Something in the Way: A Forbidden Love Saga: The Complete Collection

by Hawkins, Jessica

  He glanced up and caught me staring at him. “Lake,” he said.

  “What is it, Great Bear?” I asked. “Can’t read your mind. You want something, you have to ask for it.”

  “It’s not fair to you.” He spread his fingers on my tummy, brushing the tips of my middle fingers. “The next few months—years—are going to be chaos for us.”

  “But?”

  “But I can’t help feeling I’m turning my back on this kid, when I understand exactly what he’s going through.”

  I waited for Manning to ask. This couldn’t be for me—everything else he did, he did for me. Once the baby was born, Manning would be working overtime for both of us. If he wanted to adopt a nine-year-old boy, he had to say it aloud. He had to need it.

  “What’s his name?” I asked.

  “Mateo. Mateo Alvarado.”

  “Mateo,” I repeated. I formed a picture of him in my mind, a skinny, dark-haired kid weighed down by a gun. “Have you met him?”

  He shook his head, removing his hands to cross his forearms over his chest. “I sent some things to Cheryl—boys’ clothes and toiletries, that kind of stuff. He didn’t even have a second pair of shoes. It doesn’t feel like enough.”

  “Would anything feel like enough?” I asked.

  “Only the obvious.” He scrubbed his jaw, glancing out the window over the sink. He’d finished the stable long ago, but we’d shifted our focus right from dogs to babies and hadn’t talked about getting a horse in a long time. Too much to handle—and yet here we were, discussing a nine-year-old boy.

  Nine was terribly young—Maddy’s age when she’d passed.

  “What is it?” I prompted. “What’s the obvious solution?”

  He turned back to me, his eyes narrowed in thought. He struggled with whatever was running through his mind. “I want to help. More than that,” he admitted. “I want to . . . meet him.”

  Though I’d half-expected him to say it, it took my mind a moment to catch up. Manning and I could help financially from a distance. That meant there was really only one reason to meet Mateo. “And what if he’s a good kid? Like you were?” I asked. I tried to hide the emotion in my voice so Manning could make this decision on his own, but I suspected he saw through me. “What if he’s being punished for doing the right thing?”

  He hesitated. “Then I’m not sure I can stand by and let it happen. If that means adoption, then I guess that’s what I want. Maybe it’s selfish of me to ask that of you with everything we have going on.”

  I inhaled a deep breath. It was no small thing, what he was suggesting. I didn’t know the right response, if one even existed, but I couldn’t think of a time in recent history when Manning had been selfish. I’d tried to get him to be, actually, and he never was—which was how I knew this was important to him.

  If I’d had the opportunity to save Manning years ago, either from his sister’s death or from his prison sentence, I wouldn’t have hesitated a moment. It was possible I wanted this, too—I wasn’t sure. But Manning had asked for it, and I at least owed him my support until we learned more.

  He cinched his brows, watching me. “What are you thinking?”

  I held his gaze a few moments, his brown eyes torn but full of love. I’d fought hard for that love, for a permanent spot next to him in the universe, and to complete our little triangle. But triangles weren’t the only shapes out there, not even in the sky. “I think we moved our stars, Manning,” I said. “Maybe now, we help rearrange someone else’s.”

  Epilogue

  A HOT SUMMER DAY, 2018

  I waited on the back porch, Mads balanced on my hip, while Henry tied his shoes. He had a very particular method of looping his bunny ears and would not be rushed—my son took after his father that way. Once satisfied, he got up from his knee and took my hand even though we were only going across the yard.

  “Okay, Mommy,” he said. “Let’s go.”

  I took the kids down the steps and across the grass. Manning had opened all the doors and windows of his workshop, but neither he nor Mateo would’ve noticed a herd of elephants coming. Jimi Hendrix blared on the stereo, and Mateo played a hammer like an electric guitar while Manning sanded down a bedframe.

  I whistled and waved until I got Manning’s attention. He shut off the sander and lowered the volume before pushing his goggles onto his head.

