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I know all about him and Kyle’s dad. Hell, the two of them being best friends is how Kyle and I met in the first place.
I shake my head. “It won’t do any good.”
Abel giggles as my curls bounce around and grabs at them, but he tugs on one a little too hard.
I flinch when Uncle Mickey says, “Ah, that’s a shame.”
Focusing on Abel, I reach up and work on prying his surprisingly strong baby grip off my hair.
“I always thought Kyle was such a good boy. I thought he would take good care of you.”
Now I know he’s just fucking with me.
Carefully pulling my hair out of Abel’s fingers, I glare at Uncle Mickey.
He grins at me, showing his stained teeth. “The last time I saw you, you spat at my feet and said you never wanted to see my ugly face again.”
He’s trying to look smug but he can’t conceal the hurt that flashes in his eyes.
Spreading his hands, he asks, “Am I no longer ugly?”
I almost feel a pang of regret for being so mean.
Almost.
He’s my uncle. He’s blood.
But he got my father killed.
And I’ll never forgive him for it.
Never.
As it is, I have to swallow my pride and come to him with my hands held out like a beggar.
“No,” I grunt as I finally yank the last of my hair out of Abel’s grip.
“No?” he repeats in true surprise.
I’m tempted to smirk but refrain.
Shifting Abel into my lap, I slide off one of the many bracelets I wear just for him and push it into his little hands. “No, you’re not ugly, Uncle Mickey.”
Gripping the bracelet in his fist, Abel waves it around as if showing it to us then shoves it into his mouth.
Thank god he’s not teething right now.
Looking up, I meet Uncle Mickey’s eyes and stare hard into them. “You’re as pretty as a picture.”
Uncle Mickey frowns at me in confusion before what I said dawns on him.
It’s a stupid little saying. Overused and cliché.
But it’s what he always said about me.
The hurt, the anger, melts off his face, leaving behind an old man that simply looks tired.
Shaking his head and ruining part of his combover, he leans forward, reaching for his cigar again.
