A quick rub of my palm against my own cheek tells me I probably look a little grubby, too.
“A drink?” I ask. “I’ve got Scotch.” Shannon told me long ago it’s his favorite second only to local microbrewed beer.
His eyes flash with mischief. “Sounds great.”
I hand him two fingers, neat.
“You pay attention,” he says slowly.
I shrug, then slam my own drink down like a shot of tequila at an all-night poker game in Vegas. Normally, I’d never drink while burning the midnight oil like this, but something about Jason makes me think it’s not a bad idea to loosen up a bit.
He follows my lead, then sets the glass down on my desk and walks to the window. City lights dot the ground like an inverse blanket of stars.
“Helluva view,” he says with a longing sigh.
Nodding, I just smile. “It is.”
“You’ve grown up with this.” A tone of marvel fills his words.
“Yes.” Why argue? He’s right.
“But your dad didn’t.” Jason runs a hand through his thinning hair. “He may have married into money, but he wasn’t born into it. That’s for sure. I remember James. Smart as hell and determined.”
“You knew him?”
“Only because of Marie,” Jason says, looking at me with eyes so similar to Shannon’s I have to check myself and remember they’re not attached to her. “She kept bringing these injured animals to the vet where I worked back then, and one night she brought James in. You’d have thought she’d asked him to eat dinner at the garbage dump.” He laughs. “And yet he found a way to pay for every injured animal. That was right before he hit it big.”
“Before he met my mom.”
Jason frowns. “Your mom. Marie told me about your talk at the cemetery.”
Of course she did.
I stay silent, wondering if I should pour us another round.
“Your mom’s from Mayflower people, right?”
I nod.
“And old money.”
My body goes tight. Where is this conversation heading.
“Yes.”
“She helped James, didn’t she?”
“With investments? Sure. My grandfather did.” That’s all public record.
“You’ve grown up with all this wealth your entire life, then.”
“Yes.”
“But James...James is all Southie.”
“Jason,” I ask slowly, fighting back a defensive tone, “why are you here?”
He gives a wan smile. “It’s about Shannon and the hospital incident.”
“Which one?”
He chuckles, then shakes his head. “My girls and their mother are one of a kind, that’s for sure. How many men can ask what you just asked?”
A smile stretches my mouth before I can stop it.
“We’re lucky.”
“Either that, Declan, or we’re just stupid and don’t realize it.”
“Speak for yourself.”
We stand and stare out at the city until he says, “You kicked us out of Shannon’s room.”
“Yes. And with good reason.”
He nods and grimaces at the same time. “Marie’s awfully hurt.”
“So was Shannon. And Shannon’s my priority.”
“She’s ours, too.”
“Wouldn’t know it back there.”
He clears his throat, tongue rolling between his teeth and lips. “You’re fairly new to Shannon’s life. The jokes are how we all handle stress.”
“Doesn’t make it okay.” This moment is crucial. Thirty years from now, I’ll reflect back on it and if I don’t make the right choice right here, right now, I’ll regret it.
I’m not a man with many regrets. Not adding one right now.
“That doesn’t mean you should have ordered us out.”
“You could have fought me.” I want to ask why he didn’t, but the answer might be too raw. Baring my soul to Shannon is hard enough. Opening myself up to Marie at the cemetery was a surprise. Hell if I’m going to be soft and fluffy with Jason over this issue.
If I can’t do it, I won’t ask another man to do it, either.
He pauses, carefully considering his words. That’s one quality I like in Jason. Unlike Marie, who rushes to fill in silence, Jason is comfortable with it. He can take his time before he says what needs to be said.
“I certainly could have. Legally, we had the right to boot you out of that room. We’re still Shannon’s next of kin.”
“But you didn’t.” Because I was right, I want to add.
“No. It was clear that Shannon wanted you to defend her like that, and even if Marie couldn’t understand that, I could.”
“Marie could have seriously hurt her with that back-smacking stunt,” I growl, showing more emotion than I want to.
“I know. She knows it, too. She’s back home kicking herself and falling into a shame spiral that no amount of Netflix and pampering can pull her out of.”
Shame spiral? These people read too many self-help books.
“But that’s not why you made us leave, and you know it.”
“Why do you think I made you leave?”
“Because you care more about Shannon’s feelings than ours.”
Zing.
“Right.”
“Which is fine,” he adds, searching the room for his glass. He walks over to my desk and picks it up, shaking it in the air. “Got more?”
Relief floods me. I not only have more, I need more. Two generous glass refills later and we’re back at the window.