Chapter 32
CHAPTER
THIRTY-TWO
LOOT
Once I get Cade in the clubhouse and settled in my room, I sink down in the chair across from the bed. “You want to talk about it?” I ask.
“No,” he snaps.
I’m not used to him having an attitude with me. However, I’ve also never been able to do day-to-day life with him, either. All the time we’ve spent together has been the fun stuff with very little discipline.
Now I’m the full-time parent, and I need to take this shit seriously. It’s his future at stake, and he may not like me all the time, but that just means that I'm doing my job, I guess. As long as he doesn’t hate me and want me dead, I figure I’m on the right path… hopefully.
“I already know the gist of what happened. I want to know the rest of the story because I know what you said, what that kid said, and what the principal said aren’t everything.”
He doesn’t say anything immediately. His chin is dipped, and his gaze is focused on his hands as he twists his fingers together. I don’t push him to talk. It’s getting late, and he should go to sleep before whatever party is going to happen out there, but I still want to finish this before he does.
We start tomorrow fresh.
“That kid is an asshole.”
I snort. Yeah, I have no doubt that he is, because his father was an asshole during this whole thing. Trying to act like he was going to sue me or some shit. Said I was the problem and the reason my kid is an animal.
Cade threw two punches, both landed, and both were fucking great shots. I don’t know how he knew exactly what to do. If it was natural instinct, I guess I’d better get the boy in some kind of boxing lessons or something, because he might be gifted.
“Gotta have a different reason than he’s an asshole, Cade.”
I say the words, but I don’t mean them. There’re at least a dozen guys I’ve punched in the face just for being an asshole over the years. Sometimes lessons need to be learned, even if it’s just don’t be an asshole to the wrong person.
“He said something,” he murmurs.
“I know,” I state. “Something about your mom.”
Cade shrugs. “Yeah.”
“About me, too?”
I was suspicious of this the moment the father started to talk about me, about how I was a problem. But what he didn’t say—what he wanted to—was that I was a no-good criminal, a piece of shit, and probably dirty, dumb, and poor, if I had to guess.
They’d only be partially correct.
I’m not poor, and I shower daily, sometimes twice a day depending on how swamp-ass hot it is outside. So, I would not classify myself as dirty. A little messy, maybe, but not dirty by any means.
“He said Mom was a piece of shit. That didn’t bother me, because she is.”
I hate that he says that, that he thinks that, that it’s true. But he’s not wrong. And I hate that even more. Destinee is a few other things as well, and he probably knows what they are, but that’s a conversation for another day.
“And what about me?” I ask.
“He said his dad told him the Iron Flame were no-good criminals and you all deserved to be in jail.”
“So you hit him.”
He shrugs his shoulders again. I can tell he’s upset, but he doesn’t want to admit it to me. Whether it’s so I won’t be disappointed in him or what, I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. I’ll never be disappointed in my son.
Pissed off, annoyed, or whatever, but never disappointed. “It just happened. I didn’t even realize I did it.”
“Do you want to take boxing lessons?” I ask.
His head lifts, and his gaze finds mine. He blinks a couple of times, then his lips curve up into a grin. “Boxing lessons?”
“Yeah. You had a couple of good shots there. That kid didn’t know what hit him. Serves him right for being an asshole. You want to have a place to get that anger out, and whatever anger comes your way, do it in the ring, I’ll make that happen.”
“I think I’d like that,” he whispers.
My lips curve up into a grin. “Then we’ll do that,” I state. “My only rule in this,” I continue, “is don’t practice on anyone else at school. Keep it in the ring. If someone fucks with you, then you come to me. I will handle that shit. Don’t go to a teacher. You come to me, yeah?”
He nods once, his gaze searching mine for a moment. I can tell that he’s deep in thought, though I’m not sure what he’s thinking about, so I wait. My son isn’t one to just speak without thinking about his words.
“Am I in trouble?” he finally asks.
I snort. “No, you’re not in any trouble. You do it again, and you will be. Get some sleep. You might not have school tomorrow, but you’ll be doing shit around here.”
Without another word, he wraps his arms around me and buries his face in my neck. He doesn’t cry, but I can tell he’s close. I hug him back. My boy might be on his way to being a teenager, but he’s very much still a boy.
“Get some sleep, buddy,” I murmur, touching my lips to the top of his head.
“Okay,” he whispers back.
Once he’s tucked in and on his way to finding his sleep, I leave the room. He knows not to come out, though I don’t like bringing him here to stay the night, knowing what I know and having participated in the club's evening activities.