Son of A: Chosen Book 30

by J. D. Light

  Like right then.

  He cleared his throat again, nodding to the seat on the other side of me, and I stood, sliding as far out of the way as I could as he slid in, his body brushing mine. I just barely smothered a gasp at the feel of all that unyielding hardness brushing against me.

  I closed my eyes and took several long, deep breaths, needing to get ahold of myself since it looked like I was going to be spending the next few hours in very tight quarters with the man, and I wasn't a teenager anymore, I shouldn't have to work so hard to hide boners all the fucking time.

  Wait.

  "What are you doing here?" I asked abruptly as he lowered himself into the seat next to me, his shoulders taking up more than his allotted space. "Wait, don't tell me. You're my partner on this, aren't you? I should have known better from the last fucking time."

  "Wow. Careful, or I might think you're excited about working with me."

  I chuckled, shaking my head. "Sorry. I just…" I shrugged, not really knowing what to say.

  We didn't speak for a long time, and my stomach was rolling with how I'd left it like that. He was trying to be friendly, throwing me a… Really? Do you think it's a good idea to use that analogy right now?

  He was being far nicer than I probably deserved, and I'd gone and said something that had probably hurt his feelings.

  "I'm sorry," I said on a sigh. "I really didn't mean to imply that it was so bad to have you as a partner. I just took this case to…" I trailed off again, my mouth still hanging open like I was planning on finishing the sentence, but I couldn’t find the right words.

  "Why did you take this case, Dylan?" he asked, his voice deep and calm, and I gasped at the sound of my name on his tongue, and goosebumps popped up along my body, and I shuddered… oddly aggressively.

  Why did it sound so different coming from him? Had I completely imagined the slightly sexual note there? Surely, he hadn't meant for that to come out sounding like he was whispering dirty things into my ear.

  He raised an eyebrow, but didn't otherwise address my strange all-over body ripple which I truly appreciated.

  "I thought you were part of the planning for the new unit and the building and everything." He said, once again invading my space, just like he had on the couch.

  Did he know? Was he fucking with me? Could he tell that every time he was close to me like that, my fucking body went haywire?

  Shifters could smell arousal. Not all of them understood what they were smelling, and I'd witnessed many an awkward situation, but I was wearing my delphinium necklace, so there should be no way he could smell anything on me at all. Hell, sitting this close to me, I was probably handicapping him, since the new stuff they'd given us pulled everything within a ten-foot radius into the bubble of static scent with us.

  "Trust me, they don't want my input on anything to do with color," I said, giving him a small smile before licking my lips and taking a deep breath… because I needed to be somewhat honest with him. "And honestly, I kinda needed to get away from you."

  My heart gave a weird painful beat when I watched a bit of hurt cloud his expression. "I've noticed."

  I reached up, rubbing my chest, baffled by my reaction. Why the hell was I being so fucking sensitive about this? It wasn't normal… but then, none of my reactions to him were.

  "Did you need to ask me something?" I asked softly. "If you came on this mission to try to get more information out of me, I still don't know anything." I said the words as nicely as I could, needing to let him know so he could stop trying, but not wanting him to think that I didn't understand why he'd ask. "If you know as much about the man as you say you do, then you have to know that I haven't even spoken to him since the day he went in there. I doubt he's had visitors at all. I can't imagine that he left anyone around who'd actually want to spend time with him. He was a despicable, horrible human being that hurt everyone he ever came in contact with."

  "Wow. Not even his own son, huh?" He frowned slightly, and I looked away, not wanting him to see that weird hurt inside me that I'd thought I'd been over.

  I'd thought my heart was cold as ice where Max Young was concerned. And maybe it was. Maybe the real pain was the realization that my father simply hadn't cared one way or another about me.

  It had been like that even before my mother died. She'd been, in a way, my only parent for as long as I could remember. Even back then, Max was a selfish drunk, coming home from work and immediately finding a bottle of some sort to get lost in, demanding of his wife and dismissive of his kid.

  The truth was, I didn't even know him much on a personal level beyond the temper tantrums, but the sting of being unwanted by the only parent still alive apparently still lived with me. I couldn’t care less what happened to him at this point in my life, but I guess it still bugged me that his addiction had been stronger than his will to have anything to do with me.

  "You don't seem to even question my side of it," Renn said after a long moment watching me. "I'm a complete stranger, and nobody was ever even held up on charges for what happened. There is no reason for you to believe me when I tell you it was him. All I have for evidence is his scent… and the license plate number that I can still recite by heart, but even that I could have gotten off the FBI site."

  "Experience makes me believe you," I said, letting my head fall back against the seat. "You think that was the first accident he's been in?"

  I chuckled humorlessly, shaking my head. "He came in one morning before when I was about to walk to the bus stop, and in his all-night binge-drinking sudden moment of wanting to parent me, he decided he needed to drive me to school. I still managed to catch the bus, I guess. I was in the passenger seat when Max ran the stop sign and we got T-boned by it. I woke up in the hospital with eight broken bones and a bad enough concussion that I didn't even remember my cat Bumper who was my sole companion for years. My Aunt Irene took me to live with her until he got out of jail, but she was pissed off that they were keeping him for so long because she thought her brother was a fucking saint.

