His focus turns to the tattoo on my arm. The one I got after I settled in Vegas because even though we were thousands of miles apart, I’d never forget him and I’d find a way to keep my promise to always protect him.
“Dragon.”
“That’s right,” I tell him. “That’s your dragon.”
My guts twist and my chest becomes so tight it’s difficult to draw in air.
But I’m not your dad.
After cleaning him up the best I can with the wipes, I take his hand and walk inside the apartment building. Becca should be home soon, which means I’ll be able to head back to the casino.
After using the spare key she gave me, I open the front door. Instantly, a horrible stench fills my nostrils. I soon find the cause of it when I stumble upon the piles of garbage bags stacked in the kitchen.
Along with a sink full of dishes and empty cardboard boxes on the counter…with hundreds of ants enjoying all the crumbs.
Unfortunately, the living room isn’t any better because it’s full of clothes, toys, food wrappers, and dirty pull-ups.
This place looks like a goddamn bomb hit it.
Jameson plugs his nose as he tries to clear a space to sit on the couch.
I open a window to let some fresh air in and the flies out.
Becca was never an immaculate cleaner—same goes for me—but this is way past her usual clutter, unfolded laundry, and dirty dishes.
It looks like a fucking dumpster. Which is exactly where all those garbage bags should be.
I scrub a hand down my face as I debate my next course of action. Becca’s clearly struggling, but it’s not fair—or sanitary—to let Jameson live in this filth.
As if on cue, the front door opens.
Only, it isn’t Becca like I was expecting…it’s Charlotte.
She waves a hand in front of her face. “Ugh. It smells even worse than yesterday.” Her face lights up when she spots Jameson on the couch. “Hey, cutie pie. Let’s go to my apartment.”
“It wasn’t like this when I was here last month. What the fuck happened?”
She reaches for Jameson’s hand. “Don’t know.” She chews her lip. “Although if I had to guess I’d say it probably has something to do with her new boyfriend.”
That’s news to me. “What new boyfriend?”
Her uneasiness makes her Louisiana Creole accent thicker. “You’re a good guy, Preston, but I really don’t want to get between whatever you two have going on.”
On some level, I get where she’s coming from. On the outside, it seems like Becca and I are tangled up in some kind of complicated situation.
But that’s not accurate, because my feelings for her are quite simple.
I can’t fucking stand her. So much so, I often think of ways I could kill her and make it look like an accident.
However, I care about her son more than I’ve ever cared about anyone or anything. Aside from Kit.
Which is why his cunt of a mother is still breathing.
“There’s nothing going on between us. My only concern is Jameson.”
She nods sympathetically. “I know how much you care about him.”
“Good.” My eyes narrow. “Now that we’re on the same page, I need you to tell me whatever it is you know about this new boyfriend of hers. Right the fuck now.”
The last thing I want is for Becca to bring some scumbag around Jameson.
She takes a cautious step back. “I don’t know much…not even his name. All I know is that she’s been spending a lot of time with him because she’s been asking me to babysit even more than usual.” Grabbing a few of Jameson’s toys along the way, she walks toward the front door. “She’s on a date with him now, but she said she’ll be home around twelve if you want to ask her yourself.”
The tiny hairs on the back of my neck stand at attention. “She told me she was making up hours at school.”
An oh shit look washes over her face. “I…um…I’m gonna take Jameson to my apartment.”
With those parting words, she scrambles out the door.
It takes everything in me not to punch a hole through the fucking wall.
I don’t, though because while it might make me feel better, it won’t help Jameson.
But I know something that will.
Which is why I spend the next six hours cleaning up his mother’s mess.
Chapter 21
Kit
“We’re almost done, handsome.”
I give Lola—who’s currently trying to claw his way out of the tub while I bathe him—a pat on the head.
Tonight is the engagement party and I want him to look and smell his best.
We’re not on the same page, though, because he jumps out of the tub, quickly scampering past me and out of the bathroom.
But not before vigorously shaking all the excess water off him.
“Dang it.”
Preston said Darius would come up with the money to get his dog back soon, but Lola’s been here for three weeks already. Not that I mind.
Well…until now.
Chasing after him, I follow the wet trail he left down the stairs.
I find him barking at Preston who’s holding a power drill while standing in the doorway of my childhood bedroom.
“What are you doing?”
Glaring at Lola, he brings the drill to the hinges. The noise only makes Lola bark louder.
The muscles in his arms flex as he picks up the damaged door and leans it against a wall. “The party’s tonight, right?”
I nod, watching in wonder as he picks up a new wooden door and lines it up with the frame. “Yeah, but—”
“Do you want people wondering why your door was kicked in?”
“Well, no—”
The sound of the drill cuts me off for a second time.
Seeing as Preston said he wouldn’t be attending. Or as he put it—he’d rather gouge his eyes out with a rusty screwdriver than go to this shitshow, I’m surprised he did something so nice and helpful.
Especially since he’s been even grumpier than usual lately. I thought it was because of what happened with Asher that night, but I’m not so sure anymore.
All I know is he seems super stressed about something. Distant.
He’s also been gone a lot lately…no doubt gambling.
Nerves coil my stomach because I really hope he’s not in trouble again. The last thing we need is another Campanelli situation.
“Preston?”
He stops drilling. “What?”
Sometimes talking to him is the equivalent of walking on eggshells. I don’t want to say something that will upset him and make him leave.
I’m so tired of tiptoeing around the elephant in the room, though and the longer this silent dance of ours continues, the more my exasperation grows.
“If you’re in trouble, you can tell me.”
His forehead creases. “What makes you think I’m in trouble?”
Talk about a loaded question.
“Um…well,” I begin, unable to stop myself from fidgeting. “You’ve been extra cranky lately. You’ve also been gone…a lot.”
He places the drill on the floor, and that strong, stubbled jaw of his sets in irritation.