Chapter 30
J.T
I was already on my way to see her when I get the text.
It’s from Mack—the young fucker who works the yard at the mill.
The one who thought he might have a shot with Kelly before I made it real clear whose woman she is.
Mack
Unexpected visitor in the Lunchroom.
That’s all the message says.
But I know exactly who it is.
And instead of driving up the mountain like a civilized man on his way to surprise his bride-to-be, I hit the gas.
Hard.
Gravel spits from my tires as my truck slides into the lot. I don’t even bother shutting the engine off all the way before I’m out the door.
Every step toward that building feels like trying to hold a fucking avalanche inside my chest.
Anger.
Jealousy.
Something darker.
Because that little prick had Kelly once. But she’s not his anymore. And I don’t share what’s mine.
I yank open the Lunchroom door just in time to hear the end of whatever poisonous bullshit he’s been spewing.
“…I leave town for a little while, trying to make a better life for myself, and suddenly you can’t even raise our kid without running off to marry some old lumberjack—”
“This old lumberjack is about two seconds away from rearranging your face,” I growl.
The words come out low and calm.
Which is the only reason I don’t grab him by the throat immediately.
The room goes quiet.
Forks pause halfway to mouths. Coffee cups freeze.
Everyone in this place knows who I am.
And they know what I’m capable of.
Mike looks up slowly.
The guy looks like hell.
But that doesn’t earn him any sympathy from me.
Kelly says my name softly.
“J.T.”
I glance at her.
Just once.
And I see it instantly—the way her shoulders drop a fraction, the way the tension leaks out of her like air from a balloon.
Relief.
And that look does something violent to my chest.
That’s right, Honey.
I’m here.
But I don’t say it. Not yet.
Because my attention snaps right back to the little weasel sitting across the table from her.
Mike tries to square his shoulders.
Fails.
“Look,” he says, lifting his hands like he’s the reasonable one here. “I’m just talking to my wife.”
“Your ex-wife. You left, and she’s moved on. Kelly is damn well rid of you.”
I take a slow step forward.
Then another.
The man instinctively backs up—but there is nowhere to go in the chair he’s sitting in. He almost tips it over.
Good.
“I-we were just discussing Evan. He’s my son!” Mike says, grasping at straws.
But it is enough to make me pause. He’s right.
Mike is Evan’s father. So, maybe I won’t kill him. Yet.
“You about done talking yet?” I ask.
“Kelly? Are you gonna let him talk to me like that?” Mike asks.
This piece of shit.
I walk forward until my thighs hit the side of the table. And yeah, I’m close. Close enough that he has to tilt his head back to look at me.
“Keep your tongue civil. You are sitting on McCrae land. In her place of business,” I say quietly. “You don’t get to come in here like you own it. Like you’re entitled to one damn inch of it. And you don’t get to corner her and run your filthy mouth. Understand?”
I lean in just enough that only he can hear the next part.
“This doesn’t concern you,” he snaps.
“Kelly is my fiancée. Pretty sure that makes this my concern.”
His jaw tightens.
“Oh, yeah?” he sneers. “You think you’re some big hero now? You think you get to play daddy to my kid?”
The word my hits something raw in my chest.
I smile.
Not a nice one.
“Kid’s got a father,” I say evenly. “And from what I hear, that father cleaned out his college fund, took out loans in Kelly’s name, and ran off with an underaged teenager.”
“What?” Kelly gasps.
“It’s true. Just got the confirmation. Stormee was just seventeen when Mikey here took off with her.”
The rest of the room gets quieter somehow.
Mike’s face flushes red.
“That’s not what happened—”
“Oh?” I cut in.
I straighten, folding my arms across my chest.
“Because the investigators I hired say otherwise.”
His eyes flicker.
There it is.
Fear.
“You-you hired investigators?” he stammers.
“Damn right I did.”
I lean down, lowering my voice.
“And you should be real careful about how loud you start talking about custody and lawsuits.”
He scoffs weakly.
“My parents are already looking into it,” he whispers.
“Good,” I say.
The word lands like a hammer.
“Let them.”
His smug expression falters.
Because now I’m smiling.
“And when the court asks about the mortgage fraud, the drained college account, and the seventeen-year-old you were screwing while you were still married—well, I think you know how that’ll go for you, Mike.”
I shrug slowly.
“Seventeen?” Kelly repeats, disgust rolling off her in waves.
She pushes away from the table. I offer my hand. She takes it.
“Kelly, that’s not—I mean,” Mike tries, but she is done.
And so am I.
“I’d tell your parents to reconsider if I were you. But if they don’t, well, it should make for an interesting afternoon.”
His mouth opens.
Closes.
Behind him, I hear someone whisper Jesus Christ.
Mike looks around the room, suddenly aware he’s got an audience.
“Look,” he says again, trying to regain ground. “I just want to see my son.”
That stops me for half a second.
Because that part?
That part matters.
But the way he says it—like he deserves something—makes my jaw tighten again.
“You want to see Evan,” I say slowly.
“Yeah. Yes. He’s my son.”
I turn to face Kelly.
“Okay, then here’s how this is going to work.”
I speak low enough that he can feel the weight of me looming over him.
“You request a meeting through your lawyer. We meet, you talk to Kelly like a human being. You stop running your mouth about things you clearly don’t understand. And you remember that every time you step anywhere near that kid…”
My voice drops another notch.
“…you answer to his mother first.”
I turn my head to stare at him when I say that last bit. And Mike’s gaze flicks nervously toward Kelly. Then back to me.
“After her,” I add softly, “you answer to me.”
He laughs weakly.
“You threatening me?”
I hold his stare.
“Depends,” I say.
“On what?” Mike asks.
“On whether you keep being stupid.”
Silence stretches.
Then he scoffs and straightens his jacket like he didn’t just get verbally dismantled in front of half the mill.
“Whatever,” he mutters. “This isn’t over.”
“Sure it isn’t,” I reply easily.
He moves toward the door.
Fast.
Like he suddenly remembered he has somewhere else to be.
The door swings shut behind him.
Only then do I turn.
And Kelly is standing exactly where I left her.
One hand in mine, the other braced on the table.
Eyes wide.
Like a deer caught in headlights.
I pull her toward me slowly.
“Honey,” I say gently, the anger already bleeding out of my voice, “you okay?”