Again, unable to counter, Neiland announced, “We’re done,” and turned away.
“Of course we are,” Joker muttered, looking to his boots.
“Man to man, as you obviously want this to be,” Neiland said and Joker looked back at him. “Once I’m done with you, Carissa won’t want herself or our son anywhere near you.”
“Good luck with that, friend,” Joker replied.
Another sneer. “You’ve no idea.”
Without hesitation, Joker gave him his ideas.
“She knows I was a fighter. She knows I smoked pot. She knows and likes every member of my Club.”
“She know a hooker had your name carved into her belly?” he retorted.
“I didn’t share the location, but yeah, she knows that too.”
Neiland blinked.
“Got more?” Joker asked, but he knew he didn’t, so as Neiland stood there staring at him, Joker shook his head. “Then I guess we’re done.”
“We’re far from done.”
Joker kept shaking his head and started to turn to his bike.
“She has a man with a criminal record looking after our son,” he bit out, and Joker grinned but he did it so he wouldn’t laugh.
He looked back to him. “Good call, go after Pete. That’ll work.”
Neiland exposed uncertainty for only a beat before he hid it and said, “That doesn’t say Carissa’s able to make appropriate decisions about our child’s upbringing.”
“You sure you wanna share your whole strategy with me? If you do, I’m cool, but give me a second to get some paper so I can take notes.”
“You’re an asshole,” he sneered.
“I’m in love with your ex-wife,” Joker returned, no amusement in his voice, his eyes locked to Neiland’s. “I’ve loved her since high school, man. She means everything to me. You gotta drag her down, that’ll suck, but I’ll pick her back up. You gotta rip her apart, I’ll fuckin’ hate watchin’ it, but I’ll put her back together. Do what you gotta do to make you feel like you got the bigger dick. But know this, in the end, it’s gonna be her and me. So take your shot. Spend your money. Score those marks on your soul. Scar your son. Push her to the point she can’t stand the sight of you. But do it knowin’ that’s all on you. Just like everything that went before, it’s all on you.”
With that, Joker dismissed him. Turning to his bike, mounting it, switching the ignition, backing out, he didn’t even look at the man.
He rode away knowing that wouldn’t be the end. He also rode away knowing he had to have a chat with his brothers.
But he rode away hoping that whatever end that man pushed for, it didn’t scar his son.
The rest, Joker had in hand.
* * *
He wasn’t surprised Carissa was tense that Monday while waiting for Neiland to return Travis.
He just didn’t know all the reasons why she was tense.
When the man showed, like he’d been making a habit of doing, Joker stood back, making sure she knew he had her back and Neiland registered his presence.
This time, fortunately, the drop off lasted a much shorter time.
But it curled nauseatingly in his gut, watching as Neiland tried to crawl right up her ass, deciding to ignore Joker and focus solely on her, giving so much saccharine, it was a wonder the room didn’t explode with it.
But she was all about her kid, forcing the courtesy, and the two boxes that Neiland made a big show about going back to his car and getting for her.
She was only slightly pushy in closing the door on his ass.
But once he was gone, cuddling Travis to her, she moved right to the window and watched him go.
So Joker did too.
The second the Lexus pulled from the curb, Carissa was in his space.
“Say hi to Joker, sweetie pie. Mommy’s gotta do something real quickly,” she said, giving Travis a kiss, a cuddle and handing him off to Joker.
Then she dropped right down to the boxes, tearing off the tape.
Joker gave his own cuddles to the kid, glad to have him back, his weight in his arms, hearing the noises he made.
But his eyes were on Carissa.
She dug through the first box in a frenzy, and watching it, Joker felt his frame string tight.
“Carrie, what the—?”
He cut himself off when she made a weird, panicky noise, turned desperately to the next box and tore off the tape.
Travis started fretting in his arm.
“Carrie,” he whispered as she pulled back the flaps and dug through.
Then suddenly, she yanked a frame to her chest and fell to her ass, knees up, curling her upper body over it, rocking.
He crouched beside her. “Baby.”
“Now I have everything I need from him. Now I don’t need anything from him. Now I have everything I need,” she said like a chant, her voice husky.
Travis made an unhappy sound as Joker lifted his hand and pulled her hair away from her shoulder.
He saw the tears wetting her cheek.
“Carrie”—his voice, too, was thick—“talk to me.”
Her damp eyes came to him as she uncurled, dropping her arms and the back of the frame hit her thighs, exposing what was in it.
Joker looked at it and his throat closed.
“Now I have everything I need,” she whispered, her words trembling.
Joker dropped to a knee, tightened his arm on her boy, holding him close as he slid the fingers of his other hand into her hair, pulling her head back gently.
He went in for the kiss.
Travis gave them what they needed, allowing time for Joker’s mouth to move on hers, drinking at the same time giving her all he had to give in order to say all he had to say.
Then the kid was done and they both knew it when he shrieked, latched on and yanked on both their hair.
Which meant when they quit kissing, they were smiling.
* * *
That night in a big bed with expensive sheets and a fantastic mattress, while a little boy snoozed in his crib a room away, Carson Steele and Carissa Teodoro slept a deep sleep, tangled together with a sketch in a frame resting on Carissa’s nightstand.
In its proper place.
Where it should be.
As was everything and every being in that home.
In its proper place.
Precisely where it should be.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Being Right
Joker
JOKER WAS STANDING in the garage, hands to hips, staring at the car he was building, its hood up, new engine shining, scratch guards draped over the sides, interior empty because the seats they’d ordered wouldn’t be in for a couple of days.