Tommy rolls his head and finally turns so our eyes meet, just in time for him to roll those too.
“Is this all part of your gambling scheme?” His tone is pretty crude. I’ll give him a pass because he deserves to feel left out and angry. But I didn’t do any of this to make money. If anything, I’m losing out—all of us are—by not placing as high as I should.
“Yes, I’ve synced our alarm system to the books in Vegas and every time someone walks in I make a buck,” I deadpan.
He purses his lips and slits his eyes.
“Fucker,” he finally retorts.
My friend tosses his keys on the small table by our entry and works his leather jacket from his arms, dropping it on the back of one of the kitchen chairs on his way to the fridge.
“Look, I get that you’re pissed,” I begin.
“Oh ho ho, pissed does not begin to cover it, Dust. Not even close.” Tommy points at me and his eyes burn a hole through my head before he turns to the open fridge door and grabs himself a beer. He doesn’t offer one to me, even though I bought them. It’s fine.
It’s only nine in the morning anyhow. He’s a fucking alcoholic.
“I’m gonna need you to put that rage on hold, and not forever. You can beat the shit out of me later if you want. I’ll hold my hands behind my back and give you a free shot.”
“Four free shots,” he interrupts.
I shake my head and part my lips.
“Four,” he insists. “If I have to simmer with this so-called rage in my gut, I want to hit you four times. I’m a shitty fighter, so I need a buffer.”
I blink a few times as our gazes lock, and while I know he’s being funny, I also sense he’s fairly serious about this negotiation. Four times. He’ll probably break my nose and knock out a tooth. I simmer on that thought but eventually nod.
“Fine. Four. Whatever.”
I mash my lips and breathe in deeply through my nose in an attempt to reset my focus. Tommy slides into one of the stools at our kitchen island. He pops the cap on his beer and takes a sip before setting it down and folding his hands together on the counter as he sits up straight, seemingly prepared to listen. I stare at him for a few seconds while I riffle through all the things I have to say. There’s so much. I should probably work through the biggest fact with Hannah present. But there isn’t time to do things the right way, and I get leeway on account of being kept in the dark for so long.
“I’m Bristol’s father.” I decide to go big. I’m confident in my decision as the hostility in my friend’s expression lessens, his tight-lipped smirk falling to a straight line and his jaw twitching. He blinks at me and I lean back against the opposite countertop and fold my arms across my chest. Eventually, Tommy nods.
“I’m . . . not surprised?” He cocks his head as his eyes study me, and my stomach tightens.
“You knew?” I swear to God, if he knew . . . Four punches my ass.
He shakes his head.
“I didn’t know, but I also didn’t try very hard to ask or find out, if that makes sense. My sister and you—”
He shrugs.
I hold his stare for a few seconds and nod in understanding. Tommy has never loved our messy relationship. He loves us, and eventually he came to love the idea of us together. But the drama has never been his style. Hell, it’s not mine either, but Hannah and I can’t seem to function without it.
“Hannah told you?”
I nod.
Tommy lifts his brows, which makes me breathe out a short laugh.
“Yeah, it went about as well as you can imagine, I’m sure. Or maybe better. I don’t know. I’m still processing much of it. I met my mom yesterday, so that’s also in my head.”
“You met your real mom?” My best friend is coming around.
“Ha, yeah. I did. It was wild. Amazing, actually. Like, for once in my life, something happened exactly the way I dreamed it would.” My chest flutters at the memory of hugging my mom, of connecting with her and learning so much about the woman who made me. I’m still trying to decide if I want the details Hannah mentioned her father knew. I think I do, but I also think maybe I want to hear them from my mom, if that’s possible. I can’t focus on any of that, though, until I get my situation with Alex figured out. It’s not just me anymore. His threat stretches to the most important people in my life.
“I’m really glad, Dust. I’m still pissed at you, but the stuff with your mom? I’m glad.” Tommy lifts his beer, toasting me, and takes a sip. I give him a brief crooked smile.
“Thanks. And I’ll tell you all about it, but Tommy, pissed at me or not, I’m in big trouble. I need your help. I think we need to sit down with your dad and maybe Bailey’s dad and see what legal options I have. Alex . . . he visited Hannah.”
Tommy’s face falls at that news and his jaw hardens. He might not love the drama his sister and I bring into his life, but he would fight to the death for either of us when faced with an actual threat. Hannah and I are family. It’s always been the three of us. We’re water, fire and earth, and together we complete each other.
“Visited how?”
I shake my head, not knowing the minute details but enough to paint the picture.
“He found her when she first moved and paid a little visit, I think making sure we really split up. He likes leverage, you know.”
“Yeah. I fucking know,” Tommy spits out. He’s always been upfront with his distrust of Alex, and I’ve ignored him—to my demise. He has every right to throw that in my face.
“When Bristol was born, he sent her presents and cards and shit.”
“Do you think he knows?” Tommy instantly verbalizes my biggest fear.
“Hannah doesn’t think so. It’s why she—”
“Why she lied,” Tommy finishes my thought.
I nod.
“I think he knows more than she thinks. He’s not stupid. He’s . . . calculating. And if he hurts my daughter, Tommy. If he . . .” Tears hit my eyes fast. I run my arm over my face and look to the side before gritting out, “Fuck!”
“He won’t.”
I flick my gaze back to my friend, not ready to believe his statement. His eyes haze and his jaw tightens even more.
“Dustin, there are some things in life you are better at than me. But when it comes to finding loopholes and ways to exploit motherfuckers through the legal system? Me and my dad have you in spades.”
I breathe in and my chest almost fills. Almost is a lot more than it has in twenty-four hours, and I can nearly smile thanks to Tommy’s support.
“I still want four punches,” he says, pointing at me again and taking a draw from his beer.
I laugh, and he smiles around the bottle as he drinks.
I don’t know that the four of us have ever sat at a table together at once, but somehow Tommy and his dad, me, and Mr. Tingle are all facing one another inside the Judge home. It feels a bit like the apocalypse.
Tommy called his future father-in-law, and I called Tom to let him know we were coming over to figure things out. It takes a lot for me to ask for help, which I think Tom realized. His relationship with his son’s future father-in-law is still icy, but the two men were cordial and shook hands before we sat down.