Dirty Thoughts - Megan Erickson Page 0,85

I’ll thank you not to make a joke of it, assholes.”

The whole family was over at Cal’s house to see Asher as he recovered. Max had driven down with Lea. Gabe and Julian were there, even though Cal spent most of his time glaring at Gabe, who stood in a corner looking uncomfortable.

Julian sat on the couch with Asher, their shoulders touching, and Julian looked so genuinely broken up about Ash’s injuries that Cal decided he’d let the brothers live.

It’d been three days since Asher got home from the hospital. Three days since Cal had managed to fuck up his relationship with Jenna again. When he finally got his head together, he replayed the conversation. Over and over and over again. And each time was another cut in his skin. He wished he had more time after Asher’s injuries to get his head together before he spoke to Jenna. He didn’t think the outcome of his conversation with her would have been any different, but maybe he would have made more sense.

And now, she was everywhere in this house. The bed, the kitchen, the shower, the couch.

He’d finally found a place where nobody was around, yet he was going to have to move again to be alone. Because this house was far from empty.

He’d been in a shit mood. A throwback to his early twenties, when the pain of losing Jenna was still fresh. Asher seemed half scared of him. What did it matter anyway? He’d be going home to his mom soon. Brent had called him on his mood, but then Brent told him he was a grumpy asshole every day, so Cal didn’t think that counted.

The front door opened, and Jack walked in, a cap pulled low on his forehead, gray eyes dilated from the harsh sun outside. He didn’t say a word to anyone, instead walking directly to Asher and hauling him upright with a grip on the kid’s biceps. The chatter in the room dimmed as Jack’s eyes roamed Asher, taking in the stitches and the arm cast and a couple bruises and road rash.

Asher’s eyes were huge, staring up at Jack. The big man’s jaw clenched, and he patted Asher roughly on the back of his neck. He let him go, and as Asher sank slowly back onto the couch next to Julian, Jack’s head whipped to Gabe. “You!” he shouted and advanced on him like a predator.

“Oh, shit,” Gabe said under his breath and squeezed himself into the wall like he could melt into the plaster.

Cal heaved a sigh and went after his dad, because blood was a bitch to clean up.

“Dad,” Cal began as he reached his dad’s side, but the guy had his finger in Gabe’s face. And Gabe was pale and quivering.

“You little shithead,” Jack said. “Please explain why the hell the kid’s got a fucking broken arm and had to spend the night in the hospital.”

Gabe licked his lips. “Well, uh, he fell off the back of the my bike, and—”

“I know that, ya moron. I want to know how it happened. You can’t drive the thing?”

“No, I . . . I, um, had a problem with it, and I took it to a shop in Brookridge, but they, uh, fucked up, I guess. The thing backfired, and—”

“Why didn’t you give it to Cal to fix?”

Jack’s question made Cal pause. Since when did his dad take any interest in Cal’s ability to fix motorcycles?

Gabe’s eyes shifted to Cal, like he wanted help with this conversation. Cal just stared back at him. He’d been under his dad’s evil eye enough. Someone else’s turn. And no way was he helping Gabe after what he did. Gabe heaved a sigh. “Cal was busy, and I heard this guy did good work but clearly not.”

Cal stood motionless as Jack turned his head, piercing him with his eyes that were so like his own.

Jack shook his head, exhaling slowly, and then walked away. Gabe looked like he’d dodged a bullet. And Cal wasn’t sure what to think.

He followed his dad, who’d gone out to the garage to get a beer out of the ice chest. The door was open, the sun lighting the inside of the garage. The chrome of Cal’s bike gleamed in the middle, like a huge metal elephant. His dad took a drag of his beer and then lit up a cigarette. Cal stared at it longingly. He could smoke again now, right? No reason to quit; no one to quit for.

Cal