Page 20 of Last Love

“What the fuck is the Jucille Ball?”

“It is this adorable little festival up north in Applecourt, Michigan.” Her gaze shoots to mine. “It is actually where I met the man I was dating right before your brother.” She holds my stare as her’s shifts into one of my mischievousness. “If you are not dating and up for the option, I know the perfect woman for you.”

The unlikeliness of her knowing Presley makes me smirk.

That’s the only perfect woman for me.

Anyone else, no matter how hard they try will always be a runner up.

Do I wanna say this my brother’s damn near perfect wife who most likely is looking to pair me with one of her equally model hot friends?

No.

The idea of hurting her hurts my heart like hurting my niece.

New Collins isn’t interested in fucking up family.

Just building it.

Noah unexpectedly enters the room with a gleeful clap. “So, dessert?”

“Can’t.” Both grateful and annoyed at the interruption, I announce. “I have to get to my meeting.”

“Feel free to let me know if you ever want me to make cookies for you to bring to one of those,” Shelly sweetly volunteers. “It would be an absolute pleasure.”

Maybe for her.

It would probably get me kicked out for impression of cruel and unusual punishment.

“Appreciate the thought, Shel.”

Her warm smile is followed by her husband’s equally warm announcement, “Babe, I’m gonna walk Ryder to his car. I’ll be up to help with bath and bed right after.”

“Bath and bed?” She theatrically gasps.

“I’ll even turn my phone on silent.”

“Ooooo,” his wife over the top coos, “with that type of activity, there may be a chance of bed-shaking thunderstorms.”

There’s no stopping my sneer. “Fuck, I didn’t need to hear that.”

“However, you did.” She walks over, pecks him with a kiss on the cheek, and then assists in helping Shelby wave goodbye to me. “Good night, Uncle Ryder. See you next week.”

“Night, Shel.” My tone instantly turns to gushing for the kiddo in her grip. “Night, bumble bee.”

Shelby briefly smiles and rubs her eyes indicating how tired she truly is.

Noah and I head for the front door in absolute silence.

Once it’s shut with us on the other side, I coldly state, “Dad always waited to take those kinds of calls until after dinner. Have some fucking respect for your wife.”

My remark is met with a firm glare and a grip on my arm to cease further movement. “Excuse me?”

“Don’t be like that bastard who raised us. Don’t throw away your fucking family for some piece of ass that’s just trying to ride dick to the top.”

“You think I’m fucking Clio?”

“You think I’m stupid enough to fucking buy that you aren’t?”

“I love my wife, Ryder.”

“I’m sure Dad loved Mom at some point too.”

“I’m not fucking my secretary. I don’t want to fuck my secretary. And if you ever insulate otherwise again to my fucking face, you’ll find out that my fist can do more than just show off my expensive ass platinum wedding ring.”  His blue eyes narrow at the instant he leans his face closer to mine. “Got it?”

His aggression over the topic is relieving.

I’m still skeptical – fuck, call me a cynic –, but at least I know he isn’t being careless like our parents were.

“Speaking of our father-”

“Nope.”

My immediate attempt to walk off is ceased once more. “His cancer has spread.”

Disinterest remains.

“Fucking really, Ryder? You have nothing to say about that?

“No.”

“Nothing at all?”

“No.”

Noah’s shoulders sag to over-priced shoes as he shoves his hands into his designer suit pants pockets. “Our father is dying, and you don’t have shit to say about it?”

“No.”

“Come on, don’t you think you should see him?”

“Fuck, no.”

“Don’t you think you should give him one more chance to see his youngest son? To talk to you? To make things…I don’t know…right?”

“No.”

“Ryd-”

“For fucks sake, Noah, let it go.”

His mouth twitches to continue to argue.

“Look, it’s bad enough that in order to get financial help from my big brother that I had to sign a legally binding contract agreeing to weekly dinners – which I would’ve come to anyway –, monthly piss tests – which I fucking can’t stand doing –, and continue counseling in some way, shape, or form at least once a week, every week, no matter how fucking busy or goddamn tired I am.” A shoulder shrug is carelessly given. “My getting fucked over meter is already at capacity. Sorry.”

I resume my trek towards the car that he purchased for me to lease from him. “At least think about it!”

“Thought denied,” is yelled back in spite of my face never turning his direction.

There’s nothing to think about.

As far as I’m concerned, the sperm donor we reference to as our father, died right alongside the alternate path I should’ve taken in my adolescence.

I’ve already paid in spades for his pathetic regrets.

I refuse to fucking pay again.

**

---