Page 92 of Puck Princess

“What do you want, Jack?” I ask flatly. “Be straight with me.”

“Meet up with me, kid. Let’s talk. Man to man. Summer is my daughter. And I’ve always seen you as a son.”

It’s absolute bullshit. He sees me as a dollar sign. If I had to guess, that’s the real motivation behind all of this. Which is why there is no fucking way he’s getting anywhere close to Summer or Nicky. Not after all she’s been through. Not after how far she’s come.

“Fine. Meet me at Pour Boys.”

“A sports bar? I like it.”

Of course he does. The man is, at his very best, a raging alcoholic.

“I’ll be there in half an hour.” I hang up, not giving him a chance to argue.

I get there before him and say hi to a couple people as I walk in. I order a beer, something I need just to deal with what’s to come.

It’s the late afternoon lull, so once I’ve shaken hands with a few fans, I ask the bartender if I can sit in the private room around back, and I’m led through immediately. I don’t have a plan for how things with Jack are going to go, but privacy is never a bad thing.

I’m alone for only a few minutes before the door opens and Jack shuffles in.

My stomach sinks at the sight of him.

He seemed so tall when I was a kid. The way he towered over my mother and, on occasion, me made him seem like a giant. He’s not. He’s almost a full head shorter than me now. And the brawny jaw and pearly-white smile that sold all those cars are both gone. He’s practically rotting away.

“Owen! You look good, kid.” He eyes the room nervously, as fidgety as a ferret. “We could have met in the main bar but this is nice too. Not every day you get the special treatment.”

The sentence isn’t even out of his mouth before I close the space between us. I grab him by the collar of his stained t-shirt and pound him against the wall, knocking the wind out of him.

“What are you really doing here?” I ask through my teeth. I know the answer, but I want him to say it.

“I want to see Summer,” he chokes out.

“Not gonna happen.” I tighten my grip on him. “Admit it. You don’t care about her or her son. You care about money. Well, guess what? There’s nothing for you here. Nicky’s father is going to be behind bars soon for being a piece of shit like you. I take care of her now, and I’m not going to let anything happen to her. I never want to see you, hear from you, or even be reminded of you again.”

I pull back so he can take an undeserved breath.

He gasps and sputters for a second before looking up at me. “You got lucky, kid.”

“Lucky?” I spit out.

“You’re good at something. You’re talented, and they pay you well for it. You can peacock around all you want. You’ve got your mother’s pretty hair and her fiery eyes to boot, but without your job, you’re just a bastard kid and a bruise on your mother’s face. You got luck?—”

I finish his sentence with my fist in his mouth. Any teeth he had left are gone now, and I don’t care.

I want to hit him again. And again. And again.

I do until Johnny comes up behind me, stopping my fist in the air. He pushes me to the side and grabs Jack, who is still trying to get his bearings. Then he carries Jack effortlessly to the back door and tosses him into the alley.

For a minute, all I can do is stand there, breathing heavily. Seething. I knew this was how this was going to go. There was no world where I was going to reconnect Jack with Summer. No world where this meeting didn’t end in me kicking his ass to the curb.

But I didn’t think he was going to get this far under my skin.

The demons I muzzled and shoved to the back of my brain when Callie and I were in bed together last night are back with a vengeance, swarming my head. Screaming. Mocking.

Johnny goes to the bar and grabs a towel. He wets it down, packs it with ice, and then hands it to me. “Keep this on your hand, Owen. And go home.”

I spent years wishing I could stand up for my mother. I counted down the days until I’d be big enough, strong enough to take onthe men who hurt her. I thought, once it finally happened, I’d feel better.

When I walk through the door, I don’t see Callie. I hope she isn’t home.

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