Reed also had a good heart, though, and AJ was proud of the mature, responsible man his friend had become. These days Reed was working hard to make Sin a success. So was Gage, who’d been equally rough around the edges when AJ first met him at an MMA bout. But since he’d started dating Skyler, Gage was smiling and laughing a lot more these days.
“We also need to hire a few more bouncers,” Gage was saying. “We can’t get by with one guy manning the door anymore. The line’s getting too long, and the bigger crowds are starting to stir up trouble.”
“Dude, I’m so not complaining that people are lining up to come here,” Reed answered with a grin. “If things keep up this way, we should think about opening another location. Maybe in Portland, or Manhattan.”
“You want to leave Boston?” AJ said in surprise.
“Of course not.” Reed shrugged. “We could hire a manager to run the place. Just something to think about.”
The offhand suggestion reminded AJ of Brett’s current situation, and he hoped for her sake that her father gave her a shot to prove herself. It was plain to see that Jimmy Conlon still viewed Brett as a little girl and not the strong woman she was.
The memory of being tied to Brett’s bed swiftly flashed to mind, and AJ thanked God that his desk concealed the resulting boner that sprang in his pants.
“His eyes are glazing over again. It’s definitely love.”
Once more, he was jolted out of his Brett-centered thoughts. “Jeez,” he grumbled to Reed. “Give it up already.”
Chuckling, his friend stood and tucked his papers under his arm. Gage followed suit, looking equally amused.
“Don’t worry, we’re going.” Reed grinned. “You’ll have all the privacy in the world to jerk off to thoughts of your lady love.”
AJ flipped them his middle finger, but neither man was fazed. They simply left his office in a burst of laughter and another display of gloating, insufferable smirks.
Chapter Nine
Since the club was closed on Mondays, AJ headed to his parents’ place for dinner, armed with a bouquet of white roses for his mom and a bottle of Jack Daniel’s for his dad. He knew they’d appreciate the gesture—his mom loved it when he brought her flowers, and his poor dad was so stressed out playing the part of both bread earner and homemaker that he’d definitely welcome a stiff drink.
As always, when he reached the house, dread and reluctance hardened in his chest like a block of cement.
And as always, the first two emotions triggered an even more unwelcome third.
Guilt.
Bone-crushing guilt.
Christ, he was a selfish bastard. He had parents who adored him and a childhood home oozing with warmth. He should have been thrilled to be there tonight, not steeling himself for the visit.
The path to the door was lined with flowers. Normally his mother tended to the front garden, but the men’s work gloves and massive rubber boots sitting on the porch told him his dad had taken over gardening duty along with everything else. Which only brought another pang of self-reproach. Since his mother’s heart attack, he’d made a point to stop by on the three days of the week that Sin was closed, but that wasn’t enough, damn it. A better son would’ve showed up daily.
He let himself in and kicked off his sneakers. His parents’ voices drifted into the hall from the kitchen. From the sound of it, his mother was arguing that she was strong enough to toss a salad, while his dad kept ordering her to sit her butt down.
AJ had to smile. Although his folks’ marriage had been plagued with unimaginable heartache, it had endured thanks to hard work and the undeniable love they felt for each other.
“AJ!” Karen Walsh broke out in a delighted smile when he wandered into the room.
His mother rose from her chair by the kitchen table and enveloped him in a big hug. She was a tall woman, and although she’d always been slender, she was considerably frailer since the heart attack. Her hair, a short blond bob streaked with silver, tickled AJ’s chin as he gently hugged her back.
“Hey, Mom. How you feeling?”
“Strong as an ox and healthy as a horse,” she declared, before glaring at AJ’s dad. “It’s just too bad your father doesn’t believe me.”
“Sit down, sweetheart,” Tom Walsh said sternly. “If I see you on your feet again, I swear I’ll go outside and rip up all the flowers I planted today.”
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.”
AJ watched the ensuing stare-off in amusement. His mom was obsessed with her garden, and sure enough, she was the first to back down. With an exaggerated sigh, she sank back in her chair.
“That’s what I thought.” Tom gave a satisfied nod, then wiped his hands on a pink dishrag and walked over to clap his son on the back. “Right on time, kiddo. Help me set the table.”
They got to setting while Karen chattered on about all the work AJ’s father had done in the backyard over the past week. The smells permeating the air were surprisingly appealing, and when Tom served the meatloaf, mashed potatoes, and roasted carrots he’d prepared, AJ couldn’t hide his surprise.
“Since when do you make anything that’s actually edible?” he asked, grinning at his father.
His mom fielded the question with a sigh. “Since he gave us food poisoning last week.”
AJ laughed. “Seriously?”
“Oh yes.” Another glower sailed in her husband’s direction. “Which is what happens when you don’t follow my recipes like I told you to.”
Tom had the decency to look sheepish. “I learned my lesson, sweetheart. No need to keep lording it over me.”
That got a smile out of her. “It was incredibly rewarding seeing you huddled over the toilet bowl like that.” She picked up her knife and fork, then glanced at AJ. “Don’t worry—it’s safe to eat this meal. I made sure to taste everything before you got here.”
As they settled in to eat dinner, AJ’s reluctance faded into a sense of contentment. These were the moments he liked. Listening to his parents’ good-natured bickering, seeing the smiles on their faces. And it could be like that all the time, if he just kept playing his part in this Norman Rockwell-esque family sitcom of theirs.
Except the problem with acting? No show stayed on the air forever.
“So when are you going to sell that dance club and come work with me?”
His father’s barely veiled disapproval was like a slap to the face across the table. As if on cue, AJ’s guard shot up ten feet to shield him from the tense conversation he knew was coming.
“I’m happy where I am,” he said carefully. “You know that.”
“But you’d be so much happier working with your dad,” Karen protested.
Ha. Fat chance. What the hell did he know about selling windows and doors? He’d go insane in a week. No, a day.
“The club’s doing well,” AJ added, ignoring his mother’s comment. “Our profits have tripled since we opened our doors.”
“Money’s all well and good, but don’t you want to be in a more respectable line of work?” his father prodded.
Respectable—his least favorite word in the world.