“I don’t know who you think you are trying to tell me I can’t see my wife and son–”
As soon as the word son leaves his lips, a switch inside me flips. I don’t know why Beck went to see this fucking piece of shit and didn’t tell me, and I hate the sick feeling running through my blood because of it. But I do know that Dustin signed his rights away and that Dustin has made himself clear time and time again that he doesn’t want this life. And even if he did, it’s too late.
“Lower your voice,” I hiss through gritted teeth because even though he’s a baby, Jett is just feet away in his car seat and I don’t want him to hear this yelling. When I promised to not curse around him, I meant it and this bullshit falls under that umbrella.
“Shut the fuck up. Don’t tell me what to do.” Dustin wobbles on his feet before turning back to the car, which leads me to pull him backward, away from them, again.
“Stay away from them,” I advise, keeping my tone controlled.
“Them?” Dustin laughs, and when he reaches back and palms the Tesla, my patience is officially being tested.
“Get your hands off my car.”
He looks back, not even bothering to notice his ex-wife sitting in the passenger seat or the infant car seat in the back, but rather, studies my car before returning his stupid ugly face to mine. “How the fuck can you afford a Tesla?” He snorts. “Beck payin’ that lease for you, kid?”
My jaw ticks. This guy is seconds away from getting his ass kicked, only Beck wouldn’t like that, and that’s not who I want to be for Jett.
I swallow down my impatience and collect my calmest tone, which is still a bit unhinged, but not bad considering how much I want to clobber this fuck. “You need to go.”
He changes tactics. “I want to see my son.”
His son? He wants to see his son after not having seen him one single time for… almost a year.
“No.”
He recesses back looking shocked, but wearing the most punchable smirk on his lips. “No?” The smirk turns into a full grin. “I think as the man who gave him life, I have a right to see him.”
Everything becomes a heated jumble in my brain.
Jett’s sweet giggle. Beck’s soft moans. The fact that she went to him yesterday. My dad’s last whispered words. Gerald Horsach.And I still don’t. The vomit in the bars. The searing pain owning my chest. Dustin Reid’s drunken stumble. It’s all too much and I react, curling my hand into a tight fist and swing.
Connecting with his face makes a sound I’ll never forget. I punch Rusty Dustin across the jaw, sending him a few steps away from the car as he tries to recover.
“You haven’t given him anything,” I hiss as I take a few steps toward him. He ambles to his feet–and I’m sorry, a man doesn’t fall from one punch if he’s a man–and stands, spitting blood as his eyes laser in on mine.
Dustin smiles, blood swimming across his teeth. “He’s mine, and even if I never fuckin’ see him, he will always be more mine than yours, no matter what.”
I don’t even realize I’m going to hit him until he’s on the ground again, groaning, cupping his hands to his eye socket. I guess I gave his jaw a break on this one.
Beck springs free from the passenger seat, and Dustin scrambles to his feet, facing her.
“Tell this motherfucker to let me see my son!” he grumbles. I don’t look at Beck. My head is spinning. From the peripheral, I see an older woman gripping the wood column of her porch, watching this shit show play out. She ambles back inside when she sees she's spotted.
“Go,” Beck says, so quietly that I doubt Dustin even heard her, but when he stands again, his expression is desperate.
“Let me see him,” he begs.
I don’t believe Dustin wants to see Jett. I believe Dustin wants to fake a powerful emotional moment in seeing Jett, and he wants Beck to witness that and take him back. I know motherfuckers like this.
Everything is an opportunity to manipulate in order to get whatever he wants. Crocodile tears, empty promises—whatever it takes to get what they want.
Which in this case is apparently Beck.
I step between them with my back to her.
“She doesn’t want you. You’ve made it clear you don’t want them, andthey’re mine now,” I say defensively, protectively, angrily, even.
“I didn’t say shit about her, I said I wanted to see my kid!”