The truck jerks forward, and it doesn’t take long for me to fall asleep.
“Hey,” Jaxon says, shaking my leg. “We’re home.”
“Sorry, I was more tired than I thought,” I say, yawning.
“We know. It’s okay.” Jaxon gives me a big grin, then slaps my leg again. “Come on, let’s go inside. Julia has warm food waiting and an ice cold beer with your name on it.”
“Mmm,” I hum appreciatively. I could use three or four beers with how shitty I feel.
“I want one,” Finley says as I help her out of the truck by grabbing her waist.
“You aren’t twenty-one yet.”
Heaven chuckles and then coughs to cover it up. “Robbing the cradle, aren’t we, Grayson?”
I smack him on the back of the head. “Shut up.”
“Or you could say I’m robbing the nursing home instead.” Finley pokes me in my side, and I jump away, ticklish.
“I’m not that old. I’m in my prime! And don’t touch my side.” I rub it while she wiggles her fingers at me playfully.
Or more like a threat.
I bolt inside to run away from her, and the smell of stew hits me in the face. I nearly run into Julia who is greeting us with beer and she sidesteps just in time before I bowl her over.
“Sorry, Julia.” I feel bad for having a good time and smiling when Dillon is in the hospital, but I know that’s Finley’s goal. She wants me to be happy.
“It’s okay. I’m setting the table. Go get washed up,” she says, scolding me like a grandmother does her grandchildren.
“Now you’re saying I smell too. Everyone is a load of honesty today,” I say, bypassing the big couches in the living room. I head down the hall with Finley right behind me. When I get to my room, I glance at Dillon’s door next to mine.
It’s open.
I remember leaving it closed.
“Where are you going?” Finley asks, tugging at my shirt.
“I’m making sure everything is okay. I remember closing this.” I kick the door open a bit more, blocking Finley so whoever is in here can’t get to her, when my jaw drops.
The room is painted.
The furniture is put together.
His race car bed, a real one, not some cheap plastic bullshit, is all set up. Everything is in place and ready for him to come home.
“Oh wow,” Finley says as she steps inside, looking at every corner.
I brush a hand over my mouth, and the guys huddle up in the doorway. Heaven is practically shaking with excitement. “Do you like it? Do you?”
“He better fuckin’ like it. Got paint on my good shoes for this kid,” Zeke says, puffing on a cigar, and he sends me a wink.
The walls are painted blue with a racecar track design. He has his own computer, bookshelf, and closet full of new clothes.
“You guys did all this?” I ask.
“We wanted you to spend time with him when he came home. We didn’t want you to worry about setting his room up. We’re family. This is what family does,” Jaxon states simply.
“Thank you, guys.” I’m at a loss for words. I’m so damn tired, and I didn’t feel like doing this today, but they did. I can’t believe it. “Do you really think he’ll ever come home and get to see this?” The underlying question is, ‘do you think he’ll die before he gets the chance to come home?’ I don’t have the strength to say that, though. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to.
“He is his father’s son. He’s going to come home,” Sebastian says.
“Grayson! Grayson!” Maggie yells my name from down the hall, and her heels are clicking fast, telling me she’s running.
I walk out the door and see a frazzled, exhausted social worker with tears in her eyes. “What is it?” I ask, not liking the emotion plastered all over his face.
“Dillon’s mom. Kendall. She wants him back.”
I grip the edge of the door so hard the wood creaks. “That bitch isn’t getting my kid back,” I say.
“And he is already lawyered up,” Zeke finger quotes and stands next to me.
“She doesn’t have a strong case, but courts side with the mother all the time. You’re already his legal guardian, so it might be easier than we think, but she’s unstable. I don’t know the lengths she’ll go to.”
Let her come to me. Let her threaten to take Dillon. I’ll put a bullet between her eyes and feed her to the fucking fish.
Chapter Eighteen
FINLEY
Dinner was quiet. The only thing that could be heard was the hard clank of the silverware against the plate. Grayson stabbed the pieces of beef as if he were pretending it was a person he was stabbing instead.
Now we are in the shower, and Grayson's head hangs between his shoulders. His hands brace against the stall, and the water pelts his back. His muscles flex, and his arms tense. Water drips from his chin, and his hair is plastered against his head, hanging over his forehead. I can’t help to admire him, even when he is breaking on the inside. His leg is bent, hiding his long, flaccid cock. He looks like something carved out of stone. Water glides down all of those lean lines, contouring and enhancing the definition of his muscle.
Even in his pain, he is devastatingly beautiful.
I dip under his arm and give him a kiss. His bottom lip fits under mine, and his mouth is soft and wet from the water. His hand migrates up my ribs, and his lips break apart to inhale when he pinches my nipple. Grayson slips his tongue inside my mouth while cupping my neck to control the kiss. He grunts, biting my bottom lip into his mouth, and he steps forward, aligning his body against mine. The move has me pressed against the wall, trapped in his embrace.
A place I’ll never complain to be in.
His other hand grips my side, and he turns his
