Page 104 of Bottles & Blades

“Don’t say that?—”

“I’m dying, peanut. You know it.Iknow it.”

This is killing me. “Dad?—”

“Stop wasting your life looking back at us. Move forward?—”

There’s a knock, and we both look up to see Jean-Michel standing in the open doorway.

“Diego,” he says, moving into the room, drawing me from the chair and holding me tightly against his side. He looks down at me, cupping my jaw, his thumb brushing the tears from my cheeks. “Breathe, buttercup.”

My heart squeezes.

Then he turns back to my father. “I know you don’t know me, not really, and what I’m going to say next is probably going to piss you off.”

Shit. My stomach starts to sink.

“But I’m wading into this argument because I get the feeling that Hernandezes are stubborn as shit, and, if I let it, this can go on all night.”

“Jean-Mi,” I warn.

“Tiff works too hard and sleeps too little as it is, so, let me just make it clear—she isn’t doing this alone. Not any longer. She has me, and she and I will figure out how to give you what you both want and need without sacrificing her well-being.”

My eyes start burning again.

“Tiff is important to me,” he goes on. “And she cares about you, which means thatyou’reimportant to me.”

I take his hand, holding tight.

“For now, we’ve talked to Haley, and she’s going to make some changes to your current care arrangements to make things better. We’ll see how that works for you, Tiff, and Roberta and then reevaluate as we move forward.”

He turns his hand over in mine, lacing our fingers together.

“And who’s paying for these new arrangements?”

“I am,” Jean-Michel says before I can warn him off the truth that will absolutely not fly with my dad.

“Not going to happen, son.”

“Diego,” Jean-Mi says, “I have enough money to buy this house a thousand times over. What Haley proposed is a drop in the bucket, and I’m not saying that to be an asshole. I’m stating that as fact.”

“Son—”

Jean-Mi doesn’t stop. “Tiff loves you. She wants you taken care of. And Tiff is my woman. What my woman wants, she gets—which, in this case, means making sure you and Roberta are looked after.”

“I can’t possibly accept?—”

“It’s been taken care of,” he says, “so there’s nothing to accept.” A beat. “Or refuse.” He looks at me, eyes soft, and bends to press a kiss to my cheek. “I’ll wait up front for you, buttercup.”

Then, as quickly as he appeared, Jean-Michel is slipping from the room.

I glance over at my dad, know that my eyes are wide.

And then I brace.

My dad doesn’t get mad often.

But when he does, he’s like me—nothing then…boom!

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