Hearing a noise, she twisted to find Hoss had entered the room during her exchange with Sammy and positioned himself on the bed as he had this morning, back to the headboard, legs stretched out over the covers. He was naked from the waist up and had his tee folded, the fabric draped across his ankles. She looked a question at him, and he laughed.
“I liked seeing you in my shirt, baby.” He shrugged and his lips moved in that sideways smile that always caught at her breath. “Humor me.”
All my waiting
“Mister Hoss?” The two-word question spoken in a clear tenor voice came from nearby, and Hoss peeled one eye open, even as he shifted Hope in his arms, pulling her soft form closer and rubbing his chin across the top of her head. He didn’t see anyone directly in front of him, so he rolled his neck slightly, inwardly sighing as he looked over his shoulder to find Sammy standing beside the bed. The kid looked like he had barely gotten out of bed. His blonde hair was sticking up on top of his head every which way and he was knuckling his eyes fiercely, trying to wake up, glasses still abandoned on the dresser, waiting for their need to be realized.
“Yeah, boy?” He kept his voice down, scarcely above a whisper, not wanting to disturb Hope’s sleep.
“Why are you here?” Followed by a jaw-creaking yawn, that question surprised him, because he expected anything except head-on confrontation from the boy.
“What?” Maybe he didn’t hear him right.
Instead of repeating himself, using the heel of his hand to rub and scratch at his nose, Sammy finished the yawn with a full-body shake and said, “I’m hungry.”
The kid was studiously keeping his eyes off Hope and on Hoss instead, chin turned towards his shoulder and neck wrenched around. Glancing down, Hoss could see nothing amiss, because she was decently covered. He knew she was sleeping in his tee and her panties, but with the comforter pulled up to her shoulders, she could have been dressed in a muumuu for all the kid knew. “Hungry, huh?”
Forty-five minutes later, Hope still hadn’t climbed out of bed. He and Sammy had both eaten cereal for breakfast. Then, the boy dragged him into the living room, declaring it was time for his favorite show, and that nothing would do until Hoss agreed to watch it with him. So, Hoss found himself settled on the couch with a little body tucked in next to him, watching early morning cartoons.
They hadn’t been seated for more than a minute when Sammy shoved himself upright, pushing up onto his knees on the couch cushion, facing Hoss. His mouth pulled down into a bow and his face was serious, so Hoss held his gaze, waiting for the boy to get whatever was eating at him off his chest. After a couple of minutes of their silent standoff, Sammy finally said, “I don’t like it when people talk mean to my mom.”
Slowly nodding, Hoss tried to cast his thoughts back to see when he had talked to Hope in a way that would have triggered the kid like this. Coming up blank, he offered a generic, “I wouldn’t like it either.”
Scrunching up his nose, Sammy scowled and stared at him. “She’s a really good mom.”
“I can see she is, Sam.” He nodded again. “She loves you a whole bunch, and she’s probably one of the best moms I’ve ever known. Except maybe mine.”
Tipping his chin down, Sammy’s gaze fell to the cushion between them, thinking hard. After a minute, he mumbled, “Yeah, I can see where you’d think your mom was better.” Looking up, he said, “Boys love their mothers best.”
Hoss frowned. Was the kid parroting something he had heard, or did he actually understand something like that? “Yeah, I guess we do.”
Sinking sideways against the couch back, Sammy’s gaze cut to the TV then back to Hoss. Clearly torn between enjoying something he wanted to watch, and communicating something important, he chose the hard road, starting with what seemed like a ritual. “No lies.” He paused, waiting to see what reaction he would pull from Hoss, and eventually he nodded in silent satisfaction and continued, “You can’t be mean to Mom. She’s had enough hard. Mac told me she’s had enough hard to last a lifetime.”
The volume of sound from the TV rose and Sammy glanced that direction, but his gaze never made it that far, instead stopping at a picture in a small frame perched on the table beside the couch. Looking closer, Hoss saw he was staring at a print of the same picture Mercy sent him the first night her sister and nephew stayed with her. Hope’s smile was as bright and true as Mercy’s, and their shared joy fairly radiated from the image. Whispering, Sammy said, “She hasn’t had nearly enough good. Not like it is here, not like since we found Aunt Mercy.”
