He passes the basket, offering her a shaky smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. For a moment, the dining room falls into comfortable silence broken only by the clink of silverware.
But then Viktor shifts in his chair, turning to my stepmother. "So, Merci's name. It means 'thank you,' right? Like, in French?"
What the hell is he up to?
She straightens in her chair, her chin lifting slightly. "Yes. I was thankful for my son. He was the only light I had in my life at the time. Is that a problem?"
"Not at all." Viktor's smile widens as he turns to face me, and my hand tightens on Merci’s thigh. "Just makes what Zach says even funnier."
Merci drops his fork, the metal clanging against his plate. “Fungus, don’t you fucking dare.”
But it’s too late.
“‘Fuck, thank you. That’s it. Take my cock like a good slut, thank you. Such a tight little hole, thank you.’” Viktor’s voice is a perfect mimic of mine—flat, mechanical, but entirely too loud for the situation.
Merci launches himself across the table like a feral cat. Food splatters everywhere as plates, utensils and glasses clatter to the ground as he tackles Viktor. The moment they hit the floor Merci's hands wrapped around Viktor's throat.
Jackson lets out a loud, barking laugh as he leans back in his chair to avoid the chaos, and Connor smiles wide, showing off his perfect white teeth.
"On what planet would anyone want their parents to hear that shit?" Merci smacks Viktor hard across the face. "You're such an asshole!"
Viktor’s wheezing with laughter, not even bothering to defend himself as Merci continues to rain down a barrage of slaps.
I sigh and make my way over to the two jackasses. Grabbing Merci around the waist, I lift him off Viktor like a particularly unruly cat. These two need a shock collar or, at minimum, constant supervision.
Once we are back on our side of the table, I release Merci. He glares at Viktor, his chest heaving and hair a wild mess as he straightens his clothes. “Thanks for outing us, jackass.”
Viktor just grins, wiping a smear of mashed potatoes off his cheek. “Anytime.”
"Oh." Evelyn glances between us as we sit back down. "You're . . . dating?"
"Yes." My response is immediate, definitive. No room for argument or discussion.
"I knew something was different." She reaches across the table to squeeze Merci's hand. "Are you happy, sweetheart?”
Merci exhales sharply and leans against me. "Very."
Evelyn has always been accepting, wanting to make this family work. But I wasn’t sure what to expect from her. Statistically, she could have gone either way, especially with Merci’s and my volatile history.
I look over at my father just as his hand slams against the table. "Absolutely not. Have you forgotten what happened? You tried to kill each other!"
"We’ve resolved those issues.” I straighten, my voice calm yet unyielding. As I told Merci earlier, I’m not letting him go.
My father leans forward, lips pressed into a thin line, a vein near his temple throbbing. "Your condition—"
"You mean his brain damage?" Merci glares at my father. "Maybe if you and my mom actually told us about it instead of just calling him'different'all the time, none of this shit would have happened. But hey, great fucking parenting there."
"We thought we were doing the right thing." My stepmother looks down at her plate, shoulders dropping. "Obviously, we were wrong."
He huffs, rolling his eyes. “Understatement of the fucking year.”
"Merci Laurent." She sets her fork down with a deliberate clink, brows pinching together. "Watch your language."
Viktor presses a fist to his mouth, trying to contain his laughter, while Jackson continues eating like everything is perfectly normal. Connor sips his wine while watching the show.
Some fucking support system they turned out to be.
My father runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair, deep creases forming across his forehead. "You have no idea what kind of care Zach might need as he gets older. His brain could degenerate. Do you understand how hard that would be to deal with alone?"