  "He was in jail for three months by the way. I've seen people get more time than that for missing court.

  "You would think he would get out and try to start a new life, maybe acknowledge that he nearly killed his twelve-year-old son and start trying to be a real dad. He found the liquor store before he found Irene's house. The only time he was ever sober after that was when he had to meet his parole officer. So, trust me when I tell you, that man would be less of a hazard to everyone if he wasn't on the street. If they aren't going to keep him in prison, then I guess someone is going to have to make sure he stays off the road somehow. You aren't the only one with scars, and you aren't the only one who thinks he deserves everything that you have dreamed up to do to him."

  I looked up at his face, wanting to reach out and run my finger along the scar. "I'm sorry that he did that to you, and I get that you might have some residual anger towards me, but I can honestly tell you that I wish it would have been him that got hurt in that wreck."

  "Damn." A gorgeous crooked smile curled one side of his mouth, and I grunted out a breath that thankfully didn't sound as swoony as I felt. "You're kinda cold for a human."

  "Not usually. Max Young is just a special case."

  "So, why are you avoiding me?" he asked, straightforward. His tone curious and not accusatory, though I probably deserved the latter.

  So many reasons. Starting with…

  "Uh, I assumed you'd want me to."

  Regardless of the strange friendliness of that last encounter on the couch, and him bringing me food––which still completely blew my mind––it just seemed logical that he wouldn't want to spend any amount of time with me given who my father was. He couldn't possibly forget. Not after what the man put him through.

  "You're an FBI agent. You should know better than to assume," he said gruffly, frowning.

  I shrugged, pursing my lips. "That's not true. Sometimes the best leads come from assuming someone is going to act
a certain way."

  "And sometimes you miss something because some people aren't predictable."

  That was also true, but I didn't usually assume unless there was a logical train of thought, and logically, he had no reason to want me around, staring at him.

  He sighed. "I did know you were estranged from your dad. When we first met, I wasn't mentioning him because I was trying to make you feel bad or make you think that I had something against you because of who your father was, I was just surprised. I knew you had gone into the FBI, but I stopped keeping track of you about two years ago, because it was clear you didn't have anything to do with the man, and by all accounts, you seemed like a good guy, and most importantly, you were an innocent." I must have made some kind of face because he smirked and shrugged. "Well, at least when it comes to being anything like your father."

  There was another long pause as I leaned away from the aisle to give the last of the passengers room to get through with her big thick coat and fairly large carry-on.

  When I thought I might be able to sit up fully without getting hit in the back of the head too much, I again turned to look at him, finding him already looking at me. I was surprised, just like always, to find his eyes on me. I never knew what to make of it. What the hell was he thinking?

  "The girl, is she alright now?" I asked on a whisper. "I mean, fully recovered?"

  I'd thought about her a lot since he'd mentioned her during that first meeting. She'd been so young. She'd been right in the middle of that time in her life when everyone else was gearing up to start driving and planning what they were going to wear to the next formal dance. Such inane, silly stuff, but exactly what fifteen-year-olds were supposed to be worrying about… not relearning everything.

  My father had taken an important part of her life away from her.

  "Not fully," Renn said, his face hard to read as he took in my expression, his head tilted to the side. "She has a bit of a limp and sometimes when she's tired, her words slur a bit and her fine motor skills get a bit sluggish, but she's living a full, healthy life. She's…" he trailed off, blinking, and then he smiled softly. "Actually, she's your age now, I guess. That's weird, I still see her as a young girl, but I guess she's old enough now to get married and have babies. I know she has a serious boyfriend."

  Was I old enough for those things? Sometimes I still felt like I was too young for anything, and sometimes I felt ancient.

  I liked his smile. His lips squeezed almost into a pout except for one corner that tilted up, showing off the sexy shape and his alluring cupid's bow. It was deep and obvious, and I wanted to lick it.

  Fuck! Don't lean closer, you dumb ass.

  I pulled back slightly, not wanting to draw attention to the fact that I'd actually been leaning further and further into his space. If he'd noticed, he wasn't acting like it, just continued to watch me, his gaze curious.

  I cleared my throat. "You keep in touch?"

  "Yeah. I just feel this strange need to watch out for her."

  My eyebrows shot up as an odd pang lanced through my chest, and I reached up to rub it lightly, swallowing hard around the knot of dread in my throat. "Is she your mate?"

  As I feared, my emotions were far too engaged with this man. I couldn't even stand the mere idea that this girl I didn't know, and who probably deserved happiness more than most, might belong to a man that I barely knew, but already thought of as… mine.

  Mine? What the fuck? How had it come to this? Seriously, how? We'd barely spoken in all the time that I’d known him. Developing a crush on him even though I barely knew him was bad enough, but to claim him as mine, even in my mind?

