A Father's Name(36)

“No. I’d get mad at Jason. He was like my brother, so okay, we occasionally annoyed each other, but we never fought. The one time we did, I ended up taking a swing at him.”

She whistled. “He must have done something really boneheaded because I don’t see you being prone to that kind of thing.”

“You don’t know me.” She kept looking at him as if she did. But she didn’t. And for the life of him, he didn’t understand her. She was pissed her old man hired an ex-con, then suddenly was acting as if it had been her idea all along. Hell, she was trusting him to help with their accounts, even though she knew what he’d gone to jail for. What was with her?

“I don’t really know you, but I’d like to,” Tucker said slowly. “So tell me. Tell me about you and fights.”

“I don’t do it with people, not even normal arguments, because I don’t know how to do it without someone getting hit.”

“Your parents?” she asked softly.

Tyler shook his head. “No. My mom…she died when I was ten…my father was a drunk. A mean drunk.” He let his explanation rest there. It was apparent that she understood what he was saying without him going into graphic detail. He remembered odd incidents. The day he’d used the last of the milk on some cereal, and the old man—hung over as usual—went to get some for his coffee. That time the authorities had questioned his father, who said his son’s broken arm was the result of a fall.

As the social worker stood next to the bed, asking about the accident and if he’d really fallen, his father had stood on the other side of the bed waiting for Tyler to agree with his version. Tyler had been maybe fifteen. He’d wanted to tell the social worker that his father was lying. Sure he’d fallen—fallen down the stairs—but only because his father had pushed him. In the end, he’d nodded his head in agreement; telling the truth wasn’t a luxury he could afford.

Tucker reached across the table and put her hand on his. “I’m sorry. But fights don’t have to end up with someone getting hit. And I maintain that Jason must have done something truly stupid if you reacted violently. That is not the Tyler Martinez I know.”

“But that Tyler Martinez is the one I live in fear of. I’ve spent every day of my adult life trying not to be my father’s son. Not to live down to the name he’d given me. It was easier when it was me, on my own, but now there’s Jace—and there’s no way getting round him. What if I’m like my old man, Angel? What if Jace comes in late, and rather than have a fight with him like you did with Bart, what if I smack him across the face, then toss him down the stairs the way my father did to me?”

“You won’t.” There was so much certainty in her voice.

“I might. I’ve read that people parent the way they were parented. And my father’s SOP involved an open hand if you were lucky, and a fist if you weren’t. I know I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I ever raised a hand to Jace.”

He raked his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t want this,” he said with a burst of anger. “I had my life planned and it didn’t involve raising someone else’s child—ever. I don’t want to screw up Jace, but I know if Jason were here, I’d be apt to deck him for a second time. None of this is happening how I expected it to.”

Angelina pulled her hand away. “My first instinct is to whap you upside the head and say, idiot, but somehow I think that would be counterproductive, so instead, just sit there and listen.”

She got up, paced and didn’t say a thing.

“Angel,” he started.

She shushed him and continued walking around the table for another few seconds, then stopped to face him. “The first thing I need to say is, taking in Jace wasn’t what you planned, but it’s what you’ve done, so now you’ve got to deal with it. I’m going to tell you to shut up, suck it up and figure it out because those are the exact words my Pops used when I had Bart. Neither of us planned being responsible for a kid, but life is what it is, so now you’ve got to stop whining.”

“Whining?” He wasn’t sure if he was insulted or amused by her choice of words.

She shrugged. “Whatever you want to call it. It’s done. Jace is yours, for better or worse. And that leads me to the second thing—you love Jace. It’s written all over your face every time you pick him up. At first, you probably loved him ’cause you had to, because he’s your best friend’s kid and you were his godfather. But now, it’s there. As clear as the nose on your face. You love him like I love Bart. Completely and all encompassing. I’d throw myself on a grenade for my kid. You’d do the same for Jace. That’s something. Something big.”