Ask Me Why(77)

At hearing that, my pitiful heart puffs out a cloud of hope. I almost believe it could happen. And just maybe it will.





Brance



Stakes



I stride toward the den without another word. The couch is calling my name. I drop onto the middle cushion and settle in deep. There’s nothing like falling into a familiar space after a stressful afternoon. I slouch lower, resting against the fluffy pillows. I close my eyes and attempt to calm the tornado tearing through me.

All is well until Ollie and Jordan follow suit, one on each side of me. I hoist my legs onto the coffee table with a grunt. I’m surrounded. Again. They played this same setup on the deck. Then I was boxed in by them while trying to relax on a kitchen stool. They didn’t ease up while I prepared dinner. And their seating arrangement during the meal was worse. I need some damn space.

They’re trying to drive me insane. This recent move proves their motives.

“Seriously?” My low grumble bangs around the otherwise silent room. I glare at them, no longer giving a shit about hurt feelings. They’ve effectively ground my patience into dust.

“What’s the matter, Daddy?” Ollie’s voice is so innocent. I almost believe he’s clueless, except for the sneaky grin lifting his cheeks.

“You two keep following me around. What’s your problem?” The question is directed at Jordan. My son is clever, but he’s not at the level of orchestrating a plan of this magnitude.

“Not sure what you mean. We’re just enjoying a quiet evening. Do you have an issue? That pulsing vein in your temple is kinda scary.” He taps the side of my head.

I dodge away from his touch. “Are you fu-lipping joking?”

Ollie gasps. “Daddy! You almost swore. That’s naughty.”

I scrub my pounding forehead. “Yeah, sorry. I’m a tad on edge.”

Jordan claps me on the shoulder. “Know what the best cure is?”

“Knock it off. Not around my son.” I grind on my molars.

“He’ll find out eventually,” Jordan replies.

I glare at him. “He’s five. It better be at least fifteen years.”

That earns me a bark of loud laughter. “Because you waited until twenty. Hilarious.”

I elbow my friend in the ribs. Hard. “We’re done discussing this. I thought we were gonna watch a movie.”

“But we can’t talk with the television on.” Ollie pouts.

I wiggle his bottom lip. “That’s the entire point.”

“We haven’t discussed all the perks yet. Just hear us out.” Jordan wags his brow.

“I don’t think there is anything left to say. I’ve heard your arguments for Braelyn’s case. You just finished yapping about her when I left the kitchen. That was five minutes ago.” I hitch a thumb behind me in an effort to eliminate any confusion.

Jordan chuckles. “That was only the introduction. I can skip ahead to the good stuff if you’re getting antsy.”

“You’re wasting valuable breath.”

He studies the ceiling with far too much focus. His calculating stare slowly sinks to mine. “Am I? Are we? Think about it.”

“You’re being a dou-weirdo.”

Jordan snorts. “Nice save. Not.”

“I think you’ve been hanging around my child too much.”

He frowns. “Not as much lately. Your dates with a certain someone came to a premature halt. But that’s only temporary. We’ll be back on track soon enough.”

Ollie is watching us with wide eyes. I give him a strained smile and turn back to my so-called friend.

“Please don’t drag my son into this evil genius plot to get me hitched. He’s been through enough.”

Jordan smirks. “Who do you think planned all of this?”

I grunt and cross my arms. “You.”

He makes the sound of a buzzer. “Wrong. Ollie isn’t surrendering.”

My son nods along. “No white flag for me, Daddy. I’m stepping up my game.”

Where is he getting this shit? “Oh, really? How do you plan on doing that?”

“I tried being sad. That didn’t work. I’m going to be bossy now. You need to see Miss Braelyn again.”

I gape at my son. “Oliver James, that tone won’t get you far.”

He hunches his shoulders. “But Daddy, you aren’t listening.”

I’ve heard numerous different versions of that line over the last week. My resolve is an iron gate. There’s no breaking me down. My fiery stare bores into my friend’s profile. The fucker won’t look at me. “See what you’re teaching him?”

He peeks over, raising his hands. “Don’t blame me. Ollie told us his plan. We’re the assistants.”

“Us?” I grind the word out.

Jordan winces. “Forget I said that.”

“Not a chance. Who else is involved in this scheme?”

“Sadie.”

I’ll never admit to the foul drop in my gut. The beating organ in my chest offers up a weak thump. It’d be stupid for me to be disappointed. Braelyn is the one who called things off. I don’t expect any effort on her part. Not after the way she shredded our simple arrangement. But I find myself frowning. Nothing about this seems right.