  As soon as Madison spotted her daddy, she reached for him, practically vaulting out of my arms. “She loves you more than me,” I complained as he came over and took her from me.

  “What can I say?” He bounced her to “Foxey Lady” and brushed her messy black curls from her face. “I have a way with the ladies.”

  I rolled my eyes. “It’s fine,” I said, bending down to squeeze Henry in a hug from behind. “Because this one’s a momma’s boy, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

  “Yes, Mom,” he said as if I’d asked him to take out the trash. Henry was my serious little man—he looked just like Manning and acted as if he carried the world on his shoulders. I’d planned to call him Chuckie, the name my dad had gone by as a kid, but Henry had come out of the womb quiet and frowning, and I knew—he was not a Chuckie. Henry Charles Sutter it was, and even though my baby didn’t cry on the day of his birth, both his godfather and grandfather had sure as hell shed tears of joy.

  Mateo shuffled out of the workshop, cleaning his hands on a rag. At fourteen, he was taller, and almost skinnier, than me. “Since you’re home today, are you making us lunch?” he asked.

  “Hey.” Manning nodded at him. “She’s not your personal chef.”

  “Aren’t I, though?” I asked. Nothing made me happier than feeding my family, and Manning knew it, but ever since we’d gone from the two of us to having young boys in the house, Manning had been even more of a stickler about showing me respect. No son of his would treat his woman as anything less than a queen.

  “Sorry,” Mateo said, bopping Mads on the nose as she giggled and tried to grab his finger.

  “Actually, I am about to make lunch,” I said. “We came out to take orders.”

  Manning removed the goggles on his head, tossing them on the nearest work table. “You even have to ask?”

  “Two monster sandwiches?” I guessed.

  Mateo nodded emphatically. “Yes, please. But you better make Dad one, too.”

  Manning eyed him. “I’ve taught you too well.”

  “I take it you boys are hungry?” I teased.

  “Starved.” Manning winked. “Why are you home today anyway?”

  It was a fair question. I didn’t normally close the practice for no apparent reason, but a small part of me had hoped Manning would puzzle the pieces together and remember today’s anniversary. We’d recognized it on and off over time, but twenty-five years since we’d met seemed like a day to be home with him. “I just felt like having a family day,” I said.

  “That’s it?” Mateo asked.

  “Well . . .” I debated whether to remind Manning.

  “Oh, almost forgot.” Manning set down Mads and reached into his back pocket to pull out his red bandana.

  I broke into a smile. He hadn’t forgotten after all. “I can’t believe you still have that thing.”

  “Same one,” he said, knotting the bandana at the back of his head. “Did I ever tell you kids about the day I met your mom?”

  Henry, standing in front of my legs, nodded. “Tell us again.”

  Mateo hoisted himself onto the work table. “It was a hot summer day,” he began.

  “She made me a killer sandwich,” Manning said, ruffling Henry’s hair, “and I was instantly in love.”

  “It didn’t go quite that smoothly.” I lowered my voice into storytelling mode and made tickle-monster hands at Mads as she sucked her thumb and hung onto her dad’s leg. “We came up against some obstacles,” I said.

  Henry fixed his hair. “What’s an obstacle?”

  “Something in the way,” Manning said.

  “Or in our case,�
�� I said, glancing at Manning, “someone.”

  “The evil stepsister.” Manning laughed at his joke, but I didn’t. That was a real blemish on my fairytale if you asked me. Noticing my glare, his expression cleared. “Since I couldn’t confess my feelings to your mom, who, by the way, was and still is extremely beautiful,” Manning continued, “I told her the story of Altair and Vega.”

  “Summer Triangle,” the boys said in unison.

  “That’s right.” Manning pointed up, despite the fact that it was eighty degrees with clear blue skies. “And I made her a promise on the stars.” Manning looked at me with his chocolatey brown eyes. “Remember?”

  “No matter what, the story would only ever be about us,” I said, puckering my lips at him with a loud smooch.

  “Daddy kiss,” Madison said, pulling on Manning’s pant leg. He picked her up, pecking her pink cheeks all over.