“Do you miss back home?” Hoss asked softly, shocked when the boy shook his head hard.
“Never had a home before now.” Sammy’s chin had tucked down to his chest, and it looked like he was struggling against tears, his lips trembling.
Fuck. “You like it here best of all, then?” He reached out and patted Sam’s skinny leg then threaded his fingers through the boy’s hair, offering comfort in an easy caress.
“Mac and Miss Nelly wanted us to stay with them. They didn’t want us to leave, wanted us to stay like we did one time.” He paused to suck in a hard breath, and Hoss thought he was deciding how much to reveal. Using the side of his hand, Sam swiped hair out of his eyes and looked up at Hoss. “But we don’t like to bother people. Mom didn’t have a choice that one time. It was when the man hurt her.”
“What man?” Hoss’ muscles tensed and he knew the boy saw it, because Sam’s eyes grew wide, white opening up all around the edges. Hoss growled out, “What man hurt your mom?”
“The roommate we had before Gibson,” Sammy whispered, unhelpfully. “Mom calls Gibson a jackhole, because he skated free without paying her rent, but Milner she calls a really bad word.”
“Y’all had lots of roommates?” Hoss found himself wondering why a single mother would take on men as roommates. Something in this wasn’t lining up for him, especially given the confirmation of his suspicions regarding her limited experience with men.
“Not a lot. And, anyways, after Milner, she was way more careful about who it was. Mac told her that where we lived it was best to have it known a man lived there, but after everything with Milner, she talked to them at the diner a bunch of times before giving them a key. He was mean. He talked really mean to her and twisted her arm, hard. He made her cry. A lot. His brother was my hockey coach for about a minute, but Coach was way meaner than his brother, so Mom yanked me fast.” His chin was tucked down again, voice thick.
“I wasted a bunch of her money, because Coach wouldn’t give her any back. She got mad and said a bad word, so Milner twisted her arm and pushed her down. The ambulance guys let me ride up front, and I got to press the button to blow the horn for red lights. The money is why he got mad.” His voice fell to a barely heard whisper, “I told her I was sorry. I tried to stop him. He was mad.”
Fuck. She had to be taken to the hospital by ambulance, because some fucking asshole got pissed that she didn’t like his attitude with the kid. Hope was probably worried out of her mind about Sammy the whole time. And, the kid was carrying guilt he didn’t need, for something that couldn’t ever be his responsibility.
“Coach Milner? Was that his name?” Hoss asked. Myron could find the man, and they had a couple of affiliate clubs down that way. Hell, he had family he could reach out to, too. The way he was feeling right now, it was not too late to teach those fucktard brothers a lesson they wouldn’t soon forget.
“Yeah, that’s Coach.” Sammy nodded once, glancing at the TV again then back to Hoss. “Mac told me it wasn’t my fault. He said sometimes even good boys weren’t able to save the ones we love from bad people. But it’s my job.” He frowned, opened his mouth and closed it, and then in a gesture Hoss had seen him do once before with Mercy, reached out and cupped his palm around the curve of Hoss’ jaw, turning him so they stared into each other’s eyes. His lips moved soundlessly and Hoss read, No lies, a repeat of what the boy had said at the beginning of this conversation. After a moment, Sammy a
sked, his voice tight, “Do you like my mom?”
Without hesitation, because this was important, Hoss answered, “Yes, Sammy, I like your mom a lot.”
“Then you can’t make her sad,” the boy answered just as quickly, and Hoss could hear the tears threatening again as Sammy’s words fell in a hurried rush from his lips. “You can’t be like Milner, or the truck driver, or the man who worked on the car, or anybody else who makes her sad.” His hand fell away, the tiny spot of heat on Hoss’ face slowly dissipating, but the heat in his chest lingered far longer.
Sammy was hard to follow at times, but Hoss thought he got the gist of it. “A truck driver made her sad?”
“He hit our car when we were on the way here. In Indykanapolis. That was after he made ugly faces at her in his mirror, so I didn’t try to get him to blow his horn. Then we got the car fixed, but that man only pretended to be nice. He was really just as bad as the truck driver.” Sammy slumped sideways into Hoss’ side, turning his head to look at the TV finally. “She didn’t even like them, and they made her sad. She likes you. You can’t make her sad.”
