Jameson (In the Company of Snipers #22) - Irish Winters Page 0,10

child. “Okay. I’ll just wait for you at your place, your home then, and we can—”

Alex bristled at the persistent conniving manipulation. “No. Leave the city. Leave the state. I don’t care, just leave.”

His old man’s fingers trembled as they raked over straggly gray hair, then combed down through a tangled, silvery beard. Dressed in what looked like hand-me-downs, he could’ve passed for one of Alexandria’s many homeless people.

“Son, I—”

“I’m not your son.” Alex made each word a bullet. “You gave up that right the day you walked out on me and Gramps and Gram. And your wife! Christ, you left before Mom was even cold.” Okay, that was more than he’d meant to share, but maybe it was time everyone knew what a bastard his father was.

Mel’s chest puffed up. “I was a Navy SEAL, boy!” he bellowed. “I had a call to action, so I went. I served! You were a Marine. You know how that works. I had no choice, and I was damned proud to—”

“You were never a SEAL.”

“Was too!” Mel sputtered. “Got my trident ’fore I went to Moga… err, Mogadishu.”

Another lie, not even well delivered.

“Sir,” Mark interrupted. “It’s time you left.”

Mel squared his shoulders and threw out a challenging, “Whatcha gonna do, throw me out? Keep me from seeing my first grandkid? You think you’re big enough to do that, buddy?”

First grandkid?

“Yes, sir, that’s exactly what I’ll do,” Mark replied evenly. All by himself, he made two of Mel, but Zack had stepped up to the plate now as well.

“We’d rather escort you peaceably to the nearest exit, sir,” he intoned, his voice hard and deep, both muscular arms crossed over a chest that was twice the breadth of Mel’s. “But we can do this the hard way if you prefer. Your choice.”

These two were the big guys on The TEAM. Both wide-shouldered and built like a pair of equally-yoked oxen, they were former Marines. They’d have no trouble making sure Mel hit the street. Preferably on his ass.

“Just like that? You’re not even gonna let me take a peek at my only grandchild? Me, a tired old man. Your flesh and blood?” Mel pointed accusingly at Beau. “You let that beaner hold him.”

Everything in Alex hardened into iron at that despicable ethnic slur. Once again, he was ashamed of his old man. Worse, Mel now had three big bruisers on their feet, ready to clean his plow.

Right on cue, Beau turned nasty. “You’d better fuckin’ git, old man. Boss said go, you go!”

Before this momentous occasion erupted into an outright brawl, Alex intervened with a weary sigh. “Don’t you dare insult my friends, Mel. You made your choice a long time ago. You walked out on everybody who loved you then. You don’t get to do it again. You have no son or grandson. Not anymore. The last time I saw you was the day you dropped me at Gramps and Grams’. You left me at the end of their driveway after Mom died, for God’s sake. Didn’t even have the guts to tell them what happened to her, or why you were leaving me. You just drove away, and now it’s too late. There are no more second chances. Don’t make this hard by starting a fight. Trust me, my guys will end you, and I’ll let them. Go. Just go.”

Yet even as he cast his old man out of his life once again, he heard Kelsey’s gentle, “Alex?” behind him.

Not ready to face her yet, he fastened his hardest gaze to the one who could hurt her without a second thought. “For the last time, walk away.” Before I make you.

But damn. Soft, sweet fingers breached his fist, and Kelsey was doing what she did best. Getting through to him. Making him rethink everything he believed and knew to be true.

Alex swallowed hard. He’d hated his dad for years. Mel hadn’t been much of a father when he’d been around, which had been damned seldom. But he’d always been a liar and a braggart, one of those mouthy guys who wasted everyone’s time talking about how great they were, but who’d never accomplished a damned thing other than ordering their browbeaten wives around and slapping their kids for breathing.

But because of Kelsey—God, give me strength—Alex gestured toward his old man and begrudgingly admitted, “TEAM, Mel Stewart, the…” Asshole. “… man I haven’t seen in thirty damned years.”

Mel brightened as if Alex had just conceded the battle. Straightening his grimy button-up shirt,