Chapter 18

18

JJ

I prowl past him and head to the refrigerator to pull out a carton of milk, because that's the kind of man I am. I just had my fingers inside my son's girlfriend and now I pour some milk out into a glass, pick it up with that same hand, and place it next to his sandwich.

Isaac looks at the glass, then huffs, "I'm not twelve."

"You'll always be twelve to me."

His scowl deepens. "Don't pretend to be concerned about me. We both know you don't have one fatherly instinct in your entire body."

"You're right."

He blinks. "I am?"

I nod. "I was too young when I became a father. Oh, I know I was twenty-four when we had your sister. And that's not young in terms of years. But I wasn't emotionally ready for the responsibility of having a child. So I coped with it the best way I could."

"By making sure we'd never see you," he says bitterly.

"By throwing myself into my work, and building up my business so the two of you lacked for nothing."

"You mean building your organized crime syndicate, don't you?"

I wince. It's true, of course. I had worked on the wrong side of the law for a long time, until I found the balls to legitimize the business. The Sovranos' decision to go legit might have something to do with it, too. Seeing the brothers find their soulmates and decide to change the nature of their business in order to protect their families had a bigger impact on me than I'd realized. It's why I made the decision to transition myself.

"I am the CEO of one of the fastest growing media companies in the world—one I built from the ground up and through my own sweat and blood. One I'd like very much for you or your sister to run one day."

"You can forget about me. I have no interest in it," he bites out.

"I know that now."

"Eh?" He blinks up at me. "You're okay with that?"

"I wasn't. Not for a long time. But I realize now that you need to do what makes you happy."

He gapes at me. "You're kidding me, right? All those years of refusing to accept what I wanted to be, and now suddenly, you're fine with it? What changed?"

I reach for the glass of milk I'd placed next to him and take a sip, then make a face.

"Yeah, it's gross, isn't it?" He smirks. And goddamn, in that moment, he looks so much like me, I could be looking at a mirror and seeing my younger self. Cocky, but yet to find my confidence. Wanting to charge into the world and slay my demons, but not exactly sure what I truly wanted, either. Yeah, I was one mixed-up, confused man in my twenties, and then the kids had come along. In a way, they had centered me, though. I knew my duty as a father was to provide for them. It's what made me responsible, but also what got me started on founding the Kane company. I'd never intended for it to be involved in illegal activities, but I hadn't shied away from cutting corners, either. And before I knew it, I'd become someone who competed with the Mafia instead of competing in business. But all that had changed a few months ago.

I began offloading my dodgy business dealings and started to focus on my legal enterprises, which had already been doing well. I wasn't lying when I told Isaac that my media business had been built from the ground up. I'd ensured it wasn't tainted by my shadier dealings. And my newest venture, Trinity Enterprises, is a collaboration with the Sovranos and the Soloniks, one I intended to keep above-board and use to diversify into new markets. I have a lot of plans and now…

I have a woman, too. Only, she doesn't belong to me… yet. She might never belong to me. For fuck's sake, I didn't even want one, but here I am. I might be too old for her. She might not want to be with me, but… I have to try. I've never given up on anything without trying. Never wanted something and not gone after it. I'm certainly not going to start now. Except, it means hurting my son in the process. Can I live with myself after that? Can I live with myself if I don't try to pursue my woman? Is there a way to do it without causing my son grief? Is there any way to do it? I don't know, but I'm going to find out. And that means bridging the distance between my son and myself first.

I spin around, walk over to the shelf in the far corner and pull out a bottle of 24-year-old Macallan. I pour a healthy measure into two rock glasses, then slide one over to him.

He glances at it, then at me. "Whiskey?" He scowls.

"My best whiskey," I correct him.

"And you're going to share it with me?"

"You do realize, one day soon, a lot of what I have will belong to you, too," I murmur.

"I don't want it." He glowers back at me.

I open my mouth, then shut it. "Maybe that was the wrong thing to say. It's just whiskey, son." I raise my glass. "If you don't want it, there's more for me." I raise a shoulder.

He continues to stare at me, then finally relaxes his shoulders. "I suppose I could have a glass."

"Go on then." I clink my glass with his, then take a sip. The complex notes of sherry oak and cinnamon laced with citrus and wood smoke tease my tastebuds. I roll the whiskey around my mouth and swallow.

"Go on." I gesture to his untouched glass. "Taste it."

He narrows his gaze on me, then raises his glass to his mouth. He takes a cautious sip, then blinks. His gaze widens. He holds the liquid in his mouth, then swallows. "Wow," he breathes. "This is?—"

"Fucking good." I take another sip, let the layers of the whiskey coat my tongue.

He does the same.

We sip our whiskeys in silence for a few seconds. Then I point to the sandwich, "Don't you want that?"

He places his whiskey down on the counter, snatches up the sandwich and demolishes it in three large bites. It's my turn to blink. The appetite of youth. Was I ever that hungry for food? Did I ever eat it with such relish? Is this what it means to grow older? To take things for granted, and lose your zest for things in life. Is that why I'm so attracted to her? A mistaken attempt at holding onto what's left of my life? Not that I'm that old, but I'm not getting any younger, either. Am I about to become a caricature of an older man who can't stop lusting after a woman much younger than him? My head spins. Isaac raises his glass and tosses back his drink, then splutters.

I wince. "That's not how you're supposed to drink Macallan."

With tears running down his cheeks, he scoffs, "Says who?"

"Says me, but you know what?" I glance at the glass, then at him. "Maybe it's time I broke some of my own rules."

I raise my own glass and toss it back. The alcohol burns its way down my gullet. It hits my stomach and sets off a fireball of heat. My skin flushes, sweat beads my brow. "Fuck," I growl.

"Indeed," he laughs.

I grab the bottle of whiskey and top up both our glasses, then nod to his glass. "Follow me."