Page 132 of Single Mom's Daddies
“You have to let kids get away with little stuff. All kids want to get away with something. So, if you let them have the little stuff, they don’t go for the big stuff.”
I frown at that. “I can’t tell if that’s crazy or genius.”
“There is no difference.” He pauses. “When you started sneaking out for your walks, it was when we had that asshole Calloway on guard staff?—”
“With the scarred eyebrow? That fucker scared the shit out of me when I was a kid.”
Max’s lip curls in annoyance. “He was no good. I didn’t like how he talked to you boys. Too familiar. No respect.” He lifts his chin. “I did him myself.”
A laugh escapes me. “I thought he was fired.”
“Fired.” He shrugs. “Fired upon. Tomayto, tomahto.”
“I can’t believe you watched me.”
“Course I did.” He pauses, voice quiet. “You didn’t know how to sleep yet. Not back then. Not after Alexei lost his mind. Not after your father…” He stops.
We don’t talk about my father. But he’s not wrong.
“Over the years, I guess I just kept walking,” I say.
“Yeah.” Max eyes the water. “That’s the thing about kids like you. You don’t outgrow it. You just get better boots. You’re a wanderer, Nikolai. That’s why…”
“Why what?”
“Why it surprises me that you play house with Saffron.”
It’s no wonder he doesn’t get it. “I’m not playing when it comes to her. You’re right—I like to wander. Love to travel. But now, I get to do that with my family, and that’s even better.”
“Too young to be this sentimental.” He scowls at me. “So, did you kill the agent yet?”
I laugh. “Not exactly.”
“Disappointing,” he mutters.
I gesture toward the house. “Come on. Let me catch you up.”
He grunts, but follows.
We cut across the yard toward the west wing, where the lounge lights are still glowing. Inside, the room is warm—low lamps, cracked leather armchairs, shelves of good liquor. The fire hasn’t been lit, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s all warmer than the outside.
I pour us both a drink, and he sinks into the chair like his bones are sunburned too. Then I lean back and sip mine. “You’re not gonna believe half of what happened.”
His eyes narrow. “Try me.”
“It started the day you left.”
Max groans. “Figures. I take a vacation, and the world ends.”
“Not quite,” I smirk. “But it got close.”
He watches me over the rim of his glass, eyes sharp despite the fact that he’s drinking like it’s medicine. For him, it is. His face is pink and peeling, and his mood is pure sour, but he’s listening.
“They hit us hard,” I begin. I tell him about the breach, the countless goons, Victor’s fight with Costello. When I mention Ruger, his eyes light up.
“Ruger get caught in it?”
“Oh yeah.” I nod. “He showed up solo, fake warrant in hand, said it was about taxes.”
