them at a huge outdoor festival last month, Jillian on Dylan’s shoulders, chubby fists buried in his hair, a four-tooth smile lighting up the photo. Laura’s hair was windblown and her face ruddy from the spring chill, but the picture was a pretty accurate summary of their messy, authentic life.
He wanted to peel it out of Frank’s hands and hide it. The man didn’t deserve to touch a representation of Laura and Jillie, much less sit here and claim to be the poor uncle nobody would talk to.
“You spoke with Josie,” Mike said in that same cold voice.
Frank’s eyes lowered, his head nodding slightly, the whole thing so choreographed Mike wanted to laugh, a bitter sound that clogged his throat now as he held back.
“I did. Lovely young woman.” He gave Mike a bit of a leer, the kind of look men shared quietly when they talked about women as if they were compilations of soft flesh and nothing more. “I can see why she would be shared by two men.”
Snap.
The thin layer of restraint in Mike gave way.
“How much?” he spat out.
Frank pretended to be offended. Frank pretends a lot , Mike thought. Mike needed to pretend right now, too. Needed to pretend it was a bad idea to beat this man to death and hide his body in the office supply closet.
“Mike, I…this is about family , not money.”
Mike snorted, heat pouring through his skin in waves, as if someone were dipping him in hot wax. The rage, the fury, the endless assault of everything out of control whipped up in him, rising to the top. If he didn’t end this now, didn’t run for so long he couldn’t think, didn’t get home to touch his woman and his daughter, he was going to explode.
And right now, that meant losing everything that was important to him.
So he offered up something that paled in comparison.
“How much ‘family’ do you want?” Mike kept the finger quotes tight and restrained. “We both know why you’re here.” Mike strode with purpose to his desk and yanked open a drawer, finding his personal checkbook quickly. Wishing he’d prepared for this, he pulled one check out of the book, the tick-tick-tick sound of the paper’s perforated edge like a heartbeat that ended the second he tore the page loose.
“I’m…no, no, Mike, you have me all wrong. I’m not here for your money.”
“You’re here for Laura’s.” Mike didn’t ask. He declared.
“I am here to get to know my niece and grand-niece!” Frank declared in a staged voice, as if there were an audience. Mike was a singular witness, though. Shelly was long gone.
“You’re here to exact money from us, just like you forced poor Laura to cough up a bunch of her mother’s estate,” Mike said flatly. “Don’t play games. We know.”
“Is that what Laura told you?” A bitter, sad laugh followed. “I knew she was mentally fragile, but I didn’t know she was…inventing like that.”
Mike’s heat flashed over to ice cold.
“Excuse me?” If he’d possessed a weapon of any kind, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop his hands from using it. Shit. Dylan would know how to end this, how to make this guy leave, how to drive him out like a dog with his tail between his legs. Mike wasn’t good at this, and his internal sense of how to structure his words, how to read Frank’s nonverbal cues, was falling apart.
He was devolving into something primal, the instinct to protect Laura and Jillian at full throttle, and if he gave in to it Frank was going to get hurt.
Writing a check for more than he earned in a year just three years ago was less of a price to pay than a lawyer’s defense fee on an assault charge.
A tiny voice inside him, the one that guided him through breathing deeply and not turning Frank into a pile of ground beef, couldn’t fathom that he had the potential for such violence in him.
Apparently he did, and Laura and Jillian were the trigger.
Frank tilted his head as if he were struggling to say something distasteful, as if he were being
He wanted to peel it out of Frank’s hands and hide it. The man didn’t deserve to touch a representation of Laura and Jillie, much less sit here and claim to be the poor uncle nobody would talk to.
“You spoke with Josie,” Mike said in that same cold voice.
Frank’s eyes lowered, his head nodding slightly, the whole thing so choreographed Mike wanted to laugh, a bitter sound that clogged his throat now as he held back.
“I did. Lovely young woman.” He gave Mike a bit of a leer, the kind of look men shared quietly when they talked about women as if they were compilations of soft flesh and nothing more. “I can see why she would be shared by two men.”
Snap.
The thin layer of restraint in Mike gave way.
“How much?” he spat out.
Frank pretended to be offended. Frank pretends a lot , Mike thought. Mike needed to pretend right now, too. Needed to pretend it was a bad idea to beat this man to death and hide his body in the office supply closet.
“Mike, I…this is about family , not money.”
Mike snorted, heat pouring through his skin in waves, as if someone were dipping him in hot wax. The rage, the fury, the endless assault of everything out of control whipped up in him, rising to the top. If he didn’t end this now, didn’t run for so long he couldn’t think, didn’t get home to touch his woman and his daughter, he was going to explode.
And right now, that meant losing everything that was important to him.
So he offered up something that paled in comparison.
“How much ‘family’ do you want?” Mike kept the finger quotes tight and restrained. “We both know why you’re here.” Mike strode with purpose to his desk and yanked open a drawer, finding his personal checkbook quickly. Wishing he’d prepared for this, he pulled one check out of the book, the tick-tick-tick sound of the paper’s perforated edge like a heartbeat that ended the second he tore the page loose.
“I’m…no, no, Mike, you have me all wrong. I’m not here for your money.”
“You’re here for Laura’s.” Mike didn’t ask. He declared.
“I am here to get to know my niece and grand-niece!” Frank declared in a staged voice, as if there were an audience. Mike was a singular witness, though. Shelly was long gone.
“You’re here to exact money from us, just like you forced poor Laura to cough up a bunch of her mother’s estate,” Mike said flatly. “Don’t play games. We know.”
“Is that what Laura told you?” A bitter, sad laugh followed. “I knew she was mentally fragile, but I didn’t know she was…inventing like that.”
Mike’s heat flashed over to ice cold.
“Excuse me?” If he’d possessed a weapon of any kind, he wasn’t certain he’d be able to stop his hands from using it. Shit. Dylan would know how to end this, how to make this guy leave, how to drive him out like a dog with his tail between his legs. Mike wasn’t good at this, and his internal sense of how to structure his words, how to read Frank’s nonverbal cues, was falling apart.
He was devolving into something primal, the instinct to protect Laura and Jillian at full throttle, and if he gave in to it Frank was going to get hurt.
Writing a check for more than he earned in a year just three years ago was less of a price to pay than a lawyer’s defense fee on an assault charge.
A tiny voice inside him, the one that guided him through breathing deeply and not turning Frank into a pile of ground beef, couldn’t fathom that he had the potential for such violence in him.
Apparently he did, and Laura and Jillian were the trigger.
Frank tilted his head as if he were struggling to say something distasteful, as if he were being
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