  Hearing their names, Altair and Vega had wandered from their usual grassy spots in the sun. Behind them followed the newest addition to our family. Blue had passed earlier in the year, and because I’d decided my life needed to have no less than three dogs or children, we’d adopted when I’d eventually felt ready.

  In honor of Blue, who’d shared my eye color, Cola—a Saint Bernard Madison tried to ride on a daily basis—had been named for Manning and Henry’s soda-pop brown eyes.

  Not that she needed a makeshift pony. Her father had spoiled her with a horse for her second birthday, which gave me plenty of time to get used to the idea before she was ready to ride.

  As Cola settled under Mateo’s feet, I leaned against the table with him. It’d taken years before he’d started calling us Mom and Dad. In fact, from ages nine to twelve, Mateo had barely spoken beyond what was necessary. Manning had been the best kind of guardian for him—firm, honest, yet sensitive considering he and Mateo had experienced the same kind of pain—and Mateo had responded well. He’d been polite and helpful around the house, but it hadn’t been until Manning had brought him out into the workshop that Mateo had begun to blossom. I’d been hesitant about him handling tools at his age, but Manning had assured me working with his hands had gotten him through some of his worst times.

  Now, not only was Mateo growing into his limbs, but his personality, too. He liked all kinds of music—even Manning’s “oldies” when he and his friends weren’t listening to rap—and was learning to play electric guitar. He’d also signed up to be a counselor with Young Cubs thanks to Gary, who’d had a lot of experience with adopted kids at the Y and had treated Mateo as a nephew since the day he’d met him.

  I’d worried not all relationships would form as easily. My white, conservative father’s reaction to adoption in general had been a big concern, especially considering Mateo had come to us with a lot of issues and from a background similar to Manning’s. But any reservations had flown out the window the moment I’d shared Mateo’s test scores with my dad.

  “He’s smarter than you were at that age,” my dad had said with renewed energy, “and you know what that means.”

  I’d feared I had.

  “He’s Trojan material,” he’d exclaimed, and they’d been thick as thieves ever since. Mateo now had his sights set on USC, and he and my dad were already in cahoots about how much mileage they could squeeze out of his adoption, past, and Hispanic background for the admissions essay.

  Lately, though, Manning and I had noticed that the older Mateo got, the more introspective he was becoming. He’d been a child when he’d shot his dad to protect his sister and he was now old enough to start asking harder questions. Even though he and Manning talked it through frequently, Mateo sometimes questioned whether there was some other way he could’ve handled the situation.

  “Did you finish your homework?” I asked Mateo as he messed with the playlist on Manning’s cellphone.

  “It’s summer school,” he said. “It took me ten minutes while I was waiting for the bus.”

  “Smarty pants. You know you don’t have to do what Grandpa says, right? Anytime you feel overloaded, you tell me, and I’ll talk to him.”

  “I know, Mom.” He sighed, hitting play on “House of the Rising Sun” before he started scrolling for the next song. When it came to electronics, he had the same attention span as our two-year-old. “I’m not worried about my classes, but . . . there is something else.”

  I took the phone from him, setting it aside. “What’s the matter?” I asked.

  He swung his legs under the table, watching Manning and Henry. He waited until they’d gone around the side of the shed to throw balls for the dogs.

  Mateo turned to me. He had dark, wide-set eyes that sometimes seemed wise beyond his years—and other times, like now, he just looked like a shy kid. “There’s a rumor going around school,” he said.

  “About?”

  “Us.”

  My breath caught. I’d known this was coming, but I’d hoped I’d be more prepared. With the life Manning and I had led, there was plenty of gossip to choose from. Was it that Manning had fallen for a sixteen-year-old? Or the fact that he was an ex-con? Or that I’d stolen my sister’s husband? Mateo didn’t hide the fact that he was adopted—all his classmates knew—but only the principal and our family had the details of his situation.

  I braced myself for whatever bombshell Manning and I had constructed for ourselves and brought on our children. “What’s the rumor?”

  “That Dad’s a criminal.”

