On the Steamy Side - Louisa Edwards [109]
He banged through the kitchen door and headed straight for the relative privacy of the stairs down to the basement level.
The chefs, who were in the middle of clearing down their stations, froze in mid-clean. Impatient to be away from so many watchful eyes, he barked, “What are you all still doing here? Get finished cleaning and head to Chapel. Tell Christian the drinks are on me—and I’ll actually pay the tab this time.”
“You got it, Chef,” Frankie said, taking a break from scraping up the charred bits of meat from the wood-fired grill. “We’ll see you there later to celebrate, yeah?”
Devon had never felt less like celebrating in his life, but he dragged up his empty Hollywood smile and said, “Sure. Just got one thing to take care of first. Dad?”
Every head in the kitchen swiveled to Phil, who tightened his jaw and sent Devon an unreadable look. Probably he didn’t appreciate being categorized as a chore, but Devon couldn’t make himself care. He just wanted this to be over.
Jerking his head toward the staircase, he said, “You coming?”
Phil took the hint and disappeared down the stairs. Lilah stopped Devon from following with a hand on his arm.
“Are you going to be okay? Do you want me to come with you?”
Devon struggled for a moment, torn between humiliation at being coddled in front of his cooks and gratitude that she wanted to help him. “Sweet Lilah Jane,” he said. It came out sounding sarcastic, and she flinched back. Devon didn’t know how to smooth it over when he felt so jagged. He was all rough, raw edges tearing into everything around him, and he wasn’t sure how to stop it.
He looked down at Tucker, small fingers still clutched in Lilah’s hand, and took in the carefully blank look on his face.
He had to get them both away from him, before this ball of anger expanding in his chest exploded all over them.
“I’ll be fine on my own,” he told her. “I always am.”
Unsure if he was trying to convince her or himself, Devon ignored the stricken look in her pretty green eyes and headed for the stairs where his father waited.
They made it all the way down the narrow, dark stairs and into the office in a tense silence. But the moment the office door closed, Phil exploded.
“A child, Devon? Out of wedlock? And then to not even have the common decency to tell your mother and me that we were grandparents. We didn’t raise you like that.”
“You didn’t raise me at all,” Devon fired back. “When you weren’t punishing me for being different from you, you were ignoring me. Yeah, you were a model father.”
“Oh, and you’re doing so much better with your kid, huh?”
The memory of Tucker’s withdrawn expression ripped into Devon. It was that same overly adult, emotionless façade he’d almost lost in the last two weeks. Devon knew what brought it back—all this loud, pointless shouting and angry talk.
Tucker was afraid of him again.
Shit, Devon thought, stomach clenching hard. Dad’s right. I’m completely screwing this up.
There wasn’t enough air in the cool, musty-smelling basement. Devon couldn’t get a good breath. If he could just breathe in, he could defend himself—except, no, there was nothing he could say.
He remembered that first night at Market—God, was it only two weeks ago?—when the police officer offered him a choice between taking custody of Tucker, and letting his son go into foster care.
And Devon had hesitated. What kind of man, what kind of father did that? So what if he’d been scared he might turn out to be like his old man.
There was that word again. Scared.
Devon had chosen his career over his family; it was the choice he’d been making every day since he graduated from high school.
Since the last day Phil told him he wasn’t good enough, would never be good enough. Since the last time his mother listened to him say it, her silence a tacit agreement despite the mute suffering on her face.
Devon had heard everything Phil was saying before. There was no reason it should cut so deeply now. All he