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I surge to my feet. “I didn’t mean it, Caleb.”
“I believe you, even if no one else does.” A male voice I don’t recognize injects himself into our conversation.
“Who are you?” My irritation fades even as recognition sparks in my brain. “Wait. You were in the Amaryllis section during the gala.”
Caleb gets up and gives him a manly back slap. “Jake, brother. Thanks for coming in.”
“No problem. I was happy to when Cassidy called.” The man holds out a hand. “I’m Jake, Laura’s uncle.”
Caleb jerks his head at the other man. “He’s the person who can probably most relate to you right now, Payne.”
Growling, I bite out, “Why’s that?”
Jake’s smile drops from his face. “Because I’ve been exactly where you are.”
“I doubt it.”
He lifts his hand and ticks off his fingers. “Blamed your woman for hurting your child?”
Ashamed, my head drops. “Yes.”
Caleb snarls in my direction before asking Jake, “What is it about making spectacles at hospitals?”
Jake flips him off before flicking another finger forward. “Can’t get her to talk to you?”
Uncomfortably, I nod.
“Drove her away.”
I scrub my hand over the back of my neck before admitting, “Yeah.”
“The entire family is against you?”
I catch Caleb’s lethal glare out of the corner of my eye. “So, it appears.”
“Hi.” Jake holds out his hand. “Jake. Founding member of this particular club. Hate you screwed over my niece to join it, but I wish someone was willing to give me advice when I became the founding member.”
Warily, I take it. He grips it firmly before remarking, “You and my niece appeared happy at the gala. So, wild ass guess here, you’re spinning your wheels trying to figure out how to take it all back.”
My gaze pings back and forth between him and Caleb, and I say the only thing that comes to mind. “Fuck, are you clairvoyant or some shit?”
Jake deadpans, “No. I’m a high school music department head.”
Caleb, slightly less inclined to kill me now that there’s a neutral party with us, gestures us back to the table. “Now, let’s talk.”
“She cut me off.” My voice is morose.
“You’re not the only one.” Caleb’s voice is just as depressed.
Jake’s lip curls in disgust. “I’d at least have thought you’d both be ready to beg on your knees by now.”
Caleb and I exchange looks of shared wretchedness. Then we face the teacher, ready to learn.
Jake clasps his hands together. “Well, there’s no time like the present. Let’s get started.” Then he points at me and jerks his thumb at the table. “Both of you, sit the hell down. Class is in session.”
We’re a good three cups of coffee in when Jake encourages me to set up individual therapy sessions. “You’ve got to figure out what triggered your behavior.”
“If she’ll ever talk to me again?” Pieces of my heartbreak spill on the table between us.