Chapter 6
Chapter Six
Patrick
Jia pounded a fist on the door of the store room, reminding me that I’d come in here to retrieve some more bread for the lunch rush.
But I’d made the mistake of checking my phone—much like I had been all morning—and that fucking video came through.
“Thank you, Daddy. Thank you, thank you, thank you” would likely play on a loop in my head right up until I died, and I wasn’t even sorry.
Cooper had pushed himself well out of his comfort zone to send that to me, and it had me puffing out my chest like a peacock.
He was fucking stunning. I wanted to eat him.
Not just eat him out. Fucking devour him.
Lock him up in the most luxurious prison known to man and hide him from the whole bloody world because while I certainly didn’t deserve him, I wasn’t convinced anybody did.
“Patrick! Pass me some fucking bread or so help me—”
I dragged the door open, shoved two loaves of bread into Jia’s hands, and slammed the door shut again before leaning my back against it and slinking to the floor.
I’m completely fucked.
Everyone had gone home, and I was just about to leave the cafe when the bell above the door jingled.
“Look what the cat dragged in,” I said.
Jack stood in the doorway and smiled, but it appeared to take effort.
“You okay?” I asked.
He shrugged. “Rory let me go spend Christmas with him and the kids at his parents’. Let me… let me share his bed for the first time since he left, but then he freaked this morning. Said it was a ‘lapse in judgement’ and asked me to leave.”
Jack took a deep breath and thunked his head into the wall behind him.
“Fuck. That’s rough.” I stepped out from behind the counter and pulled him into a hug. He didn’t cry, because Jack was a bit emotionally stunted, but he gripped onto my flannel shirt like it was the only thing keeping him on earth. I felt guilty for not checking in on him more.
I rubbed a hand up and down his back.
“Do you think I need therapy?” he mumbled into my shoulder.
I chuckled. “Mate… of course you need fucking therapy.”
“Dick.”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah.”
“Will you come to the pub and drink with me so I feel less pathetic than doing it on my own?” Jack asked.
I let him go and stepped back. “Yeah. Gimme half an hour to wash off the fried chicken smell. I’ll meet you there.”
Jack nodded his head and looked relieved.
The pub was busier than I’d expected when I walked in. I hadn’t been since the Kings’ grandson had taken over, and he’d clearly managed to bring in a younger crowd.
Jack waved at me from a table near the window, a beer for me already poured and waiting.
“Thanks, mate.”
He nodded and smiled.
I took a large sip and sighed. “Fuck, I needed that.”
“Don’t let me drink more than four, okay?” Jack requested.
“What happens after four?”
“I start drunk dialling my ex-husband, begging him to come home.” He grimaced like he was recalling doing that exact thing.
“Duly noted. I’ll cut you off. Are these beers so we can talk about what’s going on with you and Rory, or are we avoiding the subject? Just so I know.”
“Well, avoiding difficult subjects seems to be what got me into this mess, so I’m trying to stop doing that.”
“So, why did Rory leave, then?” I asked.
“Wow. No foreplay? Just straight in there. Lube me up at least, man.”
“The beer is the lube. Anyway, I’m beginning to think Rory had a point…”
“Ouch. Ugh. He says I have unresolved issues from my childhood that I refuse to deal with.”
I took another long sip of my drink while I tried to decide how to respond, but there wasn’t really a tactful solution.
“Well, that’s true. But he knew that before you even had the girls, so what changed?”
Jack glared at me.
“Don’t give me that look. This isn’t news. Your childhood was fucked, and you’ve been chasing an unattainable level of stability at all costs ever since.”
That seemed to do it. Jack’s eyes got that fiery edge to them I hadn’t seen since his younger days of boxing.
“What do you all expect me to fucking do? Go back in time and say ‘Hey, Dad, do me a solid and be a less violent piece of shit and, Mum, could you maybe not keep overdosing on drugs so I’m not ping-ponged in and out of foster care my whole childhood. It might really help me be a less terrible husband when I’m older. Thanks!’” Jack spat.
Jack had been a spiky, guarded teenager when we’d become friends, already hardened by an incredibly traumatic start in life. But you didn’t have to dig far to find a total marshmallow underneath.
“Jack, you aren’t a terrible husband—”
“Oh yeah? Tell that to Rory.”
“Rory would agree with me.”
Jack snorted derisively.
“He would. You two might have your issues that you can’t get to the bottom of right now, and things might even seem like a lost cause, but Rory knows you have a heart of gold. You’ve been fucking miserable for years, though, mate. That’s gonna take its toll on your family.”
