Page 73 of Missile Tow
I cleared my throat. “Was. Was a single man.”
Van signaled his displeasure with my attitude with alet’s try to be pleasantsqueeze of my hand. Here he was yet again, finding an ability to maintain civility, no matter the environment. Admitting I was proud of his behavior was difficult. I supposed, like any person, I wanted him to prove his loyalty to me by being shitty to John. But I also adored him because that wasn’t who he was.
Pooch, who’d had an overly excited meltdown at seeing John again, had settled at Van’s feet. John took note. I wondered how he felt seeing his dog bonded with another man.
“How was your trip home?” Van asked.
“Uneventful,” John replied, moving a pillow from behind his back.Don’t get comfortable, buddy.“Roads were basically clear. The pass was icy, but no issues.”
“Will you be staying with your folks?” Van continued.
You ain’t fucking stay here.I internally raged.
John focused on his hands, hesitating with a response. “Mmm, well, my folks don’t exactly know I’m here.”
His confession didn’t sound correct. According to Van, Mrs. Hatfield said John’s parents were coming to Christmas Eve dinner with John. How the hell did that old woman know John was returning to Missile if his folks didn’t?
“What a nice surprise for them when yougo hometonight,” I quipped, failing to soften my tone.
John remained silent, and a look I recognized well settled on his face. Not exactly guilt, but the behavior of regret, or distress. He’d found himself in a pickle, and I remembered the body language oh so well. That’s when a light bulb went off in my mind.
“Not a fucking chance,” I stated flatly. “No way!”
Van startled at my eruption. “What?” he asked, glancing back and forth at me and John.
“He doesn’t have a place to stay,” I pointed out, dismissively waving toward John. “He doesn’t have a relationship with his parents, so he never calls them. Or visits them.”
“Then you will stay right here with us,” Van insisted. “You can have the loft for as long as you need.”
“No, he can’t!” I exclaimed. “That is not happening, Van. That guy… that… he… No fucking way!”
“John needs a place to stay, Chip.”
“And that’s our problem, how?” I pulled my hand away, crossing my arms, attempting to dig my heels in.
“Tomorrow is Christmas Eve, and we’re not the type of people to turn our backs on those in need,” Van contended.
My blood pressure shot up instantly. “That man over there,” I seethed, gesturing toward John, “stole your ex! Do you think he gave a rat’s ass about your whereabouts last Christmas Eve?”
John slowly stood, his hand held toward us in a gesture of understanding my rage. With his head down, looking like someone had shit in his Cornflakes, he headed for the front door.
Van hurried across the room and placed his hand on John’s shoulder. “Please, John. Don’t leave. Youarewelcome here, andwewant you to stay.”
Even from a distance of twenty feet, I couldn’t miss John’s shoulders heaving. He bent over, holding his knees, and began sobbing.Nice try, fucker.That shit won’t work with me.
Van moved in front of him and assisted him in standing upright. And then he stabbed me directly in the heart. He pulled John into his embrace, holding the back of John’s head while he cried on his shoulder.
“Shhhh,” Van soothed. “Everything will be fine.”
I should’ve been proud of Van. Should’ve admired his amazing capacity to help the very person who’d fucked him over. But I was too consumed with anger to be proud of, let alone admire him.
“I’m going to bed,” I announced.
CHAPTER THIRTY: Van
The bedroom was dimly lit by a nightlight, casting my shadow on the opposing wall. Stripping, I slid into bed quietly and rolled over to face Chip. He tensed up and subtly moved away from my advance.
“I know you’re disappointed,” I whispered, withdrawing my hand from his waist.
