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CHAPTER 4
We go together like fuck and you.
-Aodhan to Morrigan
AODHAN
“What are you doing?”
I looked up to find my son opening the door to his mother’s place with a look of confusion on his face.
There was no excitement to see me.
There was no “hey, Dad!” that ever came out of his lips.
Instead, his intelligent eyes took me in as an intruder on his property.
“I’ve come to speak to your mom,” I said, unsure how to address my own son.
It freakin’ killed that he wouldn’t look at my unexpected arrival at his house as a good thing. Instead, I was met with suspicion and not even a little bit of anger.
Would it kill him to give me a damn hug? Because, just sayin’, I’d kill for one of those right then.
“She’s busy,” Bowie lied.
I crossed my arms over my chest, then stared at my son until he started to squirm.
Eventually, he threw up his hands and stalked back inside, slamming the door closed behind him and locking it for good measure.
The little shit.
I waited for two whole minutes with my bulk leaned up against the header for their porch stairs before I texted her and told her to come outside.
She did within two seconds.
“How long have you been here?” she asked.
“Long enough to wonder what kind of manners you instilled in our son while I’ve been gone,” I grumbled.
She shot me a roll of her eyes.
We both knew that she’d done really well with what she’d been given. With her brother and me both being in prison at the same time, well, you got what you got.
“We need to talk,” I said. “And not about my son’s lack of manners.”
Danyetta smiled.
“It’s her, isn’t it?” Danyetta asked. “The girl at the coffee shop. She’s your one.”
Danyetta and I, when we’d first started talking to each other, had talked about our “one that got away.”
Danyetta’s was a guy she’d graduated high school with that had recently been divorced. A guy that she was trying to get to notice her by using me as her instigator.
Danyetta knew all about Morrigan and my relationship. Why I’d let her go.
“Mom, I’m going to Uncle Wake’s house,” Bowie said, coming out of the front door with his bike helmet on and his phone in his hand.
A phone that I’d insisted we buy him that he still hadn’t thanked me for. If his mother had had it her way, he wouldn’t have a phone until well into his teens. But, as the world changed, I knew that not letting him have a phone would be a disservice to him. Especially when his genius-level IQ meant that he could be doing things with it like hacking into the world.
