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Everyone in the yard starts clapping, cheering, and whistling when I finish my speech, but I stay still and quiet as Kevin’s face gets beet-red and his hands clench into fists at his sides. I silently watch the anger building up in him, knowing something super special is about to come out of his mouth, because he really doesn’t like to be embarrassed in front of other people.
“Oh, you’re a fucking cunt!”
“Nope,” Shepherd immediately states calmly from behind me.
With a gentle shove against my shoulder to push me out of the way, Shepherd takes three giant steps forward, pulls his fist back, and punches Kevin right in the face.
There’s a collective “Oooh” of pain from the front yard crowd.
“You asshole! You broke my fucking nose!” Kevin wails in a muffled voice, bent over at the waist with his hands up over his face and blood pouring through his fingers.
Shepherd just shakes out his hand and turns back around with a smile on his face as he walks back to me.
“Sorry, my queen. I couldn’t let that one stand.”
“You’re forgiven,” I tell him with a smile. “How’s your hand?”
Shepherd lets me take his hand and bring it up to my mouth for a quick kiss to make the pain go away.
“Hurts like a bitch, but probably not as much as his face.” Shepherd winks, pointing his thumb back over his shoulder at Kevin, who is now freaking out about the blood stains on his expensive shirt.
“Do you have any idea who my father is?” Kevin shouts while Shepherd and I just stand here staring at each other with sappy smiles on our faces. “You are going down, you piece of shit! Oh my God, I am going to own you!” He just laughs like a maniac while his phone starts ringing in his pocket.
“I know you’ve got this handled, baby, but do you mind if I take one more swing, just for old time’s sake?” Shepherd asks, making me wonder how I ever survived without him in my life.
“Swing away, Oliver.”
With a kiss to the tip of my nose, Shepherd turns and wraps his arm around my shoulders, leaning against me casually while Kevin’s phone continues to ring from his pocket.
“Actually, I do know your father, Kevin,” Shepherd tells him with amusement on his face as he brings his hand up to study his nails, making me laugh. “We had a nice little chat on my way over here. Turns out Roger Stratford is a huge Hawks fan, and he was just so delighted to get a phone call from little old me, Shepherd Oliver. Coincidentally one of his favorite Hawks players. But I mean, can you blame him? I’m a pretty big deal. You gonna get that?” Shepherd pauses to glance down at Kevin’s pocket where his phone is still ringing and then shrugs.
“Anyway, he wasn’t too happy about all the bullshit his son has been pulling, and really wasn’t happy about the whole Dip and Twist thing, you naughty boy.” Shepherd chuckles and wags his finger at Kevin.
“Are you kidding me? He really did trash the shop?” I mutter, glaring at Kevin, who is now starting to turn an alarming shade of green as Shepherd continues.
“Turns out he’s been trying to get season tickets for years and hasn’t been able to. But no worries, Kevin! I hooked Daddy up. He’s got season tickets behind home plate for life and a press pass to get into the locker room whenever he wants, to go with it. Seriously, you might want to answer that phone now.”
The ringing finally stops when Kevin pulls his phone out of his pocket with a shaky hand, bringing it up to his ear. His eyes widen and actually fill with tears, and no one says a word until Kevin suddenly runs as fast as he can out of my yard.
Bodhi, Tess, Palmer, and Birdie all step away from his golf cart as he scrambles inside it with the phone still up to his ear, backing up and peeling away so fast he almost runs right into Tess’s golf cart parked against the curb. It’s not until he’s out of sight that everyone finally throws their heads back and laughs.
“And that, ladies and gentleman, is what it looks like when daddy has your yacht and your Porsche impounded, and then threatens to cut off the rest of your money.”
When Shepherd leans in to give me a kiss, I quickly bring my hand up to his mouth to stop him.
“Hold that thought. I need to go inside and get Owen.”
Knowing there’s no way I can truly celebrate what just happened here without my son, I turn and race back into the house, feeling happier and lighter than I have in a really long time.
175 pounds of douchebag lighter, to be exact.
