Apollo swallowed hard before saying, “There’s a man inside. I want to know what his plans are for tonight.”
“What man?” Baker asked. “We can let you know if we talk to him.”
Apollo’s shoulders slumped, and I had a bad feeling about why he was asking.
My eyes met his and I said, “You’ll call me before you do anything stupid.”
Apollo scowled. “I’m not…”
I held up my hand.
There were only two reasons he left the house anymore.
One was to come to the clubhouse for church or mandated club get-togethers, and the second was to chase his son’s tormentors.
Seeing as there were no club functions tonight, he wasn’t fooling anyone.
And if he wanted to know information on a man’s whereabouts after this, I could only assume it was to take care of said man.
“I’ll let you know what I’m doing,” he responded reluctantly.
“What are y’all talking about?” Baker asked. “And also, I need a name. I’m not good with faces when everyone is dressed and manicured the same.”
“Thom Rissi,” Apollo answered.
“Well, well, well,” Joey’s voice sounded from behind us. “Look who the cat dragged in.”
I stiffened and turned slowly, finding Joey standing behind us dressed in an ill-fitting suit, hair a mess, and a fading black eye.
He had a woman on his arm that was dressed much better than he was, though you could tell that her clothes came off a rack and weren’t meant for her body alone.
“Joey,” I mused. “How good to see you.”
“Fuck you, Clayborne,” he sneered at me before turning to Baker. “Where’s our kid?”
I snorted. “Like you care.”
“Maybe I’m about to.” He smiled. “Maybe I need to start playing a role in my son’s life so he doesn’t start to think that this man is a good role model.”
I didn’t let him see that his barb had hit true.
Instead, I crossed my arms over my chest and said, “Your son is seven months old, sits up on his own, is starting to crawl, and calls me dada. He wakes up once a night and takes an eight-ounce bottle. He just started trying solid foods and likes apples, pears, and peaches. He hates peas but tolerates green beans. He likes cereal, but only with a fruit and not a vegetable. He wears a size nine-month onesie and twelve-month pants. He has a favorite blanket and a favorite stuffed animal. He hates anything on television unless it’s live animal shows. He loves his mama and gives the best kisses.” I leveled him with a knowing look. “How does it feel to know that you helped make this perfect human being, and you know nothing about him? The so-called ‘terrible role model’ knows more about your son than you do?”
Joey stiffened.
“Or we could talk about the fact that you’ve yet to make a child support payment without being coerced,” I elaborated. “You have no clue who his doctor is. You have no clue where he spends his days. You have no clue that the child you had a part in making is one of the best things to ever happen to me. You wouldn’t be awarded a goddamn thing. You’d only make a fool of yourself, and then you’d be state mandated to make a child support payment because the state would garnish your wages. You wouldn’t get any visitation because no one is going to award anything to a father that would rather game than take care of his struggling girlfriend and child. You’re a joke, Joey. And everyone knows it but you…” I looked at the woman next to him that was staring on with wide eyes. “And apparently this woman. Though, she likely has no morals because she went to the hospital where your fiancée was pushing out your baby, and didn’t care that she was causing a scene.”
Joey bared his teeth. “You think that my kid’s going to grow up and not see you for the terrible person that you are? Some low-life thug that went to prison for killing his own father. Your sister probably deserved what she…”
I stiffened.
Seventeen
Don’t worry. I got this. I watched a YouTube video.
—Text from Baker to Audric
BAKER