  Shit. My heart fell. Behind door number two—a mistake Manning and I had made in our youths that would haunt us forever. Though we’d gone on to live a fulfilling and rewarding life since then, I hated that decisions made long ago would affect not just us, but our kids. Knowing how sensitive Manning was about his record, and how protective he was of the family, he would not be happy to hear this.

  Mateo and I were speaking quietly, but Manning came around the corner and instantly knew something was up. “What are you two talking about?”

  We sat still and silent, as though we’d been busted. “Um,” I said. “School.”

  “Yeah? What about it?” He pointed a screwdriver at Mateo. “You get a bad grade or what?”

  “Not yet,” Mateo said. “But I’m working on it.”

  Manning laughed. “Atta boy. So what’s with the long faces?”

  I checked on Henry, who was trying to get Mads and Cola to sit still to play Duck Duck Goose. I supposed, at some point, I’d become one of the adults around here, so I had to act like one. “Mateo heard something at school,” I said, keeping my voice low. “About our past.”

  “Ah.” Manning set the screwdriver down and crossed his arms. “What was it?”

  “They say you went to jail,” Mateo said. “But that’s a lie. Your dad went to jail, not you.”

  Mateo knew the gritty details about Manning’s sister’s death. When he’d first come into our home, he’d acted tough but was as scared and confused as Manning and I had expected. Not only was there a lot of commotion and crying with the new baby, but Manning was an intimidating man, and Mateo had just defended his sister from being beaten to death by killing an intimidating man.

  Manning had sat Mateo down and told him all about his past, the way Madison had drowned, how he’d almost gotten in trouble for it, and how he no longer communicated with his own parents. It had bonded them, and I’d come to realize this adoption hadn’t only been about Mateo. Manning had also needed to feel like he’d truly helped. Bringing Mateo here meant Manning had finally ended a dark chapter in his life. A weight had been lifted.

  Manning had shown Mateo many things since then, but most importantly, he’d taught him how to trust, how to confront his past to protect his future, and how a man treated the people he loved. As a new mom with a set of problems all my own, I would never forget how Manning had ensured Mateo understood the responsibility that came with having a newborn in the house.

  Of course, we’d been saving the jail story for when Mateo was a little older, but it seemed as though
some town gossips had decided that time would be now.

  “So where’d you hear this rumor?” Manning asked.

  “The kids at school.”

  “Which ones?”

  It was an odd question that had me wrinkling my nose at Manning. “Why does it matter?”

  Mads stepped on Cola’s paw, and he yelped loudly enough that she started to cry. Manning turned, but I picked her up first so he could focus on Mateo.

  “Which kids, Mat?” Manning asked.

  “Well, a lot of them. Like my friends,” Mateo said. “Michael said he heard from his mom, who heard it from the principal’s secretary that . . .”

  Manning wiped his hands on his jeans. “That what?”

  Mateo lowered his voice. “You’re so dangerous, you can kill a man with your bare hands.”

  “What?” I screeched, bouncing Mads as I whipped my head back and forth between Mateo and Manning. “Are they fucking kidding?”

  “Lake, it’s all right.” Manning shook his head quickly before turning to Mateo. “I did go to jail. Prison, actually. There’s a difference.”

  Mateo’s brows drew together. “You told me you didn’t.”

  “I never said that. I told you my dad went away for hurting Madison. Me, I was arrested many years later for a robbery I didn’t commit.”

  “You were innocent?” Mateo stopped moving his feet, his knuckles whitening as he gripped the table. “That’s . . . that’s not fair.”

  “Yeah, and it made me angry for a long time. Your mom, too. But that was twenty-something years ago. Look at the life we’ve built since then. Look at our family.”

  Mateo glanced at me and Mads. “Your dad and I have made mistakes,” I said. “Some of them very serious. But we don’t let them rule our lives or change the kind of people we are.” I set Madison on the table next to Mateo, lightly holding her there. She reached a chubby hand up, smiling sunshine at him. “We treat people with kindness and respect, and we get that in return.”