Page 6 of A Taste of Chardonnay

“I don’t know what the fuck you want me to do,” I bit out, harsher than I intended.

Nero held his hands up, and guilt flooded through me. “I’m just letting you know.”

“Sorry. I—”

“You don’t have to explain yourself. I know.”

He’d seen the bruises Ron’s fists left behind and the cigarette burns on my forearms before I used tattoos to cover up the evidence.

People changed, recovered, started doing good, and I was of sound mind to believe everyone deserved a second chance, but there were just some things I couldn’t forget. Those horrible moments where a man I only ever wanted to love me attacked me. I stared the devil directly in his eyes, and every time, my father faded more and more until all I could see was the evil he’d stopped fighting against. He didn’t love me enough to fight those demons. He let them consume him.

Why should I care now that he forgot where his keys were or the street to get to his house? At least he had a house to go to. Because of him, I lost that privilege before I graduated high school.

I thrust my hand over my hair, pulling some of it loose from its band. My old man hated long hair, always preferring the buzz cut of his military days, so I guess a part of me defied him even today.

“He has Ray and Albert and Chris,” I said, letting the anger and bitterness settle. “They’ll keep an eye on him.”

“They are,” Nero assured me.

“Thanks for letting me know.”

Nero’s lips cracked slightly at the edge as he gave a quick nod.

“What am I missing?” Franc asked and stopped in front of Nero and me.

“Other than your sense of style, nothing,” Nero said, and Franc glanced at the ridiculous yellow Hawaiian-esque shirt with an array of Big Foots and foot prints scattered all over.

“My son and Quinn bought it for me. Steve apparently got new merchandise in at the museum, and Gio thought I’d love this yellow monstrosity.”

He didn’t. It was not his style at all. But Franc would do just about anything for his son. I respected it. Respected him. Wished more kids had dads like him.

Franc turned, and Nero smacked my arm as a laugh burst from him. My eyes landed on the back of Franc’s shirt, Steve’s face with a thumbs up plastered across it and the wordsBig Foot Museumarching over him, and I lost my shit. A laugh rumbled up my throat before I could stop it.

I cleared my throat and tried to compose myself. “You do look kind of hot,” I joked.

“Fuck off.” Harsh words, but even he couldn’t keep the laugh out of his tone. “Or I’ll give Gio money to buy his Uncle Brady a matching one.”

The smile dropped from my lips, and I shook my head. “Don’t even think about it.” I loved to support small, local businesses, but I had to draw the line somewhere. A shirt with Steve’s doofy ass face was the line.

“You still good with taking Gio tomorrow night?” Franc asked.

He and Quinn were having a date night, and I volunteered to take Gio for tacos and some evening fishing.

“Of course.” Ever since Gio was born and Franc’s ex took off without as much as a glance, we all had chipped in to help. Now helping with Gio was just part of my life, and I wouldn’t want it any other way. I loved that kid as if he was my own flesh and blood. “But if he catches a bigger fish than me again, we might have a problem.”

“You always were insecure about size,” Franc quipped, backhanding me in the chest.

“Are you really going to joke about the size of my dick while wearing that shirt? That’s an automatic two-inch deduction.”

Nero all but snorted, which made me laugh a little harder.

“What are we laughing about?” Chardonnay asked, taking a sip of her Merlot. Jack sat up and nudged Chardonnay’s hand until she scratched behind his ears. Trader.

“Dick sizes,” I said.

“I guess it’s funny, but if I were you, I’d probably be crying.” Her dark brown eyes locked on mine, challenging me to a battle of word banter.

“Tears of joy all the time, baby.”

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