Page 29

Twenty-Nine

Aiden

Right.

Well, I haven’t seen John Maybelle in more than ten years.

And even putting aside him calling his sister a bitch, I could take one look at the fucker and know that he’s an asshole.

Screwed up expression.

Ugly ass polo and fucking chinos, for God’s sake.

Giant, ostentatious watch.

Hair that has more product in it than Gray’s does on picture day—and my captain is one of the few guys on the roster who actually takes the time to style his hair for team photos.

Probably because those dumb things are shown on TV over and over again throughout the season.

But Gray taking the time once in a while to do his hair doesn’t mean he wears loafers.

John sure as shit does—and his loafers have fucking tassels on them.

They swing slightly as the dumbass marches my way.

Christ, what an idiot.

“Mom?” I say.

“Um,” she replies, quietly for a change, “is that who I think that is?”

There’s another slam and I tear my gaze from the douche canoe who is Luna’s brother to see that this situation is about to get worse.

Because Luna’s dad is here.

In a three-piece suit, as much crap in his hair as his son, his dress shoes clicking on the pavement as he starts toward us.

“Mom,” I say again, a little sharper this time, knowing that I need to get her to focus.

I see her startle slightly out of the corner of my eye, then feel Luna do the same when I say, “Get Luna inside, yeah? Dad and I will handle this.”

Luna snags my hand, squeezes slightly. “Aiden, I?—”

“You bitch!” John snaps again.

I tug my hand free, plunk it in the middle of the asshole’s chest, stopping him in his tracks—or maybe sending him back a few paces…

Right.

Okay more than a few .

But I don’t have time to worry about some asshole nearly eating shit in my parents’ driveway.

I need to move quickly.

My eyes lock with my mom’s, and I tilt my head toward the house.

Thankfully, she snaps out of her surprise, takes Luna’s arm, and draws her inside.

I hear the front door close, lock, and exhale, stuffing down my temper and bracing myself to deal with the asshole contingent of the Blacks.

Luna’s dad, Frank, if I remember correctly, brushes by his son, who’s still straightening after fighting to regain his balance. And Frank does that brushing without so much as asking his son if he’s okay.

Great parenting.

But it’s not like I expect anything different.

Assholes raise assholes.

The only reason that Luna escaped the same fate was that Frank didn’t give two shits about his daughter so left her to Grams to raise after his wife died.

Thank God.

I got Luns, my Luns.

And the asshole contingent stayed far away…

Until now.

“I’m guessing that Luna’s lawyers reached out to you,” I say dryly, feeling my dad twitch beside me.

I’ll have to explain later.

For now, I’ve got bigger problems.

John’s face scrunches up again and he turns bright fucking red—and fuck if the asshole doesn’t look like an adult-sized toddler.

But it’s Frank who speaks, tilting his head, gray irises that are the same color as Luna’s but don’t have a lick of the warmth as hers locking onto me, studying me like the beady-eyed snake he is.

“Aiden Black,” he says cooly.

I extend my hand for him to shake—the man is my father-in-law after all—but he merely shifts his stare to it, and after a moment, I let it fall to my side.

So, we’re not going to pretend to be nice.

Kinda figured that after his son called my woman a bitch, but it’s always better to try, right?

Or maybe not, I think when Frank shoves a sheaf of papers in my direction.

“What’s this?” I say, barely catching them against my chest.

“Divorce papers,” he snaps. “I’ll expect them to be signed and returned to my office tomorrow.”

My dad grunts from beside me, but I can’t spare him a glance.

Because I’m too busy trying not to throttle the fuckers in front of me.

“Yeah, no,” I say, shoving them the papers back at him, taking more than a little bit of satisfaction when he scrambles to not drop them. “That’s not going to happen.”

Frank’s fat fingers close around the papers, crinkling the load of them as he shoves them at John, who’s finally recovered enough to join the grownups in conversation.

Unfortunately, his reflexes aren’t as quick as mine or even his dad’s.

Because the entire stack of them goes flying, the wind catching them, sending them off in all directions.

Works for me.

“Right,” I mutter, catching my dad’s eyes and hitching my head in the direction of the house. “That seems like as good a place as any to end this conversation.”

My dad nods and I know he and my mom are going to demand an explanation for this scene—and likely the whole getting married so Luna can save the world thing that, while noble, isn’t going to go over all that well.

My mom’s a romantic.

My dad’s pragmatic.

Taking on the Maybelles, no matter how noble, or how much I like— love —Luna isn’t a shitstorm they’re going to want me to endure.

Good thing I’m an adult.

Because I’m not letting Luna go, not again, not when I just got her back.

I shouldn’t have let her slip away in the first place.

But that’s a regret for another day.

My dad turns for the house, hitching his head for me to follow. But when I do, I’m stopped by a big, meaty hand on my shoulder.

And I don’t think.

I just react.

Poorly.

Whipping around, I grab John’s wrist and twist, shoving him back against the porch pillar. “Don’t touch me, you prick.” I step closer, my face an inch away from his. “And stay the fuck away from Luna or?—”

“Or what?” I hear Frank Maybelle say.

I twist my neck, see that he’s watching me closely, a calculating expression on his face.

“Or you’ll make threats?” he drawls. “Whatever will the Grizzlies think of that?” He taps a finger to his chin. “What will they think of one of their players harming an innocent man?”

Innocent.

Ha.

That’s a fucking joke.

My hand tightens.

John cries out in pain.

I should keep going, show his Frank what it feels like too…

“Aiden,” my dad says quietly.

And I hear the warning in his tone, know that he’s right.

Of course he’s right.

I can’t pummel John and/or Frank Maybelle into a pulp, no matter how much they may deserve it.

Damn.

Slowly, I peel my fingers my fingers from John’s wrist, taking no little amount of pleasure in the fact that he winces and clutches his arm to his chest. “You’ll regret this,” he snaps, glaring at me.

“Maybe,” I tell him. “But at least—at the end of the day—I know I’m not the one throwing away something as precious as Luna.”