Chapter 22 #3
“Maybe he’s just re-evaluating what’s important, now he’s running out of time,” Myles suggested.
He wasn’t going to say another word against Priory.
He never should have let his feelings for the man be known in the first place, and instead allowed Jet to make up his own mind. Hindsight was a wonderful thing.
“As much as I hate how Mom handled it,” Jet said, “at least what she did, she did out of love. She wanted to protect us. Maybe it was the right thing to do for Shelly, even. She’s little. She wouldn’t have really understood.”
“But?”
“Priory is only about making himself feel better. He keeps saying he’s doing it for me, but really, all he wants is for me to pat his hand and be grateful so he can feel better about ignoring me my whole life. Like this makes up for it.”
“I’m sure he’s doing his best,” Pat offered, glancing at Myles over Jet’s head and shrugging.
“You have to remember he didn’t have great parental role models,” Myles added. “His own father wasn’t exactly warm and fuzzy.”
Jet glowered at him. “Neither was yours, but you and Mom turned out just fine.”
He couldn’t help it. Myles snorted. “Your mom, maybe—”
“Don’t do that,” Jet said, voice so soft Myles almost didn’t hear him. “Don’t put yourself down.”
“Jet, I’m just being honest. My life is hardly exemplary, and I have no idea what I’m doing here. I’ve screwed up so many times.”
“Yeah, but you know when you fuck up—”
“Swear jar!” Shelly called from her spot on the carpet. She didn’t even look up from her drawing, which was recognizably a hot dog cart.
“Mess up,” Jet corrected himself even as he dug in a pocket for a loonie, which he tossed down to her.
“You know when you do, and you at least try to fix it and do better. I mean, you had a shitty life, and you made shitty choices, but you got better.” He pulled Shelly to his lap when she came over to stand in front of him, hands on her hips.
“When it came down to it, Uncle Myles, you were there. You put your own shit aside, and you were there, and you just tried, which shows that you give a fuck about us.”
“Of course I do.”
“All Priory wants is for people to stand around at his funeral and say what a good thing he did, dragging his poor-ass son out of poverty at the end.”
“We’re hardly destitute.”
Jet squirmed. “Compared to him?”
“Well, okay. When you compare it to multiple millions, maybe.”
“So he pulled strings at his alma matter to get me in, and he gave me all these brochures for where to finish high school.” He kicked his backpack, and Myles tried hard not to feel like all his trying was never going to live up to the shiny life Priory was dangling in front of his nephew.
Jet hugged Shelly tight enough to make her squeak, and laid his cheek against her hair, turning his gaze on Myles.
“He doesn’t even remember what she looked like.
Did you know that? He thought she was blonde.
” He blinked. His lashes clumped, and he swallowed.
“How could he love me if he never loved her?”
Ignoring the screaming pain of bending his hip enough to do it, Myles leaned in and hugged Jet and Shelly close. “She loved you, Jet. So much.”
To his horror—or maybe it was relief, Myles couldn’t tell—Jet sobbed quietly on his shoulder for a few minutes while Myles hugged him, and Shelly snuggled him and told him she loved him too.
Pat left them alone in the moment, taking the mugs to the kitchen to clear up the tea mess.
After a bit, Shelly straightened and tapped Jet on the shoulder.
He sniffed and turned his head enough to peer at her.
Holding up her hand, fingers splayed, she said, “Five, please.”
“Five what?” Jet pushed himself upright and wiped at his face.
“Loonies. For the jar.”
“Dude. You counted?”
“Five.”
“Relentless,” Jet muttered as he gently pushed her off him.
She tumbled back onto the couch, giggling, but Jet did pull out his wallet and hand her a five-dollar bill.
“Make sure it gets into the jar,” he warned.
“Come on.” Her hand in his was tiny, but fiercely tight. “I’ll get you pie.”
“Who says I want pie?”
“Pie makes people smile.” She was so matter of fact about it that Jet did, in fact, smile. “See? Come on.” Like a loving little tyrant, she led him from the room towards the kitchen.
Heart thudding and restricted at the same time, Myles slumped back.
He couldn’t give Jet a future with Priory.
He couldn’t make the man love him, or even stop him giving Jet the fortune Jet didn’t seem to want.
He could, however, make sure he backed off about school and Jet’s future that he wouldn’t be around to be a part of.
“Fuck that.” He pulled out his phone and dialed Priory.
It took another few swears and some veiled threats to get the man himself on the phone. Rich people had a lot of buffers between them and the people they didn’t want to talk to.
“What is it you want, McCreevy?”
“Jet said you pulled some shit to get him into university?” He wasn’t going to bother with niceties if Priory wasn’t.
“What business is that of yours?”
Seriously? The man was delusional if he thought this wasn’t Myles’s business. “He hasn’t even graduated high school. You don’t think that’s a bit premature?”
“Don’t worry about it. I have the situation in hand.”
“It isn’t your situation to fucking worry about. You won’t even be around when it happens.” Shitty thing to say maybe, but true.
“Is it wrong for me to want to spend time with him?” He didn’t even deny it, and Myles’s temples began to throb. “He is my kid, as you just pointed out.”
“You’ve had sixteen years, and you picked now, when your time was running out. Shitty move.”
“You’re right. Of course you’re right.”
Myles drew in a sharp breath. He hadn’t expected Priory to fold that easily.
“I know his mother is gone,” Priory said. “I wanted to be sure he had a path forward. Who was going to help him—”
“Me, Priory. Me. The person his mother—who loved and cared for him his whole life, who knew him best—left in charge of him. I’ll be there to make sure he finds his path forward.”
“I wanted to help.”
“You should have wanted that sixteen fucking years ago. You don’t get to swan in now and fix things. Especially not things that aren’t broken. You want to leave him a trust, go for it. You want to see him again, you go through me, and it happens if—and only if—he wants it. Do you understand?”
“I have enough money I could bury you in legalities.”
“For fuck sakes. That how you want to spend the end of your life? Antagonizing him? Or do you want to build something good he can remember you by? If you want him to care, you put him first, not you. Think about what he wants. Listen to him. If he wants to go to your alma matter, fine. If he doesn’t, that’s his choice. ”
There was silence on the other end of the line for a long time. “Will he want to see me again?”
“I have no goddamn idea. But I’ll ask him.”
“How do I know you will?”
“You’ll have to trust me. I don’t hate you, Priory, and I’m not going to try and keep him from seeing you. But I am going to give him the choice, then I’m going to honour it. I suggest you do the same.”
“Of course.” Priory hung up, and Myles tossed his phone across the couch like it was the phone’s fault Priory had pissed him off.
“Uncle Myles?” Jet leaned in the doorway, arms crossed, eyes still red.
“Yeah?”
“Thanks, eh?”
“Yeah, of course.”
Shelly pushed past him, both arms wrapped around the heavy stoneware swear jar.
“Oh dear.” Myles sighed and pulled out his own wallet. “How much?”
“Six.”
Myles nodded.
“You were mad,” she said, as matter-of-fact as she ever got.
“I was mad.”
“But you still shouldn’t swear.”
“Eh.” The swear jar had been a Natalie thing, and Myles wasn’t about to take that away from her, but he had a different view of the way language worked. Still. He handed over a five and a loonie and watched as Shelly carefully folded the bill to fit through the slot in the jar’s lid.
“Hey.” Pat appeared behind Jet. “Who wants hot dogs?”
As if understanding exactly what she’d said, MJ appeared from nowhere to run in yapping circles around the room, alternately skidding into walls and tugging at everyone’s pant legs to get them moving towards the door.