Justifying Jack (The Wounded Warriors Book 2) Read Online Free PDF Page B

older woman cut her some slack and let her off the hook by saying, “Don't worry, dear, I'm only teasing. I've just never seen you so… distracted before. I guess I couldn't resist teasing.”
    “Yeah, I guess I sort of was… distracted,” Marithé couldn't help feeling relieved as she repeated the generous word choice of her manager and friend. Though she was certain it showed plainly on her face, Shonda refrained from further commenting on her ill-concealed emotions. Instead, she extended a steaming mug towards her.
    “Here, I grabbed you a fresh cup of coffee. It should help to get the motor running again.”
    “Thank you,” Marithé responded, eagerly taking the mug and trying to hide the return flush igniting her face by sipping from the hot beverage.
Oh, I don't think there's anything wrong with my motor!
    * * *
    Malcolm peeked over the top of his laptop at the sound of Jack opening the kitchen door. It was evident by his expression that he hadn't expected Jack to be back so soon.
I hadn't expected it either.
    “Hey, Dad,” he gave an uncomfortable wave, leaned his cane against the wall, then pulled his jacket off and hung it on the hook beside the door.
    “Hi, Jack,” Malcolm replied as he returned to the keys.
    “Working on a new sermon?” Jack surmised.
    “Hmmm,” his father murmured absently. Jack glanced at Malcolm, amused as his father lifted his head, looking down his nose and through the bottom section of his bifocal glasses to read what he'd written.
How many times have I seen him in that exact position? Whether he's writing his sermon by hand or typing it doesn't matter, he still looks the same; serious, thoughtful, and… unavailable.
    Jack continued to move through the kitchen towards his little room, but he only took a few steps before his father refocused on him. “Oh, Jack. Someone named Mike called while you were out. I left the message by the phone.”
    “Mike?” Jack replied, happy to hear his friend's name. “Huh, I wonder why he called.”
    “Read the message and you'll know,” Malcolm remarked. His comment was more matter-of-fact than anything else so Jack blew it off, realizing it wasn't meant in a discourteous manner.
    Cool,
Jack thought as he read the message scrawled on a small notepad next to the phone.
The guys want to get together tonight at Dave and Buster's
. It had been years since he'd been there.
That should be fun.
    Hearing the crinkle of the paper as Jack grasped the message, Malcolm asked, “Did you submit your application?”
    The mention of the church job reminded Jack it would be his father who would offer candidates to the board members. “Ah, yeah.” He turned his gaze to Malcolm, meeting his eyes. “Why didn't you say you were in charge of the interviews?”
    “I didn't want you counting your chickens before they hatched,” Malcolm gestured dismissively.
As if you ever did me any favors which would lead me to assume such a thing.
    “Dad, I don't expect anything -”
    “Jack,” Malcolm interrupted, getting up from the table and standing in front of his son. “I know you think I'm… an asshole…” the word seemed so foreign on his father's lips, adding to the man's discomfort as much as it emphasized his words.
    “Dad, I…”
    “Let me finish, please,” Malcolm requested, holding a hand up to stifle his son's objection.
    “Sorry,” Jack apologized. “Please go ahead.”
    “Thank you. Look, I'm only hard on you because I want the best for you. I… I don't mean to offend you.” Jack was moved by the admission and a pang of guilt shot through him when he recognized the sadness reflected in his father's eyes. “I'm… I'm glad you're home, son. I just, I don't want you to forget your worth.”
    Wow. Where had that come from?
“Thanks, Dad. I appreciate you saying that.”
    “I love you, son.” Malcolm awkwardly patted Jack's upper arm, never one for public displays of affection, even in the privacy of their own home. “I'm sorry if I