Jax (Titan #9)(97)

"And impending divorce."

Adelia pouted. "Really? I did not see that coming."

Seven clicked on her turn signal then eased into the parking lot of the nursing home. "But you saw me getting married to Jax?" She rolled her eyes. "Come on, give me a little credit for being the most responsible person you know."

Adelia harrumphed.

"People make drunken mistakes, and obviously, I wasn't exempt, as surprising as that is to both of us." She forced a laugh. "Which is why God made divorce attorneys—ohh." Seven cocked her eyebrow as she parked and stared at Adelia. "You're my divorce hookup."

Lenora Appleton was a prominent attorney in Sweet Hills. She was the first phone call when Mayhem needed legal counsel or a quick bail out of jail, and behind closed doors of Sweet Hills society, she was also Tex's old lady, making her the pseudo-stepmom to Adelia. Even if Adelia's dad wasn't with Lenora, Seven could've asked, and Lenora would have discreetly processed what was needed for a quickie divorce. "Can you call her after we see my mom?"

Adelia pushed her bottom lip out. "Do I have to be part of ruining this fairy tale?"

Seven groaned. "Have your own. Plus, Jax and I can still do whatever he and I… do. We just don't need to be bound by a legal contract."

"For a woman who nearly crawled out of her skin when Ryder and Victoria got together, I cannot believe you're poo-pooing this."

"My wedding day can't involve Jell-O shooters."

Adelia let her eyebrow creep up. "Maybe your wedding day was supposed to teach you to loosen up a bit, darlin'."

"Right, and maybe I'm going to magically learn a better way to cope with my anxiety than my ridiculous compulsions when I pop in to see my mom. Same likelihood of life-changing epiphanies." Seven shouldn't complain. Her OCD was minor and far more manageable compared to what it could be. But when ideas got planted in her head, they were hard to let go. "Tell Lenora it's important. I'd like to have whatever I need for Jax to sign by the time he gets off of his assignment."

Adelia's heartbreaking frown could've been for both of them. "If that's what you think is best."

What was best and what was responsible were on opposite sides of Iowa. "I do."

She shifted into Park, and a motorcycle a few parking spaces over caught her eye. Narrowing her gaze, Seven looked to see who she recognized, and Adelia followed her stare.

"Who is that?"

"I don't know." Seven turned off her car and pocketed the keys in her purse. They didn't know everybody who rode a Harley in Sweet Hills. But more often than not, they did, and it wasn't normal to see one there.

"Let's go," Adelia said. "Maybe there's a hot biker for me to flirt with after I talk to your mama."

Seven laughed. "Maybe." Adelia's outlook on love and relationships vastly differed from Seven's, which was surprising since they'd had vaguely familiar upbringings. Adelia's had been far more traumatic. Both of their dads were criminal pieces of shit, or rather, Adelia's biological father was. Tex was a rock star in Seven's book. But he hadn't come along until Adelia was a teenager.

They got out and walked toward the check-in, pausing when they passed the Harley.

Adelia ambled closer. "What the… Who is that?"

Seven shrugged. "I don't care. So long as it's not Johnny, if they're here to visit my mom, I'm sure she's good with company."

Loud voices marred the normally serene foyer of the nursing home as they walked in, and the hairs on the back of Seven's neck spiked. "What do you think that's about?"

"Old folks gone wild?"

They picked up the pace, rounding the corner. And there stood Cullen Blackburn.

"Motherfucker," Adelia whispered.

Seven choked on air. Why was her father there? Adelia's hand found Seven's and gave it a quick squeeze but didn't let go.

Why wasn't he in prison? "What are you doing here?"

Her dad sauntered forward with a bastard's grin and mischievous eyes. "My little girl."

"Don't call me that." She'd rather they were on a first-name basis—or a no-contact one. "You're not allowed here."

"That's what they say." His forehead furrowed as his scrutiny became a visible inspection. "You are…"

Adelia squeezed her fingers around Seven's hand again, offering more reassurance.

"Colorful," he finally added.

Seven wasn't sure if Adelia had ever met her dad in person. She couldn't recall the last time she had seen him. Sentencing when his lawyer had trotted her out for sympathy points, maybe. But he had years left before he could even hope to be paroled. How many years had it been? Six? Maybe, she didn't know. "I am colorful."

"You look good, Lucky. Grown up a lot."

Lucky. Her stomach churned, and Seven fought the nausea that came with his nickname, bad memories, and childhood panic attacks. "Don't call me that."

He reached out as though he were going to touch her chin.

"Don't touch—"

Adelia stepped in front of Seven. "Like hell."

Her dad smirked. "And who is this Latin beauty? Holding hands, defending her?" He inched his obtrusive hand back. "Did my lucky girl turn into a dyke?"