thwarting Grace’s attempts to dismantle the whole thing.
“It’s fine, Hope,” Marcel calls out.
Hope gives up and tosses her own handful of hay.
Marcel chuckles and turns to face me again.
I’m not laughing.
“When Heidi and Murphy get here later, I expect you to take your ass down to Empire and visit that fucking clubhouse,” I say.
“I’ve already seen it.”
What’s so hard for him to understand about this? Hope got it immediately. Maybe I should strip Marcel’s patch and give it to my wife. “You heard me telleveryonethey need to be there.”
He opens his mouth, probably to protest some more, but I cut him off.
“I can’t give you special treatment.” I cock my head and drill him with a hard stare. “You get that, right? The club accepted the news that you’re my son with no issue, but I can’t give them the impression that I play favorites.”
He seems to consider that for a second or two. “I have a pregnant wife I don’t want to leave.” He waves his hand toward the house.
Guilt pokes at me but I remain firm. “So does Grinder. Serena’s going with him. Charlotte can go with you.”
His thoughtful expression shifts into a glare. “Don’t tell me how to handle my wife.”
I work my jaw from side to side. He seems committed to being deliberately obtuse today.
“We don’t get trick-or-treaters.” He waves his hand toward the house. “But I still worry someone might try to fuck with the place if Charlotte’s here by herself.”
“But she won’t be alone. Go early. Show your face around, then come home. That’s all I’m asking of you.”
“Fuck.” He runs his hand over the back of his neck. “Fine. I’m not wearing a fucking costume, though.”
Is that my last thread of patience snapping? “No one asked you to.”
His insolent mouth slides into a smirk. “What areyougoing as?”
“An MC president with a mouthy son he’d like to smack around.”
“How creative.” He rolls his eyes. “You’ll be unrecognizable.”
