He steps in beside me. “Two glasses of Bordeaux, please.” He looks at me, waiting for me to meet his gaze.
I don’t.
“Did you want another shot, son?” he asks. “I wasn’t aware we were at a frat party.”
“Nope,” I say, my tone flat. “I was just leaving.” I slide my glass forward and turn to leave, then freeze when he speaks.
“Shame. I was hoping for some bonding time with you,” he says, voice smooth. “But it looks like you’re preoccupied with…” He turns, spots Jordan, and chuckles. “Old trash. Same as always.”
My fists clench into a ball, knuckles turning white. If blood could reach a simmering point, mine just did. There’s nothing I’d love more than to punch my father in the fucking face. Right here. Right now.
It felt great the first time.
Too great. But he’s not worth it. It’s what I tell myself, anyway. Even though it’s a partial lie. Nothing would feel better than seeing his blood at the end of my fist. But I have too much to lose.
Instead, I inhale deeply and count to five, something I learned in therapy years ago, then release it.
I don’t look at him. I fix my gaze on Jordan, like a lion protecting his lioness, and say, “Stay the fuck away from her.”
Chapter Sixteen
JORDAN
I wrapmy arms around myself and shiver against the chill of the September night. I should’ve brought a jacket. The walk to the car isn’t far, but it’s farther than everyone else’s. Matt always parks in the back when he drives. He’s too worried someone might scratch his car. Like he couldn’t afford to buff it out or something.
“Here,” Matt says, shrugging off his jacket and holding it open for me. I slide my arms through, savoring the lingering warmth of his body heat as it settles around me. He gives my arms a squeeze, the corners of his mouth lifting. “Better?”
I smile. “Yes. Thank you.”
Damn. He’s already a great husband. I knew he would be. He’s a great friend. And when we were together, he was a great boyfriend too. For the most part.
He’s quieter than usual again. Only this time, I’m worried it’s because of me.
I went and told everyone we were already married without giving him a heads-up. Matt’s a type-A, and he likes to be in control. Always. I took that away.
My intentions were good. I was trying to help. He’ll see it that way, eventually. I know he will.
After watching Cece with Cole at the funeral and then at thecemetery, I couldn’t help myself. The way she kept looking between Matt and Cole, like she was already mapping out a strategy to get custody of Cole.
The way Matt’s mother looked at me.
The way his father looked at him.
I felt this overwhelming need to protect them both.
IwishI could say it was all about Cole.
But it wasn’t.
It was about Matt.Mostlyabout Matt. And the fact that, for once, he needs this to go his way.
Which is ironic, because Matt wins more than most people. He works hard, harder than anyone I know, but things also come easily to him. Side by side with someone just as capable, Matt will still get the gig. He’ll come out on top. Every. Single. Time. Doors open before he even says where he’s going. He’s Matt fucking Grayson. His name means something.
But tonight? This custody battle?
His name doesn’t mean a damn thing.
In fact, for the first time ever, it’s a strike against him.
