Page 40 of Laurels and Liquor

“Sorry I didn’t text or call. I hope I’m not interrupting anything,” he starts, words a little slurred, likely from the swelling in his face.

“No worries. Let’s get some ice on that and you can explain why you look like you’ve just gone ten rounds,” I reply, hurrying into the kitchen.

Jason sits at the table, holding a bag of ice wrapped in a towel to the injured side of his face. I gather plates and utensils and bring them back with me, and I dish out portions for both of us. It’s a good thing I order two meals’ worth of food at a time.

“You don’t have to—”

“I know, but I am. So shut up and eat takeout with me,” I throw back, no heat behind my words.

Jason chuckles and winces, the hand not holding the ice moving to clutch his ribs. He’s quiet for several more minutes, his green eyes—so like Lydia’s—distant. I want to push, to find out what happened, but I know that won’t help. If he’s anything like Lydia, he’ll talk when he’s good and ready, and not a moment sooner.

“I’m done with them,” Jason says at last, voice dark and low.

I don’t have to ask which “them” he’s referring to. We’ve talked a lot in the past few weeks, both in messages and in person, and he’s answered a lot of the questions I’ve had about Lydia’s family but didn’t want to ask out of respect for her trauma. I thought I’d hated them before, but now I’m just waiting for an excuse to ruin their lives. And it seems like Jason might finally be ready to help me.

“Why?” I ask neutrally, digging into my etouffee.

“I’ve had enough of the head games, and I won’t let myself be their pawn anymore. Not when I can actually do something about it," Jason declares, his volume still low but not lacking in passion.

“Good. You deserve better,” I say, meaning every syllable.

Jason snorts derisively and takes a slow bite of the food I’d put in front of him. We eat in silence for another few minutes, but then I sit back and look at him a little closer. Most of the damage to his face is hidden under the ice, but based on my experience with combat injuries and the way he winces when he moves or breathes wrong, he’s probably got some bruising to his ribs. His knuckles are split open and scabbed over, but they don’t seem to be bothering him.

“How’d the other guy fare?” I ask casually, watching carefully for a reaction.

It’s hard to see under all the redness and swelling, but Jason and Lydia even blush the same way. It starts from his nose and spreads out across his forehead and cheeks, going down his neck. He doesn’t look at me at first, and then he grins sheepishly.

“He uh… yeah, he didn’t do so good,” he admits, not sounding the least bit ashamed.

“Don’t hold out on me, man. What the fuck happened?” I push, keeping my tone teasing despite the undercurrent of anger on his behalf.

Jason sighs and pushes his plate away, having only barely touched the food. He leans back in his chair and removes the ice, setting it off to the side. The swelling has gone down a bit, but it’ll probably still be a few more days before he can see out of that eye again.

“Dad got the letter from your lawyer today, the one about Lydia finally being an official member of Pack Saint Clair. He decided to tell everyone over dinner,” he starts, looking up at the ceiling unseeing.

I snort humorlessly. “How’d that go over?”

Jason smirks. “Like a lead balloon. Dad is a lot of things, but he’s not so bullheaded as to keep fighting a lost battle. He informed us that he’s going to let the McLaughlins know tomorrow, and we should let this go and move on with our lives,” he says, shaking his head a little.

I blink, taken aback for a moment. After all the shit they’ve put us through, I didn’t expect Samuel Sr. to give up so easily. Jason looks at me and sighs, rubbing the uninjured side of his face a little.

“I think Mom knew the jig was up, but hearing Dad say as much was the last straw. I’ve never seen her so… unhinged. Just absolutely detached from reality. She started going off about getting Lydia back here, and how she stole from the family and shouldn’t be allowed to walk away. I tuned her out after a while, thinking she’d scream until she tired herself like usual. But then she started talking about what it would take to lure her back home, and I couldn’t keep quiet. Because I knew how she’d do it,” Jason explains, stopping and starting as he picks his words with care.

I nod solemnly, knowing what he’s not saying. Diane Anderson used Lydia’s kindness and her protectiveness of Jason against her once before. It wouldn’t be a stretch to think she’d do it again.

“Where was your dad in all of this? Surely, he wasn’t just sitting, letting his mate fly off the handle,” I say as the thought occurs to me.

“Oh, you bet your ass he was just sitting there,” Jason throws back heatedly. “But that’s just how he is. Getting her to stop once she’s started is like trying to keep waves on the shore, so he lets her go. As long as she’s not embarrassing him, then he’ll just smile and nod and say ‘yes, dear,’” he spits bitterly.

I frown and sigh. I can’t imagine being married to someone like Diane Anderson is easy, let alone being mated to her. From what Lydia’s told me, he’s an old-fashioned sort of alpha. So, of course, he wouldn’t undermine his wife, the de facto authority figure in the family, in front of his children. Even though they’re all adults now, calling her out for being wrong would be a sign of weakness, and for someone like him, that would be unacceptable.

“When I told her to keep me out of her schemes, she started in on me. How I don’t care about my family, and that I’ve been a bad son, and a poor excuse for an alpha my whole life, blah, blah, blah. It was a lot,” he goes on, interrupting my thoughts.

He doesn’t say it, but there’s a flash in the depths of his emerald eyes that I know well. He’s trying to play it off like nothing his mother said hurt, but I know it cut him deeper than he’s letting on. But he’s speaking again before I can reply.

“She hasn’t hit me in years, not since I outgrew her and wasn’t afraid of the switch anymore, but when I threw back that if she were any sort of decent mother, then her kids wouldn’t be trying to get away from her so bad, she came at me, claws flying.”

I suck in a sharp breath, conflicted. I would never, ever condone violence against a woman, but I can’t deny that I’ve considered making an exception for that vile piece of work. So I don’t have any room to judge Jason’s actions. And besides, if he was acting in self-defense, can I really blame him?

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