“You don’t get enough sleep, babe,” he replied. “You were out, you need to sleep when you actually can sleep so I let you sleep. I was gone twenty minutes.”

This was nice. I liked it when Tate was nice. I liked Tate all the time, even when he was a jerk, which made me slightly insane, but it was Tate and I had to admit, I liked all things Tate, even when he was a jerk. But I liked it when he was nice the best. So, since he was being nice, I pressed deeper into him.

“Is he okay?” I asked softly.

“No tellin’. He’s a zombie,” Tate answered. “We’ll know more when he pulls out of it.”

I looked over his shoulder toward the door. “I need coffee, honey, and I need to make Jonas French toast.”

“Ace,” Tate called and my eyes went back to see his were looking over my shoulder and down, toward my suitcases.

He didn’t speak for several seconds so I asked, “Tate, what?”

He looked at me and he muttered, “Nothin’,” let me go and moved to my side. “Coffee,” he finished.

I nodded and we walked out of the room, down the hall and I saw Jonas on a stool at the island, slouched into an elbow, head in his hand, staring blankly at Buster who was sitting on the floor in front of him looking up at him.

“Hey Jonas,” I called when I hit the dining area.

He didn’t lift his head from his hand but his body shifted so he could see me.

He blinked then mumbled, “Hey.”

I went to the coffeepot and saw Tate had already made coffee so I grabbed a mug from the cupboard over the pot.

“You need coffee, honey?” I asked Tate and turned to him to see he had his h*ps to the counter, his eyes on Jonas and his phone to his ear. He looked at me and nodded.

I prepared coffee as I asked Jonas, “French toast or pancakes today?”

“French toast,” he mumbled again staring at Buster who was now rubbing against Tate’s ankles.

“Right,” I replied, grinning because Jonas was cute when he was sleepy.

I walked toward Tate to take him his mug.

“Bubba,” I heard Tate say and I looked at his face to see he was speaking into his phone. “This is the fifth time I’ve called you. Comes a sixth, we got problems.”

He pulled his phone from his ear, flipped it closed, dropped it on the counter and took the mug from me.

“No answer?” I asked.

“Nope,” he replied and our eyes locked.

He didn’t look happy. I scrunched my nose. He watched my nose, the unhappiness slid out of his face, the ends of his lips tipped up then he shook his head once and lifted his mug to take a sip. I went to the fridge to get milk and eggs.

I had milk in my coffee, had taken a sip and I had a bowl out, the bread beside it and was cracking eggs into the bowl when Jonas spoke.

“After breakfast, can we go to the hospital?”

I was working at the island and my head came up from my task to look at Jonas. He was still slouched into the island but now looking at his Dad.

“Yeah, Bub,” Tate answered. “Not long, though. Shambles needs space.”

“Okay,” Jonas replied then went on. “After the hospital can we go back to the pool?”

“Maybe,” Tate said. “We’ll see.”

I figured this meant no because when my Mom or Dad said that, it meant no. I also figured that was why Jonas straightened from his slouch, because he was preparing to fight for his trip to the pool.

I walked the eggshells to the trash bin, dumped them in, rinsed my hands, dried them and went to the cupboard where I’d started to store the spices and baking ingredients I’d been buying. Tate didn’t have much in his cupboards and therefore I had plenty of choice as to where to store my cooking supplies.

During this time, there was surprising silence not filled with Jonas talking his father into a trip to the pool.

This silence lasted until Tate asked his son, “You want juice, Bub?”

“Why’s Mom’s car outside?” Jonas asked back and I stopped, my fingers around the little, brown bottle of vanilla and I turned slowly around, closing the cupboard as I moved.

I saw Jonas’s back was straight, both of his hands were flat against the top of the island and his eyes were glued to Tate. He didn’t look sleepy at all anymore and this was a strange position for him to be in so I knew something was about to go down. Something between father and son. Something the milf girlfriend needed to absent herself from so they could talk it through.

I put the vanilla by the bowl, muttering, “I’ll just –”

Jonas talked over me. “She come over last night?”

“Bub, we’ll have breakfast and we’ll –”

Jonas talked over Tate. “She came over, why’d she leave her car?”

“After breakfast,” Tate stated.

“Was she smashed?” Jonas kept at it.

I pulled in a soft breath. Tate stared at his son.

Then Tate asked, “She get smashed a lot, Jonas?”

Jonas didn’t tear his eyes from his father but it looked like he was pressing his hands into the counter. His body was visibly tight and his throat was working. His mind was working too, I could see it in the activity behind his eyes, and he was scared.

Then he said quietly, “All the time.”

Tate was silent. So was I, though I figured everyone in the room could hear my heart beating. Even Buster had stopped moving and stood by Tate’s feet, her pretty face staring up at Jonas.

Jonas kept his eyes on his father and his hands pressed to the counter as if he was preparing at any moment to push up and run away.

“She drive like that?” Tate asked softly.

“Yeah,” Jonas answered just as softly.

“You ever in the car with her when she’s like that?” Tate continued.

Jonas pulled in an audible breath, let it out slowly then he swallowed.

“Yeah,” Jonas whispered and instantly Tate’s dark energy invaded, so huge, it filled the house and assaulted its inhabitants.

I edged toward Tate, saying gently, “Tate, honey –”

“She jerks me around too,” Jonas announced, the words a rush, my body stilled and my eyes shot to him, seeing him still staring at his father but he wasn’t scared anymore.

No, he looked downright terrified.

“She jerks you around,” Tate repeated slow, low and dangerous.

“Yesterday wasn’t the first time,” Jonas was still speaking swiftly. “It wasn’t even the worst.”