“You guys got in an accident on your way here?” He was incredulous, because he didn’t understand why Hope wouldn’t have said anything.
“Yeah, the truck bashed the back of the car. The guy who fixed it called it a bang-bang in the gas hole, and Mom got mad when he said that.” Sammy cut his gaze up to Hoss’ face then back to the TV. “He wanted to like mom kinda like you do, but I did my job.”
“What job is that?” This kid was chockfull of information. Hope hadn’t said anything to him about her roommates, a wreck, or even a mechanic giving her a hard time. Seems she didn’t want to let him carry any of her burdens. He thought, She’s going to have to figure out how to talk to me, get over that reserve.
“Only the most important one.”
Hoss knew the eye roll was implied and he grinned. He guessed, “Keeping your mom safe?”
“Yeah.” Sammy moved away slightly and slumped far down on his back, draping his butt over the edge of the cushion, using his legs to keep himself on the couch. “You know. We gotta keep our best girls safe.”
“Yeah, we do,” he agreed. Maybe this talk was his open door to the boy. “You think I’ll be okay for your mom?”
“No.” That disappointing answer came without a moment’s hesitation, and Hoss rocked back as if from a blow. Then Sammy continued, twisting the knife deeper. “You’re not a nice man. My daddy is a nice man. He’s got a big car and lots of money. My Grandmamma told me so.”
“Is that so?” His tone must have changed, because Sammy looked up at him and warily nodded.
“Yeah. He never gets to help us, because Mom won’t ask him. She likes us to make our own way, so we always know where we stand. But, if she’d have ever called him, he’d have jumped in his car and raced to us. He’s so rich he probably has a plane. So, he’d jump in his plane, too. He’s a nice man.” The longer the boy talked, the tighter his face got until it was clear to Hoss that Sammy didn’t believe one word of what he was spewing. “My Grandmamma told me Mom never loved Daddy, not like he loved her. He loved her so much he had to go away before I was born. The policemen took him away, because he loved her so much.”
Everything in Hoss strained to tell the kid he had it all wrong, to set him straight and let him know he was harboring dangerous delusions, but Hope’s words came back to him. She was not encouraging this kind of hero worship, but she wasn’t discouraging it, either. She was the mom here, so if she felt that way, then it certainly wasn’t his place to set the little turd straight. Instead, he made a noncommittal hum, watching interestedly when Sammy’s face tightened even more, obviously wanting a different reaction from Hoss.
“Do you play hockey?” Another conversational one-eighty from Sammy had Hoss shaking his head quickly and then laughing.
“Where did that come from?” Hoss chuckled. “Nope, I don’t play. I like to watch it, though. Love the game. I go see the Tridents pretty often. Your mom said you like hockey, right? You want to go with me next time? I can get an extra seat if you want.”
“Fort Wayne Tridents? Goons and muckers.” He scoffed, which made Hoss laugh again. The kid was a riot. “I’d go see a game with you, though. Mom knows the game; she’s not terrible to sit with.”
“Was talking about just me and you,” Hoss said, letting his statement land in the space between them, watching as Sammy’s face changed, becoming wary. That look spoke worlds about what the kid had seen or maybe had done to him, living hard like he and Hope had. Anything good had to be looked upon with suspicion and an eye towards the other person’s end goal. Fuck.
“Not Mom?” He voiced the question tentatively, unsure of what Hoss wanted.
“Yeah, it’d be a boys’ night.” He was fishing to see if there was interest, but honestly, Hoss could think of worse ways to spend an evening, especially if it got him a chance to bond with the boy. If things went the way he wanted with Hope, he needed to cement a relationship with Sammy sooner rather than later.
“Boys’ night.” His voice musing, Sammy cut his gaze over to Hoss then back to the TV. “Just us?”
“If your mom’s okay with it, and you want to, yeah. I know from talking to my friends on the team that the Tridents’ practice skates will be starting soon, which means games are right around the corner. First home night traditionally has a free skate with the team after the game, if you were interested in that, too.” He sat, waiting patiently for a moment, thinking about red and white bobbers on sun-kissed water, and then he yanked the line, trying to set the hook. “If you aren’t, that’s no big deal, Sam.”