Jack shredded one of the beermats to pieces, and it reminded me a little of Cooper tearing up napkins when he’d been upset.
“I’m gonna have to go to fucking therapy to get my family back, aren’t I?” Jack said like he was being sent to the gallows.
“Yep.” I slapped him on the back. “I’ll get the next round.”
We were seated around the corner from the bar, so when I got up and headed for more beer, I didn’t realize how poorly timed my trip was until I ended up face to face with Cooper’s baby brother, Dylan, behind the bar counter.
“Merry Christmas, Mr Morgan. What can I get for you?”
“Patrick is fine,” I grunted. “Two lagers, please.”
“Coming right up. What song can I put you down for?” he asked, grinning.
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s karaoke night Mr—um—Patrick.” He winced. “So, what’s your song of choice?”
“I’d sooner eat glass.”
Dylan sighed. “Well, that seems on brand, I guess. Here’re your drinks. Try not to have too much fun tonight.” He winked before sauntering down the bar to serve another customer.
I’m planning to go home and watch a video of your brother jerking off on repeat and probably going to come hard enough that I give myself a headache.
Like I’d conjured the boy himself, I returned to the table to find Jack and Cooper chatting away, and Jack appeared considerably less morose than he had been when I’d left.
“Si—I mean, Pa—I mean, hello, Mr Morgan. I didn’t realise you were… you know… here,” he sputtered.
I got more enjoyment from his awkward display than I should have.
“Cooper.” I nodded.
“Piper here is my protege and gonna run my business for me one day,” Jack said, grinning at a blushing Cooper.
“I’m definitely not,” Cooper mumbled.
Jack just rolled his eyes and ruffled Cooper’s hair in such a familiar way that I was shot by a stab of envy.
I handed Jack his drink and sat back down opposite them, and they chatted a bit more about work.
It was nice to see this side of Cooper. He was confident.
Jack had given him that. Had invested in a bright kid who’d struggled in school but who’d had that spark of hard work and determination that would get him far in life.
“Any chance you two are leaving soon?” Cooper asked, grimacing.
“Any chance you’re going to be joining the karaoke?” I asked with a sly grin.
“Bloody Dylan.” Cooper pinched his nose and tipped his head up to the ceiling in exasperation.
“Do you take requests… or?”
“Be careful, Morgan. One thing about Piper here is that he always does as he’s told, so we must use that knowledge and occasionally take advantage. What shall we make him sing?” Jack was beaming, and I couldn’t help but laugh while Cooper glared at his boss.
Before we got the chance to name a song, though, a young omega who’d been working behind the bar alongside Dylan came over to retrieve Cooper. “Coop! We’re up first. You’re duetting with me because I refuse to lose again!”
“Lose? How do you lose karaoke?” I asked.
“Old man John at the bar rates each song, and the highest score gets their tab paid off along with, you know, bragging rights or whatever. So, I need to steal Cooper because he can actually sing,” she explained.
Cooper’s cheeks glowed pink, it was adorable. It was hard to marry up the version of him that was genuinely embarrassed to be praised for the ability to sing with the man who’d sent me a video of himself getting off that morning, but I was so fucking into it it wasn’t funny.
I loved the idea that, to everyone else, he was a little bit shy, timid even, and yet for me, he’d bare himself, exposing every vulnerable nook and cranny for no other reason than I’d asked him to.
It was heady and exactly the reason I had to be careful not to get in too deep here.
Cooper was everything I desired and everything I should stay away from.
“Fine, I’ll come if you stop talking immediately, Milly.”
Milly mimed zipping her lips shut but grinned like the cat who’d got the cream.
A few minutes later, there was the awful screech of a microphone connecting, and then Dylan appeared, standing on a makeshift stage made out of keg pallets.
“Welcome to King Kit karaoke night. I have no doubt that it must be Christmas, as our one and only landlord has even agreed to sing us a tune!”
“Under duress!” Axel shouted.
“You want me to undress? Baby, we’re in public.”
Everyone groaned at that.
“Anyway, without further ado, please welcome to our very fancy stage”—Dylan winked at the audience—“Cooper and Milly!”
The patrons all clapped, and Jack let out an obnoxious wolf whistle as Cooper stepped onto the stage holding his face in his hands.
Dylan passed his brother the microphone, and then the intro to “I Got You Babe” by Sonny and Cher began to play.
I can’t say I’d ever been inclined to sit and watch karaoke before, but damn if Milly was right, my little fox could sing. After the first few lines, he managed to brush off his nerves and have fun, loosening up and leaning into Milly as they sang the chorus together.