KEPT: A Second Chance Fairy Tale (32 page)

Since we’ve been home, he’s been engrossed in finding games to watch on television before he goes to his first one tonight. I’m trying not to let it get to me. I then tried to ignore my son’s excitement when he found out I wasn’t the one who’d be taking him, but it’d be Michael.

“Do you think he’ll like this?” Dillon questions with young concern, pulling his shirt from his small body and looking over the new jersey we’d finally decided on. He’s been wearing it all day.

“I’m sure he will,” I reply, pulling it down and out of his hands to avoid getting it dirty.

Dillon pauses, then looks up and asks, “Can I wear my hat, too?”

“Outside,” I advise. “Not in the house.”

Dillon jumps in place the moment the knock on the door echoes into the room.

“He’s here! He’s here!” he chants, racing from my side and opening it wide before checking who it could be.

When I make my way to stand beside him, my heart flutters a few beats as I take Michael in. He’s not dressed in Yankee attire. Other than the Chicago Cubs baseball hat he’s wearing, no one would guess he’s going to a game. He’s wearing incredibly faded blue jeans, worn and ripped at the knee. His running shoes also look comfortably weathered.

His eyes are somewhat hidden under his hat, but when they come to mine, they narrow slightly. He scans my body, stopping at my chest. His lips curve to one side as he must recognize the design on my tank top. I wore it on purpose. After days of his ribbing at my expense in regards to my love of Disney, I chose this one specifically. It’s a mockup of
Beauty and the Beast
, and I’d be lying if I didn’t admit how much Michael reminds me of that very character. Even more so now than before.

“You don’t look like you’re headed to a baseball game,” I observe, still unable to take my eyes from him.

Michael doesn’t answer, but looks down at Dillon. My son stands in front of me, still proudly displaying his jersey. I sense he’s waiting for Michael’s approval. When Michael grabs the sleeve carefully and looks down to take in Dillon’s attire, Dillon beams.

“You look like you’re ready to watch the Yankees win,” Michael says with a genuine smile.

I feel my legs grow slack. Watching Michael with my son is surreal. There’s never been any man, including my own father, who’s offered to spend time alone, man to boy, with Dillon.

“Wanna see my hat?” Dillon asks with obvious excitement.

My hands reach for Dillon’s shoulders. I pull him back closer to me so Michael has room to step inside. He moves as Michael’s large frame enters, leaving the door open, and taking up so much of the space in my small home.

Deciding now is a good time to have the talk with Michael about what Dillon can and can’t do while he’s out, I instruct, “Honey, go get your things together. Grab your backpack and hat. I’ll call you when it’s time to go, okay?”

Dillon shrugs, not looking back at me. He focuses on Michael and smiles. “I’ll be right back.”

Michael returns his grin and watches intently as he disappears, skipping down the hall.

“I just wanted to…”

The rest of my words are lost.

Michael’s arms reach out, grabbing my waist and pulling me half inside and half outside of my apartment, also hiding me from Dillon’s view. My back is against the door, my mouth being invaded by his. His hands grip my ass nearly to the point of pain. Before I can reach to hold on to him, I feel his finger caressing the underside of my breast as he quietly releases a small moan into my mouth.

God, I could get used to being greeted like this.

Pulling away, Michael’s lips glisten from the kiss. He grins. “Nice top,” he tells me, running his finger down my chest. “It suits you.”

“I wanted to have a talk,” I tell him, “but you’re too close.”

His foot nudges mine to inch my legs apart, his knee resting between them before I have a chance to distract him. The warmth from his body pools the heat in my core, and being that my son is inside, it’s still daylight, and any passerby outside could clearly see us from where we stand, I resist the urge to further enjoy the connection.

“Talk,” he insists, bending his neck and using his mouth to assault my bare shoulder, following it up with kisses along my neck.

Dear god, it takes nothing to seduce me.

“Are you my mom’s boss?” I hear Dillon say as he comes to find us where we stand.

Michael jumps back, and I hold in a laugh. The guilty look on his face is hilarious. A six-year-old just put him in his place without even knowing it.

Michael clears his throat, but his voice is still raspy as he answers, “Yes.”

Dillon apparently isn’t uncomfortable at all, so I’m doubting he saw more than he should.

“She doesn’t like to be bossed around,” he casually explains. “She gets really mad when I try to tell her what we should do.”

Michael’s gaze comes to mine. He smirks, lifting only the part of his mouth I can see. “Is that so?”

“Yeah,” Dillon agrees. “She gets cranky.”

“I’ll have to remember that.”

“So, ground rules,” I interrupt. I’d already gone over them with Dillon, so his sigh of annoyance falls on my deaf ears. “There are only a few.”

Michael turns to wink at Dillon, and if he doesn’t stop working the bonding angle with my son, I won’t get through it.

I push on Michael’s chest. He steps back and allows me back into my apartment.

“Dillon,” Michael addresses. “My car is the black one with the man standing outside of it. His name is Marcus. There’s a gift for you inside. Go, sit patiently, and I’ll be out in a few minutes.”

Dillon’s eyes widen, already anticipating whatever gift Michael has brought him. Before he rushes out of the apartment, I pull on the back of his jersey.

“Kiss for Mom?” I ask, leaning toward him.

My once so loving son scrunches his face, reluctantly leaning in to kiss my cheek. Not about to let that fly, I grab him and hug him tight. I know there won’t be many years left for me to do this, so I take full advantage, in the presence of others or not.

Dillon snaps himself out of my hold with a flippant, “I’ll see you later.”

