Mother. Fucker.

Slamming my hand down on the table, I heard gasps from those around us as I shoved my chair back and stood up to glare at him.

Whatever I was shooting from my eyes burned like hell. I wanted him dead. And I wanted it to be painful.

Hot air rushed in and out of my nose, sounding like a distant waterfall. “What’s wrong inside of you?” I growled. “Is it broken, dead, or just numb?”

My father looked up at me, not scared—I wasn’t a threat to him after all—and answered with the most sincerity I had ever seen from him. “Don’t you know, Jared?” he asked. “You have it, too. And so will your useless kids. No one wants us. I knew I didn’t want you.”

My face didn’t relax. It just fell, and I didn’t know why.

“I have a birthday present for you.” Tate’s dad appeared in my driveway, hands in his pockets, as I got out of my car.

I shook my head, feeling the fucking weight of the visit with my father crawling all over my skin. I’d just sped all the way home from the prison, and I needed a distraction.

“Not now,” I bit out.

“Yes, now,” he shot back, turning to walk back to his house, assuming I’d follow. Which I did. If only to get him to stop busting my balls.

Traipsing behind him into his open two-car garage, I immediately halted with the disaster in front of me.

“What the hell happened?” I burst out, shocked.

The fully restored Chevy Nova that had sat in this garage for as long as Tate and Mr. Brandt had lived here was completely totaled. Well, not completely. But it was a fucking wreck. It looked like it’d been used in a baseball game between King Kong and Godzilla. Windows were shattered, tires slashed, and that was the easy stuff. Dents the size of basketballs covered the door panels and hood, and the leather seats were cut up.

“Happy Birthday.”

I jerked my head over at him and pinched my eyebrows together in confusion. “Happy Birthday? Are you crazy? This car was in great shape yesterday. Now you’ve turned it into a piece of junk, and I can have it?”

Not that I needed a car. Jax would get mine as soon as he turned sixteen and got a license, and I’d be buying another car any day now with the money from my grandfather’s house.

“No, you can’t have it. You can fix it.”

Gee, thanks.

“I figured you might need a little automotive therapy after today, so I decided to break out the sledgehammer and invent a project for you.”

Were all of the adults in my life on fucking crack?

James walked towards me, to the front of the car. “All that shit you feel, Jared…the frustration, the anger, the loss, whatever it is…” he trailed off and then continued, “it’s going to find a way out eventually, and you’re going to have to deal with it someday. But for now, just keep busy. It won’t cure anything, but it will help you calm down.”

Slowly walking around the car, taking in the damage and already compiling the materials I would need in my head, I figured it made sense. I still didn’t feel any better than I had a month ago, and I had no idea what to think of the things my father had said today. If anything, I felt worse now, but I just didn’t want to think about anything anymore.

But Jax needed me, and I couldn’t fail him.

Date: 2015-02-16; view: 769