Sammy’s body jerked upright and he turned to look at Hoss as he blurted, “You’re friends with the players?”
“Yeah, a couple of them. A couple of my friends retired last year, but I know some of the guys still playing on the team.” He lifted one shoulder in a nonchalant shrug, slowly working the line in, hand-over-hand. Hell yeah, this is the way to the kid.
“Who?” That one word was nearly vibrating with anticipation, and he glanced at Sammy to find his eyes fixed on him.
“Who what?” he asked for clarification, because Sammy had been all over the place so far.
“Who do you know? Who was the players?”
“Jason Spencer and Leeland Dugger—” He didn’t get to finish his sentence before Sammy was shouting.
“No way! Duke it out Dugger? You know him? And Spencer? He was amazing in Chicago. Fastest forward in the league, and he played in Russia! He’s Canadian, but he played in Russia. Did you know he won the cup for the Mallets?” The excited words couldn’t tumble out of the kid fast enough, and Hoss grinned to hear it. Landed.
“Yeah, I didn’t get to see him play in Chicago, but he’s talked about the last game often enough. He did well with the Tridents, too.” Before he finished, Sammy’s head was bobbing enthusiastically.
“Yeah, everybody knows that. You know him? Like…really, really know him?” Brow furrowed, Sammy wordlessly communicated his disbelief.
“So yea or nay on the game?” Hoss was ready to move the conversation past this impasse, because until he could introduce Jase or Lee to the little guy, apparently his friendship with famous athletes would be subject to Sammy’s suspicion.
“Yeah!” That was thrown out at him immediately and he nodded.
“Okay, bud. We get your mom’s stamp of approval, and we’ll be golden.”
“Yes. Of course, it’s okay.” When her voice came from behind him, he twisted to look at her, seeing her eyes were overly bright and wet. Her words had been an almost whisper, but Sammy heard them too, and looking up at Hoss with a wide grin, he bounced on the cushion for a moment before the TV captured his attention again, talk of boys’ night and hockey forgotten in the cartoon antics on the screen.
“Baby,” he said softly, holding out a hand, wanting her to take those steps to him so he didn’t have to get up and leave Sammy. The boy had curled into
his side again, and Hoss had curved an arm around him, tugging him in a little tighter. She obliged, walking over and placing her hand in his, threading their fingers together with a squeeze. He tugged and she walked around the end of the sofa, sinking into the cushions by folding her legs underneath her and leaning into his other side.
She eyed Sammy across the expanse of Hoss’ chest, softly saying, “Mornin’, bud.”
Getting a distracted, “Morning,” back, she tipped her head to look up at Hoss.
“Hey,” she breathed and he bent his neck, bringing his face down, placing his lips firmly over hers in a brief, hard kiss.
“Baby,” he repeated, lifting his head to catch Sammy turning back towards the TV, scowl firmly back on his face. “You sleep okay?”
“Mmhmm,” she hummed, nuzzling against him with a sigh. “Best sleep in forever.”
“Good to hear,” he said, giving Sammy a squeeze at the same time he kissed the top of Hope’s head. This, he could get used to.
***
Sammy stared at the TV without seeing it. He had tried his best, but it wasn’t working. He wasn’t going to be able to keep Mom safe from being sad. Jonny had told him to talk up his daddy; they thought it would make Hoss mad—might even make him leave—but he didn’t do anything. Didn’t act mad or hurt, just stayed on the couch as if it was the only place he ever wanted to be. Watching stupid cartoons.
Then he said he knowed people on the Tridents. Sammy didn’t want to believe him, but Hoss hadn’t never, ever lied to him, so he probably did know Duke it out Dugger. He sighed and stiffened when he realized he was leaning heavily into Hoss, feeling the arm tighten around his shoulders, hand curved around his bent knees, giving him a squeeze. He liked this. Liked how safe it made him feel, tucked into the big man’s side. Liked how his mom’s voice sounded when she talked to him or Hoss, because she sounded quiet-happy, which was the best kind of happy he had ever seen from her. Not over-the-top happy, like she could get with Aunt Mercy, but the kind of happy that left a burn in the back of his throat, because he wanted this for her for all the times.
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