I stood there, feeling so fucking helpless. “Don’t weaken, Marie. He’ll contact you with false promises that things will change, like he usually does. Speak to Mother, let her focus on you for once.”
A pained smile crossed my sister’s face. “It’s okay. Mother has her own problems—”
“Marie…J-Jack?”
At the slurring voice, my gut twitched. I glanced at the tall, elegant woman, dressed in a gray skirt and a white silk top as if she were ready for a tea party. She played with the twin strands of pearls around her neck, taking slow, measured steps toward us, a glass in her other hand.
At my tight expression, she waved at the glass. “It-it’s just sh-soda.”
Sure, it was. I kissed Marie’s cheek. “I’m away for the weekend. But call if you need me, and I’ll be here.”
Then I walked out, ignoring my drunk mother.
11
Jack
Exhaling a frustrated breath,I sped away from Atherton. I disliked leaving Marie in that cold shell of a house, but there was nothing more I could do. I hoped Mother would finally realize that Marie needed her and give her the support she deserved. But I wouldn’t hold my breath for that miracle.
As I neared Millbrae, I slowed to a more normal speed, instead of driving like a bat escaping Hell. I remembered Ray’s home, though I hadn’t gone inside the first time I’d come here two years ago, looking for Max after another blow-out with Curtis-fucking-Lawson. Marie was well rid of him.
I parked behind Max’s SUV in front of a white, two-story house with a steep slate roof and gray-trimmed windows. Then I just sat in my car, pinching the bridge of my nose beneath my shades, my frustration finding a different target.
Was I still pissed that Ray had left despite me telling her to wait?
Damn straight, I was. And why wouldn’t she answer her cell?
But I reeled it all in, aware that she didn’t want Max or her family to know she’d been hurt. At the thought of seeing her again, some of my dark mood dissipated.
The front door opened. Max strolled outside, sliding his hands into his pants’ pockets, the sleeves of his pale blue button-down rolled to his elbows. He inclined his head for me to join him. I got out, shut the car door, and strode the paved path snaking across the cut lawn to the few steps leading to a sheltered porch.
“You made it,” he drawled.
“Yeah, got held up at work, then Curtis started his fucking shit again.”
Max’s smile dropped. “What did he do this time?”
“Hit Marie.”
Max’s jaw hardened. “You need help roughing up the bastard?”
“Already took care of it. But Marie stopped me, or I would have undoubtedly killed the fucker,” I muttered, clenching my bruised fingers.
He nodded, his gaze lowering to my fists. “Yeah. Probably a good idea, can’t have my best man in prison.”
I snorted and followed him indoors, into Ray’s home. Instantly, warmth welcomed me—easing away some of my frustration—along with the tempting aroma of food. We cleared the short hallway and entered an open-plan living area. Creamy walls surrounded me, warm wooden furniture and well-used couches took up space in the room. A group of family photos hung on one wall. But it was the framed award for a 4thdan black belt tournament, made to Sean Logan fortae kwon dothat drew my notice.
“A bit intimidating, the award.” Max grinned. “Come on.” He led me through a wide archway into the dining room and introduced me to the people having lunch. “This is Jack Griffin, my best friend and best man.”
And I laid eyes on thetae kwon doexpert. Sean Logan.
In his mid-forties, he was well-built, probably from all thetae kwon dohe did. Hazel-green eyes almost the same hue as Ray’s surveyed me in return from a lightly tanned but stern face.
Good deterrent to have a father like him, it kept dicks like me away from their daughters. Not that I was going anywhere.
“This is Sean Logan, Ila and Ray’s father,” Max said. “And Maya Logan, their mother.”
“Hello.” I crossed to the head of the dining table as Sean Logan rose. Dressed in black chinos and a navy shirt, the man possessed a serious don’t-mess-with-me vibe. We shook hands.
