Page 73 of Bad Boy
Now it’s my turn to sigh. I’m too tired for this shit. Too tired for guests.
* * *
Laughter and talking filter in from the dining room as soon as I step back inside. There’s a deep male voice that’s not Gramps, instantly putting me on edge.
I follow the noise, rounding the corner to find Otto De Luca sitting at our dining room table next to my mom. A little too close.
“The fuck is he doing here?” I blurt out before I can stop myself.
“Remington,” Mom scolds me, but it didn’t work when I was eight, and it damn sure won’t work now.
Otto’s not the enemy. I know this. He’s one of the good guys, for sure. But it irks me that he’s here in my house—laughing andflirtingwith my mom—when I haven’t even been home more than a few hours.
His dark gaze scans me from head to toe, eyes narrowing on my black eye, bruised cheekbone, and the bag of peas hanging limply in my hand.
“You were a no-show for training, and you didn’t reply to any of my texts. So I stopped by Friday night to check in on you. I couldn’t, in good conscience, ignore the fact that you were somewhatmissing.” His gray eyes bore into me, delivering some kind of unspoken message.
And then I remember his words from the gym before I ran out of there like my ass was on fire.
You running from someone, kid?
He knows more than he should, and it makes me uncomfortable. But at least he’s keeping his mouth shut and not snitching based on a hunch.
And I’m not running—just on edge and ready to fight. That’s all I can do. This unknownfuckisn’t getting a dime ofmyfamily’s money.
I brush it off, along with his concern.
“And I’m sure it was a convenient excuse to see my mom. You got hearts in your eyes when you found out she was back in town.” I smirk like the smartass I can’t help but be.
My rudeness doesn’t phase him, and he continues on undeterred.
“Your mother assured me that no news means good news when it comes to you.”
“Yeah. I don’t need a babysitter.”
Otto sits with a flat mouth, arms folded tightly across his chest. He doesn’t look mad, but he’s definitely not happy with me.
“I thought all teenagers were glued to their phones.”
“Not this one. And I was on a nature trip. Becoming one and all that shit.”
“You could have acknowledged my concern with a simple reply.”
“Get off my case, Otto. I don’t even know you.” Okay, maybe that wasn’t the right thing to say to the guy who’s gonna start training me, and his next words echo my exact thought.
“You’re awfully aggressive for someone who practically begged me to coach you.”
I can’t back down and submit to another man. Not after my father. It’s ingrained in me to resist.
“And you’re hella forward, being in my house and all.”
He chuckles to himself. “So much fire.” He eyes my knuckles again. “Channel it into the ring next time, and then we’ll talk. You’re too reckless. You need to learn control.”
Before I can go off, Gramps comes bustling out of the kitchen with two flowered potholders on his hands, wearing a matching apron, and clutching a giant pot of what smells like chili. Lurch is behind him with a serving platter full of cornbread and a giant salad bowl.
Gramps sets the huge pot on the table and proceeds to ladle generous helpings into the orange ceramic bowls already set out. The spicy aroma of braised beef, peppers, onions, and tomatoes filters into my senses, clearing some of the annoyance stewing there.
“Where’s my boy?” Gramps asks, and I swear the wall surrounding my heart—built by a scared and alone andhurtsixteen-year-old boy—takes a direct hit. A huge chunk crumbles away, and I again feel a pang of sadness for not having grown up here with Gramps.
