by Aly Martinez
“Woman, you have a nearly six-foot cardboard cutout of a TV vampire in your closet. I’m not sure you are in any position to be discussing age-appropriate behavior right now.”
She crossed her arms over her chest, but not even her glare could hide her humor. “Did you seriously just call me woman?”
I mirrored her posture. “Did you seriously just produce a flat man out of your closet?”
“Oh my God.” She giggled. “Are you jealous? Of a piece of cardboard?”
“Pshh…no,” I replied, twisting my lips and looking to Travis for backup.
He gave me none.
“He’s totally jealous,” he said, tipping his head back to look at Charlotte.
Hannah patted her on the leg. “Are you really a vampire?”
“No,” I answered. “She’s a poor woman with a very serious hoarding problem.” I plucked the stupid cutout from her hands. “And we are going to help her with this by tossing Ian here to the curb.”
“You are not!” Charlotte exclaimed, grabbing the man’s feet.
“Oh, but I am,” I whispered.
Tug-of-war ensued. And, while I wasn’t jealous in the least, I was having so much fun watching her interact with the kids that I would have kept the charade up for the rest of my life.
There was a woman I’d never thought I’d be able to get into the same room with my kids and she was joining forces with them against me. I fucking loved it.
“Porter, stop!” She laughed as I started toward the door, Ian firmly in my grasp, her dragging behind us.
“He’s going to the dumpster,” I declared.
Travis held her hips to try to help, and Hannah grabbed her brother’s hips to complete the chain of people I loved. (Well, minus Ian, of course.)
“I’m willing to negotiate for his safety!” Charlotte laughed.
I froze but kept my hold on Ian tight. Arching an eyebrow, I said, “I’m listening.”
Smiling, she bent and whispered something in Travis’s ear.
“I want to hear!” Hannah cried, bouncing on her toes.
Travis scrubbed his chin while staring off into space. “I like this plan,” he said.
Partitioning her mouth off, Charlotte whispered what I assumed was the same thing in Hannah’s ear.
Her whole face lit, her brown eyes dancing with what could only be described as pure joy.
“We are prepared to offer the addition of chocolate chips to the pancakes in exchange for Ian’s safe return,” Charlotte said.
I gave the cardboard cutout a sharp tug. “No deal.”
“Come on, Dad!” Travis whined.
Putting a hand up to quiet him, Charlotte sucked in a long breath through her nose. With the most beautiful blank face I’d ever seen, she asked, “What if we were willing to add sausage on the side?”
My children stared at me expectantly. Neither of them ate sausage, but they knew I did.
It was a completely ridiculous conversation, but it filled my hollow chest in unimaginable ways.
One week earlier, I’d had my son snatched away from me.
One week earlier, I’d lost all hope of ever having my family again.
One week earlier, I’d sat in a police station with my entire life unrecognizable
Yet one week later, I had everything I could ever want in one room, all staring at me, waiting for me to agree to chocolate chip pancakes and sausage.
My instincts told me to shut the door, lock it, and ride out the rest of my life in that room with them. The world outside was entirely too dark for lights that bright.
I stared at Charlotte, flanked by my kids—her son—her smile wide, her eyes full of love, and my heart became whole for what felt like the very first time.
“Make that bacon and you’ve got a deal.”
“Bacon!” Hannah squealed.
“What do you think?” she asked Travis out of the corner of her mouth while holding my gaze.
Travis chuckled and looked up at his mother. “I could eat some bacon.”
Her lips twitched. “You’ve got a deal. Now, return the hostage unharmed.”
I released Ian. “Kids, go see if Charlotte has any whipped cream in her fridge.”
“Yes!” Hannah yelled, sprinting from the room, Travis hot on her heels.
“If we use all the whipped cream for pancakes, we won’t have any for tonight,” she teased when we heard the kids celebrating their victory in the kitchen.
Hooking an arm around her shoulders, I pulled her against my chest and then planted a kiss on her mouth. “I’ll stock my fridge with whipped cream, you kinky minx.”
She grinned. “If it’s at your house, it won’t do us much good.”
“Come back to my place tonight,” I whispered.
Her eyes flared with alarm. “Porter—”
“Listen, it’s just for one night. Let the kids have a night of normalcy.”
“But that’s not normal anymore,” she argued. “It’s not ever going back to the way it was. You can’t get them attached to that.”
“The new normal is me and you together. Whether that be at my house or at your house. It doesn’t matter. This…right here”—I pointedly tightened my arm around her—“is what I want them to get used to.”
“But what about the protection order?”
“Exactly. We’ll be safer at my house. Here, anyone could stop by. At my place, worst case is my mom shows up and gets to see her grandson. She’s not going to rat us out. And I know for a fact that you can’t say that same thing about anyone in your family.”
She stared at her feet. “I don’t know, Porter. Going back to your place…”
“Back when the kids were a real issue for you, I used to dream about having you in my home. The kids fighting around us while you and I cook dinner in the kitchen.”
“You mean while I cook dinner in your kitchen,” she smarted. “You forget I’ve seen your culinary skills in action. I probably still have the burn marks to show for it.”
