“Why do you think we host so many events over there?”
I don’t miss the glint of amusement in his dark eyes. “Touche. Maybe you do know more than we give you credit for.”
We. As in, my father and him. The Freudian slip threatens to raise the walls back into place, but I fight to keep them where they are, even if it’s only for a few more minutes.
“You’re right. We don’t get enough credit,” I tell him. “And we’re tired of trying to prove it.”
He stays quiet and takes another drink of coffee, so I do the same, ignoring the way he sizes me up from across the booth.
“So what do you want me to do, Jag?” he finally asks. “Because you’re tired of trying to prove that you know what you’re doing, and I’m tired of trying to keep you in line when I know you’re going to do whatever you want, even if it puts you in the ground.”
Here we go again.
“We’re not stupid?—”
“I didn’t think I was stupid, either, Jagger. Neither did Rudy. And no matter how many times your father warned me to stay away from Gus, to stop partying, and to stop borrowing money to get our band some traction when my parents refused to help, we didn’t listen. I didn’t listen.” He exhales, blowing into his cup, though I doubt it’s scalding anymore. Nah, the man’s using it as a cover. A way to steal a few seconds and choose his words carefully, though I have no idea what they’ll be. “I’m not going to ask you to stop doing what you’re doing,” he decides. “It hasn’t gotten me anywhere. So, now? Now, all I’m gonna do is be here for you. All right? I’m here for you. And when you want to get out, you let me know. I’ll have your back. And unlike your father’s, my loyalty won’t come with strings attached.” Standing, he shifts his hot coffee into one hand, then claps my shoulder with his opposite. “Tell your brothers I said hi, yeah?”
I look at where he’s touching me. The same scars I carry are tattooed along his knuckles, hidden beneath years of black ink. Maybe we aren’t so different after all. The realization doesn’t hit like a truck. It’s slower. Quieter. Like a feather, almost. Tickling the back of my mind, but with an insistence that feels impossible to ignore. With a slow nod, I shrug off his hand and push to my feet, pulling him into a hug. “Thanks, Uncle Judge.”
And fuck, I really mean it.
51
VIOLET
If I hadn’t attended a Harden Night before, I’d think the place was hopping, but honestly, it’s pretty low key. Instead of the house brimming with people until there’s no available seating and the ground is littered with cups, there are plenty of places to relax, the music is just below headache inducing, and there’s room at the makeshift bar to put together a drink instead of being so crowded you’re lucky to have a random cup handed to you by the self-appointed bartender.
“Hey.” Jagger wraps his arm around the back of my neck, tugs me into him, and kisses my forehead. And if that isn’t the way a girl wants to be greeted, I don’t know what is.
“Hey, you,” I murmur. His lips linger on my skin, and I close my eyes, leaning into him. When he finally pulls away, he tilts his head, taking me in. “What is it?” I ask.
“Missed you.”
“Missed you, too,” I reply, stealing another kiss because, let’s be real, who wouldn’t? As my heels hit the ground again, I look around the room. “It’s kind of quiet tonight.”
“Yeah.” He looks around, then offers me a shrug. “We don’t usually do back-to-back Harden Nights.”
“So, why now?”
“This is a…” His mouth bunches on one side, and he scratches his jaw. “A decoy, I guess?”
“What do you mean?”
“We’re using this party to get our uncle off our backs,” Ford explains, appearing out of nowhere like a damn magician. “If Judge’s lackeys see us tonight and note there aren't any nefarious shenanigans, we’re more likely to fly under the radar tomorrow, when the real shit goes down.”
I look up at Jagger. “Do you think he’d still be upset? Even after your conversation with him at the shop?”
“Good question,” Jagger murmurs.
Ford adds, “We figured it wasn’t worth the risk. Not yet. Besides, we already had this planned, so it works out.” He grins at June beside me. “June.”
Already blushing, June sucks her lips between her teeth and looks at the ground. “Ford.”
“Nice seeing you again. You look…” His voice trails off as his gaze slides down her curvy frame. The woman’s either a genius or a serious glutton for punishment in her sundress and jean jacket with dark brown boots. Gorgeous? Yes. Innocent? Also, yes. Radiating untouchable vibes enough to leave a man like Ford drooling? I glance at Jagger’s brother and bite back my grin. One hundred percent.
“Geez, Jeep,” Lexie interrupts. “If you keep eye-fucking my friend like that, she just might wind up pregnant.”
Ford’s nose wrinkles. “Aaaand, boner gone. All right, ladies.” He rubs his hands together. “Can I get anyone a drink before I continue making the rounds?’
