Squeak

Missed Opportunities

Papa King.

We glared at each other for several minutes—waiting each other out, wondering which of us would break first. It was me. My curiosity was killing me.

"How did you earn the moniker Squeak?"

"Shouldn't you check on your wife? She's dying to see you."

"Very nice play on words. She's waited this long; what's a few more minutes?"

"The difference between life and death."

I drummed my fingers on the armchair, wondering how I would crack this nut.

"What's your story, Jezebel?"

"I don't have one worth mentioning."

I grinned. "That's a lie. You have the name of a power-hungry violent devil-worshipping queen. I'm sure you have a story to tell."

She rolled her eyes.

Again...teenagers.

Silence fell between us once again.

"Perhaps, I'll tell you about myself. My therapist says you have to give a little to get a little."

"I'm not interested," she rebuffed as she opened the first aid kit on her lap.

"You're lying," I accused. She giggled and slipped on a pair of blue medical gloves. "Do you mind sharing what you find comical?"

"You and your son are just alike—always thinking you're the most interesting person in the room."

The corner of my lips twitched. Jezebel Shae King was a mean bitch—much different from the whiny brat of a woman upstairs. Mean or not, that wouldn't deter me. If anything, Jezebel was more intriguing.

I'd moved on from the bourbon to vodka during our moment of silence and slowly sipped on it while I assessed the young woman in my son's life.

"I don't think I'm the most interesting person in the room. You've earned that title." I paused and watched her thread a needle. "Have you ever given someone stitches before?"

"I have. Muffin suffered a few tears in her lifetime," she mumbled.

"Ah, Muffin. The purple stuffed bear that almost cost my son his life."

"The one and only," she confirmed.

"My son tells me a lot about you. It seems he's enamored."

She blatantly ignored me as she positioned Erik where she wanted him, finally ready to play Nurse King. I clucked my tongue in disdain when she got on her knees and turned her back to me as she began suturing my son with a level of ungodly expertise.

"You shouldn't turn your back on your enemy."

"Maybe if you taught your son that lesson, then he wouldn't be bleeding all over this nice cou—"

She paused as if she realized what she said.

"Are you his enemy, Jezebel?"

"I'm not, but Anderson knows the rules. If he goes low, I'll go lower."

She calls him Anderson so openly. Erik despises his middle name, and neither me nor his mother addresses him by it. Jezebel is obviously making a power move. Clearly, I failed as a father. My son is coming across as pussy-whipped, and it should be the other way around, hence the psycho upstairs.

"Is that so?" I challenged. "What would you do if you found out my son cheated on you?"

She bristled but proceeded to answer.