Marek (Cold Fury Hockey #11)(11)
“Can I talk to you a minute?” he asks, but let’s be honest, it’s a command.
I bend over, whisper in Lilly’s ear. “Go on up to your room and I’ll be there in a minute.”
Lilly nods and heads up the stairs, her little legs taking one step at a time as she holds on to the railing. My parents’ house is a single-story bungalow and I remember being so worried when we came to Marek’s that Lilly would fall down them. She’s mastered them, though, like a champ.
I watch until she’s out of sight, pull my own blank mask firmly in place, and then turn to face Marek with a light smile. “What’s up?”
He waves toward the stove. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” I ask pleasantly.
“Family dinner shit,” he says with another careless wave, and he proves to me that he still has a whole lot of asshole inside of him.
“Family dinner shit?” I repeat.
Marek takes a step toward me and lowers his voice. “I’m going to be a good father to Lilly. I’m going to figure it out. But I can be a good dad without falling into your little family plot ideas of Sunday dinners. That’s not the way it’s going to be with us.”
The rage rises within me and I have to repeat to myself, You wronged him, Gracen. Suck it up. Let him have his moment.
When I feel like I can speak without scratching his eyes out, my voice is deceptively calm and light. “Don’t think so highly of yourself, Marek. This dinner wasn’t for you or for any warped idea I might have that we’d be a family. You made clear your thoughts on that four years ago. This is for Lilly. A tradition we had at my parents’ every Sunday, and I’m going to continue it for as long as we stay here. And when we move out, I’ll continue it there. I’m merely being polite and inviting you to join us if you’re hungry. But it makes no difference to me if you have other plans. The meal will be enjoyed with or without you. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a kid to wash up and a pie to make for us.”
I turn away before I can even gauge how my words might affect him. He stops me cold when he says, “You’re not moving out.”
I wheel on him so fast his chin jerks in with surprise and he takes a tiny step back. I cross the kitchen to him in three steps, pushing my finger into his chest for emphasis. “That’s where you’re wrong, Marek. I will move out with Lilly. I just don’t know when or where that will be or how to accomplish it, but fuck if we’re going to stay here for too much longer. I’d rather have my intestines ripped out of my belly button with a crochet needle than suffer your presence on a daily basis. Until that time, let me politely say, you continue to be a good dad to Lilly and I’ll support your right to do that. You make my life much more miserable, I might just cut your balls off while you sleep.”
Marek blinks at me in surprise, his mouth dropped into a tiny O. I give him a bright smile and say, “Now…enjoy your Labor Day party.”
I feel mighty fucking proud of myself when I turn away from him to jog up the stairs. I know I have a lot to pay for given what I did to Marek, but I’m not going to take more abuse than I deserve from him.
I conjure up an image of cherry pie and feel light and happy on the inside. I have Lilly, Owen’s out of my life—although for how long remains to be seen—and I’ve established that I’ve got a backbone with Marek.
Oh, and cherry pie. How can you not be happy with that on the horizon?
Chapter 5
Marek
My living room is mostly dark, which matches my mood. The light over the stove is on in the kitchen, and it throws enough of a glow into the living room that I’m not in total pitch black. I sink further down into the armchair, the bottoms of my forearms perched on the rests. One hand holds a highball glass with about two inches of bourbon in it. I’m holding it at the rim by my fingertips, dangling it over the end of the armrest. I’ve yet to take a sip, and that’s only because I’m pretty damn drunk already. Not sure why I even poured it, but since I wasn’t tired when I stumbled in the front door a few minutes ago, I figured more liquor couldn’t hurt.
The party at Holt’s house sucked. Normally, hanging with one of my best buds is one of my favorite pastimes. Holt is a huge extrovert and social whore. He loves people and having them around. He loves women even more, and nothing better to congregate them in one place than a huge party frequented by most of the single dudes on the Cold Fury.
And there were plenty at Holt’s house this afternoon. Even more showed up this evening as his party raged on. Holt’s getting ready to gut his entire house and remodel it over the course of the season, so this was sort of a last hurrah for him.
It was the pits because I couldn’t get into it. The liquor tasted bland, the food dry, and the women? Well, they didn’t seem so hot anymore.
Not compared to Gracen, and it’s impossible for me not to compare them to her, because she’s in my face constantly. I might be pissed at her a good chunk of the time, but I’m still attracted to her 100 percent of the time.
It’s left me in an overly surly mood tonight, and perhaps the bourbon will take the edge off. I lift the glass to my lips, take a mouthful, and swallow it down without savoring. My arm drops back to the rest and I sink further into the chair while I brood.