Page 45 of Tossed into the Mob
Dad emerged from the bedroom smelling of lavender, his favorite soap for as long as I could remember, and sat in an armchair.
“I’m nervous.”
I’d skipped over the bit about how serious Treyton and I were, just told my dad there was someone special I wanted him to meet. But he’d picked up on my nervous energy and understood how important this meeting was, so I admitted it was Treyton, the name he’d added to the note.
I’d expected him to react with horror, but his expression was more resigned.
The buzzer rang, and we both jumped. Dad went to get up, and I told him to stay where he was and opened the door. Treyton’s face was pinched, and there were beads of sweat above his upper lip. Poor guy, he must have been as nervous as me.
He had a box of chocolates in one hand and a bunch of flowers in the other.
“I wasn’t sure what to bring.”
“They’re lovely. Thank you.” The chocolates were ones my dad adored, so that was a lucky guess.
We kissed one another on the cheek, bumping noses and mumbling I’m sorry before trying to kiss the other cheek and repeating the process.
I took the gifts and introduced my mate to Dad who greeted my one and only with a smile. They shook hands, but Treyton didn’t grip too hard. I loved how considerate he was of his shifter strength, as my dad was still recovering. Or I assumed that was what it was. Maybe that was how he shook hands.
“You’re Shawn Durand’s son.” Dad hadn’t seen Shawn in weeks, as he hadn’t been back to the library since the accident. “That was how I connected you to the family, that and the documentary.”
There were so many interconnections that led to Treyton and me meeting. One missing link and I might never have found him or my future.
“That’s right. It’s strange that you and Dad met before me and Brock did.”
“I hope you have a sweet tooth,” Dad said.
Treyton sent me a quick look, and I mouthed, “Danish pastry.”
“Absolutely.”
I bustled into the kitchen, not wanting to leave the pair alone for too long. After putting the flowers in a vase, I placed the coffee and pastries on a tray and went back to the living area.
Treyton glanced around the living area and out to the balcony, and Dad studied his clasped hands in his lap. I had to start a conversation to veer away from the apartment and how we acquired it. There were so many possible pitfalls to his meeting Treyton, and I wanted Dad to remember Emilio fondly.
“Milk?” I asked my mate as I poured coffee for the three of us.
“Please.” Treyton took the cup I offered.
Now what? “Treyton’s a midwife, Dad.”
My dad chuckled. “I’m aware because we watched the documentary together.”
Right. I was messing up already.
Dad put his cup down, and Treyton chewed a mouthful of pastry while sending me a “Help” look.
“There’s an elephant in the room.” Dad’s statement had my mate and me locking eyes. Treyton was a wolf, so who was the elephant? If Dad admitted he was a shifter, I’d faint.
“You’re both dancing around and pretending that Treyton isn’t a shifter.”
I dropped my cup, but my mate, in true shifter fashion, caught it. Coffee slopped on the granite floor, and I raced for a cloth to mop it up, thankful I had time to come up with a response.
My mate bent over and helped me clean the floor while raising both brows like inverted triangles.
“The floor’s clean, Brock.” Dad’s tone reminded me of Flint’s when he gave a command.
I got to my feet, the damp rag dangling from one hand.