I smirked. “Yes, that’s exactly what I meant. But I’m more than willing to sit on the counter and cheer you on.” I dipped and kissed her. “I want you in my home, Charlotte. I want the kids to sleep in their own beds, even for just one night. And I want to sleep in a room with a door and a bed so, if the mood strikes you, we can seriously utilize one of the twenty-seven cans of whipped cream that are now on my grocery list.”
She giggled and stared up at me.
Oh, I was in love with Charlotte Mills. No falling about it.
But, with the sentence that followed, I started to question why.
“Can Ian come too?”
“Woman!” I growled at the same time she burst into laughter.
* * *
Porter: I got you a Chihuahua for dinner. You’re still good with that, right?
I bit my bottom lip and straightened in the seat of my car. I was sitting outside Brady’s house, waiting on Travis to finish dinner. Butterflies the likes I’d never experienced fluttered in my stomach.
Me: You really know how to drive a joke into the ground.
Porter: Is that a no?
Me: Did you cook it?
Porter: Are you insane?
Me: I’m dating you, aren’t I?
Porter: So I AM your boyfriend?
I smiled, my face actually aching after I’d spent the day with Porter, Travis, and Hannah (God, that little girl was cute). We laughed more that day than I suspected any of us had in years.
But all good things came to an end.
Around five that afternoon, I’d had to take Travis to Brady’s for dinner.
Porter and I had briefed Travis about not mentioning to Brady that his father had spent the night—and especially not that we were going back to his house that night. My boy’s smile had stretched so wide at that news that I didn’t figure we had anything to worry about.
Me: Who said anything about you being my boyfriend?
Porter: Oh, I’m sorry. I just assumed consideri
ng you can’t stop thinking about me naked.
Me: This? Again?
Porter: Tell me it’s not the truth.
Me: It’s not the truth.
Porter: Now, say it again, but this time, leave out the lies.
Me: I worry about your sanity sometimes.
Porter: Fine. But am I naked in your head while you worry?
I barked a laugh and glanced at the clock on the top of my phone. Three more minutes until I could get Travis and head over to Porter’s house.
This thing between us was crazy. We had a long way to go before Porter and I could ever have something solid again—or, more accurately, for the first time. But he’d been right in the darkness: As long as we held on to each other, we didn’t have to worry about the rest. When we were together, the world didn’t just stop—it disappeared. Travis was happy. Porter was happy. I was happy. And, judging by Hannah’s squeals of delight when I’d braided her hair that morning, I assumed she was happy too.
Me: You aren’t naked… You’re wearing a lovely pair of women’s underwear.
Porter: Wow. I’m not sure I wanted to know that.
Me: You still want to be naked in my head?
Porter: Maybe… How do I look in them?
Me: Ah…okay. You’re that type of guy. With a name like Porter Reese, I should have seen this coming.
Porter: Damn straight. That’s a sexy name.
Me: My mother always warned me about dating men with two first names.
Porter: What the hell kind of blasphemy is that?
Me: I don’t know, but now that I know you’re considering how well you’d fill out a pair of my panties, it’s making me wonder if she wasn’t right.
Porter: Well, you’re in luck. Your boyfriend also has two LAST names.
Me: Annnndddd…we’re right back to the boyfriend thing.
Porter: Yep. But look, it’s seven. Go get our boy and then get your sexy ass over here.
My stomach dipped, and I nearly dropped my phone.
Our boy.
My chest got impossibly warm, the words wiggling deep under my skin until they were stroking my soul.
That’s who he was.
Ours.
Porter hadn’t been there the day he had been born.
And I hadn’t been there when he had grown up.
But, as a team, one of us had always been there. First for Lucas, and then for Travis.
Tears pricked the backs of my eyes, the words I love you all but clawing their way up my throat. I tamped them down.
Me: Are you going to be wearing women’s underwear when I get there?
Porter: Not a chance in hell.
I smiled and swung my car door open. I was halfway up to the door when my phone buzzed in my hand.
Porter: And, as soon as the kids go to sleep, you won’t be wearing any, either.
That warmth in my chest traveled south.
Travis chose that exact moment to come barreling out the front door. I jumped and, with pink cheeks, tucked my phone into my pocket.
“Charlotte!” Travis yelled, nearly plowing me over. “Can we go back to your apartment now?” He winked, which was more like a blink.
My lips immediately thinned, and I allowed my gaze to drift over his shoulder to where Brady was standing, his shoulder propped against the doorjamb, a hard scowl aimed at me.
Shit.
I was in no mood to go toe to toe with Brady. I was happy, really and truly, for the first time in nearly a decade. And I refused to allow him to ruin that for me.
But just because I refused didn’t mean it wasn’t going to happen anyway.
“Hey, we need to talk,” he called out.
I groaned internally. “Go wait in the car, Trav. I’ll be there in a minute.”
“Front seat?” he asked.
I gave him a side-eye. He asked that question every time we walked out my front door.
And, every time, I answered with, “Back seat.”
Poor kid was lucky I didn’t make him sit in a booster seat. Forget about riding in the front.
