Page 25 of The Impact (Parachutes #3)
Chapter Six
Vin
Clinching his vein-throbbing hands, Vin clamped his eyes just as tight, counting elevator chimes. Time had his rage jammed in a clutch. Turned the scale of his anger up to the max, then ripped the fucking switch off the wall.
Even after the elevator clanged, another day passed before the doors finally parted. Vin turned sideways to escape before they could fully open.
“You busy?”
Larry had just stepped out of his office with a red-topped container in his hand. His name and title were displayed on the frosted glass behind him – LAURENCE TAYLOR – LICENSED MENTAL HEALTH COUNSELOR the kind of sandwich a wife packed.
“I mean…keep it a buck,” Vin scratched his hairy jaw, a new type of anguish raking over his bare skin and glazing his eyes. “I rarely don’t have a nine-millimeter on my waist. But this time I’m conscious of it.”
Larry nodded as Vin voiced his most dangerous kind of rage: the intentional kind. His violent tendencies often came hot and burned out quickly with common sense. But on a warpath, he saw the clear vision to bring malice, consequences considered. His most unpredictable animal form.
“I’m conscious of it…because I have every intention of using it.”
Larry gawked at his cherrywood desk before closing his lunch container. Then he cleared his throat.
“On who?”
Vin knew when a man was trying to play it cool because he had a nose for fear.
His nostrils flared at Larry’s question. If Larry made him say it, his head just might explode.
“Dalvin,” Larry called again, and Vin met his concerned yet genuine stare. “Who do you intend to use this weapon on?”
Vin shot fire from his nose, then cracked his neck so loud he heard it.
“Drew.”
Larry’s brows rumpled. “Who’s Drew?”
One Hour Earlier…
Stealing peeks at Milo riding shotgun in Vin’s Lotus Emira, Vin couldn’t help but smirk in petty pride.
While most of the kids from Milo’s generation were stuck on drugged-out mumble rappers with little skill or staying power, Milo’s musical interests were more well-rounded, credited to his parents.
Tahli gave the kids everything her soul was made of: Anita Baker flavor, classic Motown heart, 90’s R&B edge, and her beloved Bob Marley’s spirit.
The only musical purpose Vin served was to ensure his children were knowledgeable of true hip-hop origins.
Doll had Nas’ The World is Yours memorized at six years old while Milo argued that 50 Cent’s debut album was more influential than The Beatles.
Now, as they cruised Route 1 to grab Dali from violin lessons, Vin observed his son silently mouth lyrics to Jadakiss’ By Your Side.
“What?”
“Nothing.” Vin lied with a shrug. Milo frowned behind his glasses at Vin’s doing. An invisible wall of betraying bricks remained between them, and even with all of his strength, Vin couldn’t break it.
“You gonna do it now?”
“Not yet,” Vin answered, stealing another glance. “Aye…how’s the Robotics project going? Y’all made like a Charlie Chocolate something, right?”
“A Willy Wonka conveyor belt that’s programmed to shoot out candy and run on solar panels,” Milo explained, with Vin’s nonchalance and Tahli’s brilliance.
“Wow. That’s outrageous.” Vin gulped. “And, uh…how’s mom?”
Vin waited for any piece of Tahli he could grasp.
His dreams were starting to weaken. The shade of gold that highlighted her dark locs.
Her warm, toothpaste-tainted breath on his face in those bedtime whispers.
Her smell—not just her skin, but her sex.
The way her pussy tasted after eating fruit or drinking too much coffee—different, but still addictingly Tahli.
The magnetic pull when her body lay next to his, and Vin had to pull her closer, even when she had pissed him off.
He used to wish he could slice himself from throat to groin, trap her beneath his skin, and sew it back up. Keep her that close.
“Mom is mom.”
That wasn’t enough. Tahli was Tahli. Could mean anything.
Sexy and frustrating. Light-filled. Sensible yet unrestricted.
A perfect Gemini of balance to Vin. The kind of woman who planned their weekly menu on Sundays but would still pop up at his office, lock the door, and surprise him with an impromptu blowjob.