  "No. I don't mean like that," Renn said, still watching me in a way that made me feel extremely exposed. "I think it's kinda like survivor's guilt. I know we both survived, but I was on a motorcycle. She was in a huge SUV. It was her first time driving with her permit. When Max came off of that exit ramp going the wrong way, I was in the lane closest to him. In every other scenario in the world, I'm the one who doesn't walk away from that. I'm the one that ends up in the hospital barely hanging on to life. Instead, I swerved out of the way and ran into the crash cushions and flipped up against the concrete support of an overpass, and her car ended up mostly upside down, leaning against Max's."

  "So, how…" I reached up, unthinkingly pressing my fingers to the part of his scar that cut back across his cheek, brushing it lightly with my fingers, surprised at how soft the tissue was when it looked so harsh.

  "Fuck," I said suddenly, jerking my arm back as dread swamped me. "I'm so sorry. I have more control than that… usually."

  Had I really just reached up and touched his scar? Had I really just reached up and touched him period? What the fuck was wrong with me? This man barely liked me, and I was going to start fondling him like that?

  Reaching out quickly, he snatched my wrist, bringing my hand back up to his face. "It's fine. You can touch it. It's not like it hurts."

  I licked my lips, swallowing hard as I once again let my fingers move along the scar, but now that I had permission, I explored the entire length of it. His eyes slid closed and I didn’t know if that was because my hand was so close to his eyes, or if he was actually enjoying my cool fingers against his scar tissue.

  Could he feel it? None of the scars on my body had any feeling at all, but maybe because of the lack of sensation in them, the skin directly around them seemed ultra-sensitive.

  My curiosity got the best of me, like it often did, and as I slid my fingers along the deep groove running just under his cheek, I purposely brushed the healthy skin just above it as well, and he shuddered, his eyes popping open.

  "Were you wondering how?" he asked gruffly, and I nodded mutely as I stared up into his dark-purple eyes. "The plastic visor pushed through the front of my helmet and laid my face open. I must have been in shock, because I didn't even feel it while I flipped her car back over. Her car only landed on part of Max's, so once I got the car right, I could see that though she was bleeding from her nose and ears, she was alive, and so was her mom. I had to talk her mom out of moving her until the ambulance got there."

  He paused, looking a bit pained. "I shouldn't have even flipped the car over when I did. I could have done so much more damage, and even though her mother never said anything, I totally exposed my excess strength without even thinking. That could have turned out so much worse, but like I said, I think I was in shock.

  "When I went to check on Max, I could smell the alcohol, but he seemed fine besides that, but the moment I turned away to go back over and stand with the mother and daughter, he drove off. I was pissed at the time, but it was more important to be there for Kara and make sure she kept breathing than to go chasing off after him. Even if I hadn't just totaled my bike."

  I finally stopped touching the sunken scar, dropping my hand to my lap, but I was still a little confused as to why the scar was so bad. "Don't shifters usually heal… Uh." I hesitated, not wanting him to think I was calling his scar ugly or something.

  "Better than this?" he asked with a smirk. "Yes. We still get scars and everything, but normally, they heal a little better. Mine just sat like that for so long, it had already started to close on its own, so it didn't heal quite right. They could probably reopen it and fix it, but I just haven't gone to find out. Is it hard for you to look at?"

  "Yes," I answered automatically, feeling pain lance at my heart as I thought about what it must have been like to go through that.

  His eyes widened before narrowing back down, and I realized immediately what I'd said wrong.

  I reached out quickly, grabbing his shoulder. "No! Not like that. It's not like it makes you any less handsome or anything. Sure, it catches the eye, but you're definitely still…" My babbling trailed off momentarily so I could motion to him from top to bottom before realizing that I was basically calling him hot, and that I should probably just shut up.

  I cleared my throat. "I know my dad isn't me, but if Kara's my age, that m
eans I was still living with him at the time of the wreck. I knew he was bad. I knew he was getting wasted and driving around. I should have found a way to stop him. Hidden his keys, called the police. Something. I can't help but feel like there was more I could have done, and if I think about the meaning behind your scar, that's all I can think about."

  "That kind of thinking is useless," he said after a shocked moment where he probably nearly blew a fuse in his brain trying to decipher through my ridiculous babbling to understand what exactly I was saying.

  Maybe I'd get lucky and he'd forget the part where I'd basically told him he was sexy even with the scar.

  "It doesn't change anything, and nobody really knows the answers to the what ifs," he said softly. "Was that the assumption you were making? That I blamed you?"

  I swallowed hard, giving him a small nod. "Maybe a little. I just thought you might not want me around as a reminder of Max Young."

  "You don't look much like him. You look more like your mom."

  I huffed out a small laugh. I'd heard that a lot growing up from people who'd known my mom. She'd been a hard-working woman and was genuinely nice to everyone. So many people had fond memories of her.

  None had fond memories of my father and wouldn't even speak to me if they saw me in a store and he was close by at all. Everyone gave Max Young a wide berth, and I couldn't blame them for that. He was a mean, explosive drunk.

  "But I am his son," I reminded Renn. There was no getting around that, and even though I was glad he was willing to look past that fact, it didn't change it, and it didn't mean he wasn't reminded of the man.

  "Trust me," he said, leaning close again, dragging his eyes up and down my body. "I don't think of Max when I look at you."