Chapter 8
J.T.
I watch Weston Wilcox, my first best friend, father of my nephew, anxiously pace the floor of his home office, bouncing around his screaming son from the other end of the video chat. “He hates me.” Wes switches Wyland to the other side. “My son actually hates me.”
“He doesn’t hate you,” leaves me at the same time I fidget with my glass of whiskey that’s on my bedside table. “He just takes after his mom.”
“Meaning?”
All of a sudden, Clark Baker, trusted member of the estate and our honorary father, steps into the frame to transition Wy out of his father’s arms into his. The second he’s there, Wy stops wailing and starts laughing.
Clapping.
“Meaning he gets a kick out of you all wound up.”
“Is that true?” His mismatched gaze moves to lock eyes with his son’s. “Is that what you want?” He lets his scarred face wrinkle in consternation. “Do you want daddy sounding like something Batman needs to lock up in Gotham?”
Wy leans over and open mouth laughs in Wes’s face.
“Unbelievable,” murmurs the man I technically work for.
“You mean diabolical.”
“Come along, young Wilcox,” chortles Clark during his exiting of what I envision is the room. “Perhaps a late-night snack will help you get back to sleep.”
“Always helps Bryn,” I teasingly interject, gathering Wes’s glower once more.
“And whereisthe mother of my first born?” He migrates his way around his desk to flop down into his leather, office chair. “Getting her own munchies?”
“Taunting my security detail over his sucky karaoke skills.”
“Singh did karaoke?”
“We all did.” One hand lifts to coincide with my correction. “Except Hurst”
“Wait,” his black hoodie covered frame leans back in amusement, “youdid karaoke?”
“Yeah.”
“Bryn record it?”
An attempt to smile is made. “For future blackmail purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” chuckles the male on the other end before folding his hands together in his lap, “but I’m guessingthat’snot what’s got you nursing a glass of whiskey off camera.”
Guilt makes itself briefly seen in my gaze.
When your best friend is a recovering alcoholic – the type that could’ve cost him everything – it’s only right to do your part in the sobering practice.
Not drinking in front of him is one of those things.
But Ineededit.
Ineededsomething to wash down the bitter disappointment of the woman I’m meant to love walking out of my life without a second thought.
“I appreciate you keeping it out of view.”
Another grin does its best to grow on my expression.