“Aw, man,” he complained and then took off toward my car.
With all the enthusiasm of a snail, I walked over to Brady.
“What’s up?” I asked, praying that Travis had been as good as I’d thought he’d been about keeping our little Porter secret.
Brady shoved a hand into the pocket of his jeans. “I want him overnight this weekend.”
My shoulders snapped back, and my body went on alert. “What? No way!”
He cocked his head to the side. “I’m not asking. You’ve had him every night since he’s been back.”
I crossed my arms over my chest and glared. “Yeah, Brady. Because he’s sick. He wakes up two to three times a night for breathing treatments and other medication. We both know I’m better equipped to handle that than you are. It’s best if he stays with me. Look, you can have him Saturday during the day, but he’s coming home with me on Saturday night.”
He caught my elbow and yanked me toward him. “Then teach me.”
“Have you lost your mind?” I hissed, snatching my arm away. “Don’t touch me.”
Shame flashed in his eyes. He raked a hand through the top of his hair and then cupped the back of his neck. “Shit. I’m sorry.”
And, as if Brady’s apology hadn’t been shocking enough, he lifted his gaze to mine, the grief and dejection almost knocking me back a step.
“I need more time with him. He’s not connecting with me like he is with you. He was here for all of two hours tonight. And an hour and a half of that was spent asking when you were coming back to get him.”
Guilt settled heavily in my belly. “Brady…I…”
“What am I doing wrong?”
Keeping him from Porter.
“It’s only been a week. Be patient.”
“It took him, like, ten minutes to warm up to you, Charlotte.”
I cut my gaze to the ground. “He’d seen me with Porter. It was built-in trust.”
“Jesus,” he breathed, tipping his chin toward my car. “He can’t get out of here fast enough.”
Following his gaze, I found Travis frantically waving for me to come on.
Suddenly, I felt like a heel.
Travis didn’t want to leave Brady’s; he just wanted to go home—to Porter’s.
I gave Brady’s forearm a squeeze. “I’ll talk to him. Okay?”
“Yeah. Sure. I’ll see you tomorrow.” He waved, and before I even had a chance to move, he shut the door.
Every light in the room was on. My head was thrown back against the pillow, my hand in the top of Porter’s hair, his mouth between my legs.
It should be noted that, while bathroom sex was amazing, a bed definitely had its merits. The best of which being the ease in which Porter could trail his mouth over every inch of my body.
A strangled cry escaped my throat as his fingers roughly filled me while his tongue swirled over my clit.
“Porter, please,” I begged, tugging at his hair.
“Not until you come again,” he rumbled, the vibrations doing some seriously nice things.
“I can’t, bab—oh God.” What started as a whisper morphed into a moan when he twisted his fingers, curling them inside me.
When Travis and I had arrived at the house, a set of nerves I’d never even considered had exploded within me.
Porter had been waiting on the porch for us. But, while looking up at that two-story brick home, I found myself dreading getting out of the car. How was I supposed to walk into that house without feeling like an intruder?
That house was a portal to an entirely different dimension.
A gateway to the world in which my son had grown up.
A world where he called another woman mom.
The same woman who had taken him from me.
Numbly, I’d accepted a kiss from Porter before he’d guided me inside. One step through the door and I realized that it was worse than I’d feared. Images of
my son covered the walls in a weird yet charming hodgepodge of frames. As much as I wanted to investigate, memorize, and absorb every one of those stolen moments from his childhood, I couldn’t bring myself to look.
What if she was in the pictures? Holding my son. Smiling with my son. Laughing with my son. Living and enjoying every moment she’d robbed me of.
I’d told myself that the past didn’t matter, but it still felt like a dozen copies of his deep-brown eyes were boring into me from all angles, taunting me with memories I’d never have.
So I pretended those pictures didn’t exist.
Only they became all I could think about.
Curiosity consumed me while self-preservation waged its war.
I smiled on cue. Laughed when something was funny. Held on to Porter as if he could make it stop. But I never opened my mouth to tell him why I was silently losing my mind.
It wasn’t his fault that Catherine had turned out to be a madwoman. But being there, where she had once lived, was smothering me.
After eating a takeout dinner from The Porterhouse—on dishes the woman I hated with every fiber of my being had probably bought—we’d spent the night on the couch she’d probably sat on, my legs tangled with a man who had once vowed to love her and my son playing—and fighting—with her daughter.
She had stolen my child and seamlessly slipped him into her dead son’s life.
Was I now slipping into her life?
During a movie the kids had insisted we watch, they had fallen asleep.
Porter did not delay in carrying them both to their rooms.
And then carrying me to his bed.
Or was it her bed?
Desperate for a distraction from the swirling tornado in my head, I eagerly welcomed his body.
Porter took me long and hard, until we were both covered in a sheen of sweat. But, even after we’d finished, I wasn’t ready to go back to reality.
In the shower, I guided his hands between my legs and pretended for a little while longer. Only I couldn’t silence my mind long enough to find another release. So, when the hot water had turned to cold, it had forced us, dripping wet, through his bedroom, where he’d planted me on the bed seconds before his mouth disappeared between my legs.