They’d protected Austin. And if it cut to the bone that they’d felt it necessary to do so from him...well, I guess it sucks to be you, Slick.
Somewhere over Midway Island he’d dropped his defenses and admitted they had cut him a lot more slack than he’d deserved before they’d finally lowered the ax and banished him from Austin’s life.
But that wasn’t the central thing here—at least not right this minute. That would be that he was finally doing what he should have done a long time ago: stepping up.
So, go him.
Not that any of this prevented the woman standing in front of him from scratching at his temper. He took an involuntary step in her direction. “The fact remains, I’m Austin’s father and I’m here now.”
Apparently that wasn’t what she’d expected to hear, because she blinked long, dense lashes at him, just a single slow sweep that lowered fragile-looking lids over her almond-shaped eyes, then raised them again.
The action ate up a couple of seconds tops, yet somehow it was long enough to make him aware that he was standing a whole lot closer to her than he’d intended. It made him aware as well that, except for the blink, she’d gone very still. Had she seen his banked anger? Jake slowly straightened. Shit. She couldn’t possibly think he was going to hit her, could she?
He took a giant step back, shoving his hands in his Levi’s pockets.
In the sudden silence, the back door crashed open, and from the way little Ms. Salazar stiffened, he knew exactly who it was. Heart beginning to kick hard against the wall of his chest, he stared at the opening to the kitchen.
“Hey, Jenny,” called a male voice from the other room. “I’m home.” The refrigerator door opened, then slammed shut and the lid of something rattled against a hard surface. “Dude! Leave a cookie for me.”
“Trade ya for that carton of milk,” came a second youthful tenor.
“You better be using glasses!” Jenny raised her voice to warn. “If I see washback in my milk, you’re dead men.”
Glass clinked and a cupboard slapped closed. Silence reigned for a few moments after that, before being abruptly broken by the sound of stampeding feet. Two boys burst through the archway.
The boy in the lead was a gangly brunette who—sweet mother Mary—had the exact same all-bones-no-meat thirteen-year-old build Jake had had at the same age.
God oh God. All the moisture dried up in his mouth and his habit of being aware of everything around him—honed by years of knowing that otherwise he’d likely end up bitten by a snake, stung by an insect or mauled by an animal with way more tonnage, power and teeth than him—went up in smoke. The cozy little room and everything in it faded from his consciousness, leaving nothing but his son.
His.
Son.
Awash with joy, with terror, with a raft of pain and regret, Jake stared. An emotion he’d never experienced suffused his chest, while panic clawed at his gut. Jesus. He was shaking.
He hadn’t thought it would matter so much, hadn’t expected to be struck so hard. Was this what love felt like?
The thought snapped his spine straight. Hell, no.
It couldn’t be. A: he was a Bradshaw and Bradshaw men’s version of the Big L was so fucked it gave the sentiment a bad name. And B: a man had to actually know someone before he could start slinging that word around.
He drew a deep breath. It was probably just simple wonder that the kid could have gotten so big already. Jake’d had this image in his head of Austin at two, at four. Hell, at six even, which was how old Austin was the year Kathy had sent him the last picture.
But this was no little boy—this was an almost-grown teen. Not that Jake hadn’t known how old he was, of course.
He just hadn’t had a clear picture of it in his head.
He’d long ago convinced himself that he was doing the right thing—that Austin was better off with his grandparents, who could give him the stable, structured life that he himself could not. And he’d been right.
But now—face-to-face with what he hadn’t merely let slip through his fingers but had actively thrown away with no more than an occasional second thought—his carelessness felt like shards of glass hacking his gut to shreds.
Oblivious to the thoughts and feelings that threatened to swamp Jake, the boy crossed directly to Jenny without even glancing in his direction.
“Can I spend the night at Nolan’s?” he demanded. “His mom said it was okay.” His gaze passed incuriously over Jake, returned to Jenny. “She’s gonna order pizza from Bella T’s, and Nolan has a new Xbox game we’re gonna try ou—”
With a neck-snapping double take, the kid’s gaze suddenly shot back to lock on Jake’s. He took a step toward him, making Jake’s overburdened heart leap into his throat.
Then Austin snapped upright and an ask-me-if-I-give-a-shit expression molded his young face. He looked at Jake through pitch-black narrowed lashes. “Who the hell are you?” he asked, even though his shuttered expression made it obvious to anyone with eyes that he knew.
Jake swallowed, fighting to sound calm in the midst of the fucking circus taking place inside of him. Automatically, he started forward. “Your dad. I—”
The teen made a wrong-answer-buzzer noise that stopped him in his tracks. “Like hell you are. In case you don’t know...and I’m guessing you don’t since this is the first time I’ve ever seen ya,” he said, contempt coating his every word, “I’m thirteen. I don’t need or want a daddy in my life.” He turned back to Jenny, pinning her with angry eyes. “So can I stay the night at Nolan’s or what?”
Jake watched as she reached up to stroke the boy’s cheek, then visibly quelled the urge, clearly knowing he would hate the public show of sympathy. Instead she nodded. “Sure.”
Without another word—or so much as a quick peek in Jake’s direction—the teen turned and vanished with his friend into a room off the living room. When he reappeared less than a minute later, he was tucking a toothbrush into his jeans pocket. His other hand clutched a pair of flannel lounge pants.
“You need money for pizza?” Jenny asked.
“Nah,” the other kid answered. “Mom’s got it covered.”
Still ignoring Jake, Austin headed for the kitchen, Nolan tight on his six.
“Hey, wait a minute!” Jake stepped forward, but the two boys were already slamming out the back door.
Jake didn’t know if it was disappointment or relief that crashed through him. Whatever the sensation was, it nearly knocked him to his knees. God, he must have pictured this first meeting a hundred times since he’d received the news of Kathy’s and Emmett’s deaths, must have run as many scenarios through his mind. Not once, however, had he envisioned this. He’d been braced for his son’s anger, for a barrage of pointed questions he wasn’t sure he could answer to the boy’s satisfaction.
But how did a guy brace himself to be so utterly...dismissed? He turned on Jenny. “Are you kidding me? You let him just walk out?”
“What did you expect?” Her voice was cool, her gaze even cooler. “Austin’s just discovered that the man who fathered him, the man who was never here when he wanted him most, has finally deigned to show up. Don’t you think he might need a little time to process that?”
Yeah. He supposed he did. The kid had said it himself: he was thirteen—not that many years from being grown. Jake had missed his opportunity to be a father.