Was terrified of him at first, but I soon understood the difference between a gentle discipliner and a tyrant.
Night and fucking day.
And standing there, I hadn’t done a thing to deserve that kind of respect. I got it, but that didn’t mean it didn’t leave me feeling like an intruder.
I glanced at Izzy, and my spirit stretched tight.
Emotion gushed in all those vacant places.
A direct reminder of why I was all too willing to stand in the fire.
She was willing to take this chance on me, and that was worth any amount of unease or unrest. Any amount of judgment or speculation.
“Jack,” Mrs. Lane admonished, shooting a scowl at her husband and waving him off like it was no big deal before she was sending a welcoming smile to me. “Ignore him.”
“Ignore that Mr. Grumpy Pants,” Dillon was all too eager to agree. “He might act mean, but he’s got all the love.”
Benjamin cracked up like it was the funniest thing he’d ever heard, though those blue eyes were keen on me the whole time.
Watching.
Like he was digging for the answer to a mystery.
“Come here,” Mrs. Lane said, gesturing with her hands at herself as she ambled over. She stretched her arms out in welcome.
The woman had aged in the last handful of years, though she still had that lightness she’d worn like a signature color. Tenderness oozing from her demeanor with a dash of sass that kept you on your toes.
God knew, she’d welcomed me like a son but didn’t hesitate to chase my ass out of here in the times when I was getting unruly.
You know, like when I was climbing into her daughter’s bed.
She wrapped her arms around me, and I let her, fighting the overwhelming bout of sadness I felt at her touch.
The kind that could completely take me under.
Stepping through the doors of this house had always reminded me of what I was missing.
Made me feel like an outsider.
A beggar looking in from the fringes and wishing I belonged.
A family where I didn’t quite fit.
I gulped around the magnitude of it as she hugged me tight.
Urges hit me.
This need to confess a million things. Tell her I was sorry that I’d let her down. Tell her how damn bad I hated that I’d hurt her daughter.
Hated that I hadn’t been there for Benjamin.
She beat me to the punch. “I’m really glad you’re here, Maxon.”
Pulling me closer, she hiked up on her toes and murmured quietly in my ear so only I could hear, “Now don’t go and do something stupid like hurt my daughter. I’ll hunt you down and cut off your balls. Know it took some big ones for you to show up here today, so use ’em wisely.”
Wow.
Woman was not pulling punches.
I pulled away and cleared the uneasiness from my throat. “That’s the last thing I want to do.”
She patted my cheek. “Good boy.”
“Good boy!” Dillon parroted, and Mrs. Lane turned around and smacked her hands together. “It’s dinnertime, my favorite little men. Let’s get some food in those bellies. Who’s hungry?”
“Meeee,” Benjamin stammered, and Dillon was shouting over the top of him, “Me, Me, Me!”
Entire place was straight chaos. Only the very best kind.
Benjamin shuffled for the table. “I ggget to sit by Mmmack.”
My spirit clutched.
Fuck.
Didn’t know if I was ever gonna get over that.
“No way, no fair. I get to!” Dillon argued, and he scrambled to spread himself over the empty chair next to him while remaining seated on the other.
Kid was a handful, that was for sure.
“I told you, bein’ a troublemaker is not allowed,” Izzy said, angling her head at her son in tender exasperation as she started for the table, clearly preparing herself to break up a fight.
Dillon turned up a sour-patch face from over the top of the chair. “Ahh, Mom. I was gonna call it, fair and square.”
“Your brother called it first,” she told him, voice firm.
“Don’t you two know dogs sit on the floor?” Izzy’s father offered way too light.
Izzy gasped. “Daddy.”
He raised his shoulders, mock innocence on his face. “What?”
“You know very well what. I already warned you that you need to be nice. He’s our guest,” she urged beneath her breath, like she could shield me from the clear irritation her father was feeling at my presence.
Thing was, he was the one who had it all right.
“Seems like Grand-Pop is the troublemaker to me. Why you troublemakin’?” Dillon asked.
“Mind your own beeswax,” the old man said with a tease.
Too bad Mal-Pal wasn’t here to skewer him for that one.
Seemed Dillon’s joke standards weren’t quite as high, considering the kid howled with laughter.
“I don’t got no beeswax!”
I stood there in the bedlam, attention pinging from one spot to the next, not having the first clue how I was supposed to mix.
Where I stood.
Hiding out by the kitchen door wasn’t exactly going to cut it.