Get off her knees, fix her lipstick and go draw up her lesson plans.
A conundrum of all things wicked and right that kept his wheels turning all of this time.
So, when men like his suburban counterparts drooled over somebody’s big-tittied nanny or gossiped about some teacher with the perfect ass, Vin didn’t share in those desires.
“She’s eating? Sleeping good?” Because Vin was not.
“I don’t know,” Milo grimaced, so Vin laid off.
“What about you? How’s the math going?”
Milo’s sigh was audible. “Dad, I feel like I say the same things.”
The honesty of someone on the spectrum tilted between refreshing and brutal. “I say them to mom and then I say them to you again.”
Vin pinched his tear ducts. “That’s what happens when you have two homes, Lo.”
“DJ doesn’t have two homes. Doesn’t happen to DJ.”
That was new.
“DJ doesn’t have a mom,” Vin brutally reminded Milo of Sophie’s death and watched Milo scratch at his thick hair, pout deepening.
“He’s got a dad, though. He’s got my dad.”
Thank God Milo muttered it under his breath, so Vin could pretend that he didn’t hear it.
“Dali said he’s going to play football. That he’s already signed up for training camp and they accepted him early.”
Milo had tried out for Pop Warner two years ago, but his asthma had left him with an embarrassing moment. Never tried again.
“Is he playing at my school?”
“No,” Vin replied quickly. If DJ wanted to go to the college prep private school that Dali and Milo attended, Vin would have owed them all a sit-down.
But thankfully, DJ wanted to play football for the Rumson Bulldogs whose high school team would hopefully still be state champions by the time DJ made it there.
“He’s going to Knollwood.”
“Public school. Like Dali wanted to go to.”
“Yeah, well…Mom didn’t want Dali going to public school.
And she’s right…Oak Hill’s great.” Vin could imagine how his children felt.
He tried to pry it out of them. But Dali was 14 and thought she was way above it.
And Milo, at 12, who was naturally introverted, was now visibly pissed with Vin.
A new child living in the home they had to leave.
But they never had to leave. Tahli wanted the fresh start.
Vin had made sure that home remained for his children…
and for her, too, should she ever find her way back.
“I bet that makes you happy, though. That he’s going to play football,” Milo sucked his teeth, and the sickening churn in Vin’s stomach frowned his lips.
“Lo…I know I disappointed you.”
Milo’s head turned away from him.
“He looks like you,” Milo muttered to the window. “I don’t look like you.”
“You look like Mom. You look better than me,” Vin snickered.
“I’m ugly and I’m dumb. He’s not dumb and you like him more.”
Vin skidded the high-performance sports car to a halt, upsetting traffic with the chaos he created. He cut over to the shoulder in a swerve so swift that it jerked Milo to smack his head into the glass.
“Hey! Be mad at me. Fucking…hate me. I don’t care,” Vin blared once they were stopped. “But don’t do that.” He pointed in Milo’s face.
“I don’t ever wanna hear you say nothing like that again.
You hear me? I don’t want you to even think anything like that.
You did nothing wrong. There is nothing wrong with you.
Do you hear me?” Vin gripped the back of his son’s head, pleading with his eyes.
“I’m wrong. I’m the problem. I’m the one who needs to figure out what’s wrong with me.
But you? You’re smart. You’re amazing. You’re perfect, kid.
You think I love Doll any less because I have Terran? ”
It took Milo a second before he shook his head. Vin sensed his fear. To the outside world, Vin was six feet and 270 pounds of intimidation. To his children, he may have been “Dad,” but a stern voice and look could still freeze time.
Some awkward seconds crawled before Vin tried to lighten the mood with a smirk and a tap to his son’s leg.
“Aye. Want me to do it now?”
Milo eased a little.
“In a minute. But... Well…never mind.”
“Nah, talk to me. What’s up?”
“It’s something I’ve been wanting to ask you. But we haven’t really been talking much.”
The truth was, Milo hadn’t been talking to him.
“But I can’t talk to Mom. I definitely can’t talk to Dali.”