“Be good,” I shout out the door and to his back just as Marcus gives me a small wave before opening the car door.

When I turn around, I find Michael standing with his arms crossed over his chest. With the small growth around his jaw, his annoyed stance, and his casual dress, he doesn’t look anything like the Michael I’ve always remembered.

I’ve quickly found I like him any and all ways.

“Okay,” I firmly start my lecture. “First, make sure he gets enough water. It’s hot and he’ll dehydrate.”

“Got it.”

“Make sure he doesn’t overeat because he will if you let him.”

“Okay.”

“Make sure he says ‘please’ and ‘thank you’. Manners are important.”

“Lucy?” I hear him question, his eyebrows lifting in bemusement.

“Also, I know the sun’s going down, but I packed some sunblock for his face.”

“Lucy,” he says again, his voice a little sterner than before.

“One thing he doesn’t…”

Again, my words are lost.

This kiss isn’t fevered. It’s hard and punishing, clearly meant to be a message. He’s heard enough of my voice and he’s using this maneuver to shut me up.

Once he’s done what he’d hoped to do, the hair at the nape of my neck is pulled gently and I’m standing so close, I’m forced to look up.

“I’ve got this,” he assures. “I’ve got a niece. I had a son. I’m not oblivious to kids.”

“I know,” I agree.

“He’ll be fine,” he adds.

“I know.”

Michael shakes his head and grins. “All your rules are out the window, just so you know.”

“What?” I snap, squinting and waiting for clarification.

“Do you trust me?”

“Yes.” And I do to a point. “But you’re just now meeting him. I’ve got years of experience with who he is.”

Michael lets me go and steps back to move around me. Once he’s at the door, he turns and looks me up and down again. The look on his face is carnal, if a little possessive. “What time does he go to bed?”

“Nine,” I tell him. “But he’s going to Stella’s tomorrow, so whenever you get back is fine. He’ll be tired.”

“Will you?” he questions quietly, sending shivers up and down my back.

“No,” I whisper, feeling the effects rush through the rest of my body.

“I’ll text you when we’re on our way back,” he informs me, then looks again at my chest. This time, I sense he’s not noticing the design, but what’s under it. “Be wearing that later,” he demands, his voice again raspy.

I give a mock salute and reply, “Aye aye, Captain.”

He laughs once, then closes the door behind him.

Michael

“Do you have a dog?” Dillon questions in a serious tone.

He’s sitting across the back seat from me. Each time my eyes move to the rearview mirror, I catch Marcus looking back and smiling.

“No,” I answer.

Without taking a breath, he follows up with, “Cat?”

“No.”

“Do you like the Yankees?”

No, I don’t, but telling him this would lead to more questions so, keeping it simple, I state, “Yes.”

“What’s your favorite baseball team?”

“The Cubs.”

“They’re okay,” he replies as he plays with the laces of his shoes he’s tied up twice.

He told me right away that his mom ties them too tight, so when she leaves him with Stella, he has to fix them without her knowing. The kid knows how to work his mother, and he’s only six. I smile, knowing Lucy’s going to get exactly what’s coming to her in the years that follow.

“How many Yankees games have you been to?”

“A lot.”

Not only does he know his mother, I’ve noticed he’s like her in many ways. His questions are incessant, and I’ve found myself answering them just as quickly as he asks. He’s a good kid. I wasn’t uncertain about taking him because, in my opinion, every young boy should learn the game. I was more hesitant on Lucy’s behalf. She worried I wouldn’t take care of him as she would, but she’s wrong.

Although Caleb was my son and only three when Corbin and I took him to his first game, I know how to care for a kid. It’s not science. Talk to them, feed them, and enjoy the time you have together.

Finally, once we’re pulling up to the field, Dillon grows quiet and watches the crowd in the parking lot, filing up to the stadium.

“Are you ready?” I question, pulling him from his focus out the window.

He nods and grabs his bag full of whatever Lucy deemed to pack. I can’t imagine what’s in there, but it’s not going with us.

After I’ve instructed him to leave it behind, Marcus drops us at the entrance and we head inside.

Once we make our way to our seats, directly behind home plate, the game starts. With every inning, Dillon’s excitement increases. His eyes stay trained on the players, and every now and then, he turns to ask me a question. For a six-year-old, his inquiries are of high quality. He already has a firm understanding of the game. With a little teaching, he’d enjoy being here even more.

I give him whatever he asks. Not because I’m buying his friendship or intending to impress him, but because he’s six and I’m unsure how long it’ll be before he ever sees a game again. Corbin and I had to earn these tickets, and I refuse to pay the price of season seats.

“That was so awesome,” he enthusiastically voices around a mouthful of ballpark frank.

As we walk toward the exit, I’m balancing his drink, my beer, and the souvenirs I told him to pick out. I held it to three and he didn’t ask for more.

Good kid.

“I can’t wait to come see another one,” he tells me, eyes shining in appreciation. “My mom won’t believe this.”

His mom.

I hadn’t let myself think about the way I left her at her apartment earlier. When the door opened and I took in what she was wearing, my body went on edge. I hadn’t meant to touch her. Fear of not wanting to leave held its grip. The edge I was balancing on quickly faded as Dillon made his way to us.

The promise of what’s to come after he goes to bed has kept my thoughts company.

Lucy

I
’VE BEEN WAITING WITH BATED
breath for the boys to return since Michael texted me the picture of Dillon holding a box of popcorn and downing a drink of bottled water. His concentration was forward so, in his profile, I saw his cheeks were red, but he looked so overwhelmingly happy, I could hardly control my smile.