Page 45 of Demon On Deck

I’ve always been exceptionally close with my parents. They were my first true best friends. I wouldn’t trade that for anything. But in this particular instance, the fact that my Dad can read me like an open book makes me feel exposed. Like a diary left open for anyone passing by to read.

Mom eventually joins us, a glass of her own bourbon in hand.

Dad leans forward, hands clasped on the table. “Tell us everything, son. I know you said you and your mate had a disagreement, but son, you look like absolute hell. What’s going on?”

“Demmir,” my mom huffs.

“What? He looks awful, my flame. I’m not gonna lie to the boy.”

Mom shoots daggers at Dad with her eyes. “I know he looks terrible, just like I know he feels terrible. Which is how we ended up here in the first place. Because a mother knows. Now be gentle, or I’ll scorch your ass to ashes.”

I can’t help but laugh. They’ve bantered like this my whole life. Always playful, always loving. It’s what I’ve always wanted for myself. It’s what I have with Kallie.

Had. What I had with Kallie.

The ache in my chest redoubles as I gasp for air from the sudden pain.

Mom immediately reaches for me, holding my forearm.

When I catch my breath, I spill everything, the words pouring out of me like a waterfall. My parents sit quietly and let me unload everything from our meeting on the cruise, to meeting again here in town, all the way to the moment she told me about her legal problems and asked me to leave.

When I finish, tears stream down my face, the wound exposed.

“I miss her,” I practically sob, “So much. It’s like I’m slowly dying, like my heart has been ripped out of my chest.”

Mom dabs her eyes as Dad nods. “It’s the mate bond. Even though you aren’t fully mated, the bond has already taken root. Her absence has made the bond grow stronger somehow.”

We sit in silence as I try to calm my racing heart and stop the steady flow of tears. Mom does her best to soothe me, her hold on my armsure and reassuring, while Dad seems to be in deep contemplation. It takes some time, but I finally calm, feeling the slightest bit better having unloaded my pain and grief to my parents.

“You need to eat, sweet boy,” my mom says softly.

“I’m not hungry,” I say weakly.

Mom releases my arms and stands. “Nonsense, you need to eat. And not that leftover stuff in the takeout containers that seems to have taken over your fridge,” she scolds gently. “I made dolmas. They always made you feel better when you were little.”

My stomach gives an involuntary rumble, drawing a laugh from my mom. “See, your stomach knows what’s good for you. I’ll grab plates and the food.” She pats my shoulder, then heads into the kitchen.

Midway through dinner, Dad, who has been particularly quiet, finally speaks.

“She needs a forensic accountant,” he says.

”What?”

“You said her ex is trying to get more money from her. Thinks Kallie is hiding money from profits she made off the contracts she has with the local grocery stores. Is that right?”

“Basically, yes. From what I remember of the documents she showed me, there was mention of disputing the divorce settlement because money was hidden and potentially placing a lien on the flower shop.”

Dad gives a curt nod, leaning his forearms on the table. “Forensic accountant. The Sherlock Holmes of accounting. Looks for fraud, misconduct, and audits accounts to make sure everything is on the legal up and up.”

That sounds like it's exactly what Kallie could use, I think, perking up, then immediately deflating.

“But I assume they’re expensive.”

“Can be,” Dad confirms.

I slump back in my chair. “I don’t know the ins and outs of her finances, but from what I do know, she’s just crawling out from under a mountain of legal debt from the divorce. These contracts with the grocery stores are what’s helping her finally get back on her feet. And she’d never accept financial help to pay for it. She made that clear when she asked me to leave.”

“What if she didn’t have to pay?” Dad asks as casually as he’d ask me to pass the baba ghanoush.