Page 85 of Own the Eights Gets Married
He loved her too much to allow her to marry a monster—even if he were the monster.
He didn’t want Georgie to suffer the pain Maureen had endured being married to the thoughtless, arrogant, and entitled, Deacon Perry.
But time was running out.
Jordan stopped the recording and sank into a kitchen chair, making sure not to meet his father’s gaze. “I was putting together a jump rope tutorial for the blog. The acoustics are better in here.”
His dad sat down across from him. “Talk to me, son.”
“I told you, Dad, I was making a—”
“No, tell me what’s going on with Georgie?” the big man said, cutting him off.
Jordan ran his hands through his tangle of hair. “It’s wedding jitters. I thought it would help if I stayed here before the big day.”
That’s the line he’d fed his father when he’d arrived at his door. Dennis Marks had nodded and hadn’t asked him about it since he’d taken up residence in the guest room.
It had been a perfect place to lie low. His father left early in the morning and wouldn’t get home until late at night.
But it was a double-edged sword.
All those nights alone when he was lying in bed, longing for the life where he’d only have to glance over to find Georgie with her hair twisted into that damn messy bun he loved and her nose buried in a book, gave him ample time to dwell upon all his faults.
“I hate to break it to you, son, but today is the big day,” his father said.
“I know,” he answered with a heavy sigh.
Denny narrowed his gaze. “You’re not going to jilt that lovely woman at the altar, are you?”
“Jesus, Dad!” he shot back.
“Well?” the man returned, crossing his arms.
Jordan shook his head and traced an imaginary line down the table with his index finger. “It’s not like that, Dad. I don’t want to hurt her.”
“Then what in God’s name are you doing here at the ass crack of dawn jumping rope on TV?” his father exclaimed.
“I wasn’t on TV. I was making a video for the blog,” he threw back.
“Would this be a video people will play on their phones and other digital doohickeys?” the man countered.
“Maybe, if I edit the part out where I shin-whipped myself,” Jordan replied with a frustrated shake of his head.
His father sat back. “Then, I’m right.”
Were they really debating what constituted as beingon TV?
“Yeah, I guess you are,” he conceded.
The man raised an eyebrow. “Would you like to know what else I’m right about?”
Jordan glanced up and met his father’s gaze.
His father’s expression softened. “You love Georgie, and you would do anything for her.”
Jordan continued tracing the invisible line. “You’re right. I would.”
“Then, why are you here, Jordy? And don’t feed me the line about not wanting to see the bride before the big day.”
