Page 33 of Won't Let Go
“It’s not like that between me and your mom.” He doesn’t need to know about this morning. That’s adult shit.
A frown takes over Hunter’s face as he rolls his eyes and points a chip at me. “Bro.”
“Oh. No. Don’t you bro me like I’m one of those dumbasses you talk shit to on your video games,” I scold, sharing in his frown game.
Mom hooks her arm around the kid’s shoulder. “I’m with Hunter on this one. Bro.”
Of course, she is—the meddlesome woman.
I nod to her. “Mom, stay out of it.”
“Two against one,” the teenager butts in, puffing up like a peacock far too damn proud of himself.
“That’s not how this works, punk.”
“If I’m a punk, then what does that make you? You’re already living with my mom and you’re into her, but you won’t move in with us? Don’t you want me to have a dad?” A too-bright smile splits this kid’s lips, and those eyes that remind me of his mother’s spark with mischief as he bats them all innocent and shit.
Christ.
“Hunter. What the fuck?”
His head tilts to the side to grind his point home. “Well?”
I look between the intrusive assholes. “Did you two cook this up?”
“No,” Hunter says at the same time my mom replies, “Yes.”
“Well…which is it?”
“Yes. Fine. We did.” Hunter tosses a glare over his shoulder at my mom, who threw a wrench in his plan to lie. “But I want you to move in here.”
“And the dad shit?”
Hunter throws a chip at my chest, and it lands on the floor at my feet before reaching me. “You’re already my dad, idiot.”
My jaw nearly hits the goddamn ground.
“Jesus fucking Christ.”
“He’s right. You are,” the person who birthed me cuts in, grinning wide and annoying.
“Mom. Seriously. This is none of your business.”
She squeezes Hunter’s shoulder. “Yes. It is. He’s been my grandson for years.”
Why are they doing this today? Why… Just… Why?
“Newsflash, I am not old enough to actually be his dad,” I snip.
“So?” Mom challenges, scowling as if she’s disappointed I would say that.
“Yeah. So?” my teenager adds, wiping his greasy hands on his pants. Grunting at his disgusting habit, I rip a paper towel off a roll and slap it on the counter in front of him. As he wipes whatever residue is left on his fingers, in the correct place, he announces, “I don’t care how old you are. You’re still my dad.”
Sure, it feels good to hear him say that. Far too damn good, if I’m honest. But I can’t focus on that right now. Not when Jade’s recovering, and what happened this morning happened.
“We need to talk to your mom about this,” I reason, to get these scheming romantics on the same page. “She’s not ready yet. But when she is, we’ll discuss it, okay? I promise. Now get your pain in my ass over here and hug me, dammit.” Waving my kid over, Hunter slides off his stool, smiling like a little shit that ain’t so little anymore. Rounding the counter, he stops in front of me and puts his arms out straight like he’s allergic to hugs.
Snorting at his ridiculousness, I cuff the back of his neck and drag him in for a genuine embrace. We’re damn near the same height now, so when he pounds my back and I pound his, it’s different from what it was even a year ago. He hit a growth spurt recently.
