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I stepped over the threshold, and Raye tugged the door down.
“You guys are so cute,” Willow sighed.
We so were.
I smiled at her as I wandered across the space and threw myself on the red sofa.
Shanti shoved a Styrofoam box of Cane’s in my hands.
Yum!
“Let’s get this party started, because I don’t think any of us, particularly those who have getting banged on their schedule for the evening, want to be here all night,” Luna called from her place at the pretty desk close to the door that had a computer and a bunch of monitors on it.
By the way, she was so right about the getting-banged thing.
“Luna and I spent the last couple of hours going through everything Arthur sent, so we have a presentation,” Raye announced, handing me a Black Cherry Fresca and sitting beside me with her own Styrofoam container of chicken tenders, crinkle-cut fries and Texas toast.
Indeed, all the Angels, save Luna, were on the couch, and there was plenty of room, with some to spare.
Seriously. It was a big couch.
“We’re gonna start with Javi’s dad, Lolo. Cool?” Luna called.
I nodded and braced.
The big screen behind the large desk in front of us lit up with a picture of a passably good-looking man who was definitely another product of the loins of Javi’s father.
“Patrick Atherton,” Raye said. “Austin Atherton’s oldest son.”
The image on the screen changed to the same guy with bloodshot eyes, messy hair, and a belligerent expression his face.
Oh, and it was a mug shot.
“Also, total fuckup,” Raye continued. “Drunk and disorderly. DUI, time two. Misdemeanor assault.”
The picture changed to one of Javi’s father, nothing passable about his handsome, drat it.
Raye carried on, “Probably not a surprise, with his looks, though, since we watched some footage, admittedly we learned the guy also has tons of personality and he’s funny as well, Austin got a multi-million-dollar contract as a commentator for the HustleSports station. Even though he’s been retired from the game for a while, he’s still a big deal. He has some endorsements, also does a load of speaking engagements, and his fee is astronomical.”
The screen changed, and it was bodycam footage of Patrick struggling while being arrested, shouting, “Do you know who my dad is?”
“Needless to say,” Raye kept at it when Luna muted the action, “this footage, and more, has made the rounds of social media, and Austin is not a big fan of his son being an entitled asshole. He’s had to apologize publicly…four times…for Patrick’s bullshit.”
Luna cycled through some old pictures of the family of five out and about in the world, and I recognized Julia and Cath immediately, as well as their mom, who wore a lot of makeup, and on her body, along with her bag, it was all designer.
I knew it wasn’t sisterly to think so, but although she was pretty, it was passably, like her son. She was no knockout, like her husband, his son by another woman, and her two daughters.
Patrick got more of his mom, Julia and Cath got what Javi did.
A lot from the genes of their dad.
As these people got older when the pictures clicked along, eventually the woman was gone, as was Patrick, but it looked like Austin had a great relationship with his girls.
As I watched these images cycle through, I felt something happening to me.
“So it isn’t about the divorce,” I said. “It’s man stuff. It’s about the fact he raised a jerk of a son, thus he’s writing him off and thinking he’s got a second shot at creating a decent legacy by finally claiming Javi.”
“Uncertain,” Raye replied softly. “But that would track.”