by Finn, Emilia
“I didn’t poison him.” Mac’s bedroom door opens and closes, then the bathroom door does the same. “I never said a bad word about you. You made your own bed when you ditched town for the entire first decade of his life, then you come back and stumble every time you walk. You did this to yourself!”
“I want my son back!” A car door slams, and then an engine starts. “I want my son back, Katrina! I will get my son back!”
“You won’t get within twenty feet of him! You’d best go take care of the other idiots you knocked up, because you won’t get your hands on my son!”
“Fuck I won’t! I’m coming now.”
The call cuts out, then my eyes lock on to Mac’s as he stands at the end of the hall with his schoolbag slung over one shoulder and his jaw ticking with rage. “Mom?”
“Let’s go, baby.” Bounding to my feet, I practically sprint to the front door and whip my bag and keys up. “We’re leaving for work and school.”
Instead of arguing, he follows me out the door and waits just an inch away while I lock up. He’s my protector, my army, and he knows who was on the phone just now. Moving along the hall at a pace slightly faster than regular walking, I move onto the staircase and hold back my groan when Mac has to slow himself to an almost standstill.
Not so long ago, my son in all his teenage wisdom decided to sneak out and show off for girls. Having climbed twenty feet to the top of a gantry crane at the local steel mill, he slipped, fell, and broke a whole bunch of bones, not the least of which was his skull. He broke his leg in multiple places, which meant months of traction, physical therapy, and bills, bills, bills. Though he’s all but healed up now, we still need to take the stairs slowly; he still takes pain meds sometimes when it hurts too much and he can’t sleep, and in the dead of winter, my poor baby walks with pain, because the cold makes his bones ache.
The mother in me wants to sweep him up and plop him on my hip. But the realist in me remembers he’s the same height as me, and I have no chance of moving him without breaking more bones. So I wait patiently; I obsessively check my watch, and I pray Zeke isn’t coming here to cause more trouble.
Zeke Douglas doesn’t scare me one bit. He’s not dangerous to me; he’s a weakling and a coward, but he’s also loud, and his visits always lead to more headaches for me.
I’ve never feared for my safety as far as he goes, just my sanity.
“What did Zeke want, Mom?” Mac clutches the stair railing and takes each step one at a time. So… Slow… I want to bash my head against the brick wall. “It got heated, so he pissed you right off.”
“Not heated, baby. We were just talking.”
“I heard you tell him to step up for some chick.”
Pretending my chipped nail is the most important thing to me right now, I study the rough edge and act like Mac’s slow movements don’t kill me. “I don’t really remember.”
“He’s got another kid on the way?”
“Umm…”
“I heard you, Mom! Our apartment is tiny; I hear everything.”
“Well if you heard, then why are you making me say it? You know I don’t want to hurt you, so why are you making me repeat it?”
“Zeke and his stupid shit doesn’t bother me.” Reaching the bottom of the stairs, my handsome son looks up with a triumphant smile and fixes the bag on his shoulder. “My sperm donor’s actions have nothing to do with me, and neither do his six dozen kids. They’re nothing to me, because none of them are a part of you.”
“Baby…” Stopping at the front door, I press my hands to his chest and smile. “I love you. Zeke might be an asshole, but you’re the best thing that ever happened to me.”
“Would you change it?” Pulling my arm through his so he escorts me out of the building like a gentleman, we turn left, despite the fact we would normally turn right. My son is smart beyond his years and knows not to go the normal route so we don’t run into his father. “If you could go back in time, would you change it?”
“Nope. It was hard, babe. My life wasn’t easy after I found out about you, but I never regretted you. Not for a single second.”
“If I didn’t exist, you wouldn’t be attached to Zeke. He would have gone his way fourteen years ago, and you probably wouldn’t even remember each other anymore.”
“Still don’t regret you.”
“If I didn’t exist, you would have gone to college and become a school teacher like you wanted. You’d be getting ready for class right now, wearing a cute skirt and worrying about glue sticks because dummies like me keep breaking the ones you supplied.”
“Nope. I still don’t regret you.”
He snickers. “If you didn’t have me, you’d be celebrating a normal thirtieth birthday with your girlfriends, maybe in a club, drinking fancy cocktails and dancing with cute boys.”
Laughing, I smack his hand and lean heavily against his side. “You want me to drink, dance, and hook up with cute boys? Macallistar, you’re weird.”
“I dunno…” Shrugging, we turn onto Main Street and make our way toward the diner. “I don’t want you to get drunk and stupid. But I wish you got to enjoy yourself more. Thirty is still kinda young, but now you got a kid literally half your age, and you never got to enjoy being young. I’m almost the same age as you were when you got pregnant.”
“And if I find out you’re doing anything with girls, we’ll have trouble, and you’ll regret being born. Don’t test me on this, baby. Don’t make me want to yank your eyeballs out and feed them back to you.”
“Mom…”
“I know those girls are cute, but you have at least a decade before you get to do something about it.”
“What girls?” He sounds so scandalized, which turns to a pink tinge on his cheeks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Mmhm. Just know that her mom will beat the snot out of you if you even think about it. I’ll stand on the sidelines and cheer her on. I definitely won’t protect you, baby. So make good choices. Be responsible until you’re old enough to understand the consequences of your actions.”
“You wouldn’t protect me?” With a fake wobble to his voice, my son pulls me to a stop just outside the diner and looks into my eyes. “You swore a lifetime of protection, but now that I’m a little older, you toss me to the wolves?”
“You’ve been warned. Stay away from girls, and everyone will be happy. Get too close, and her mommy will Hulk Smash you against the concrete.”
“You’re so mean.” Laughing, he turns with my arm still tucked in his and leads us through the newly repaired diner door. Frowning because I had someone booked to come out today to fix it, I walk through and search for the culprit. “Stefan? Who fixed the door?”
My cook and work-dad of nearly a decade and a half pokes his head out of the kitchen and tries to squish his smile. “Franky had someone in this morning. They just finished not twenty minutes ago.”
“I had someone booked to come out today.”
His silver spatula glistens when the sunlight from outside shines through the windows. “Dunno, honey. I just follow the rules. Franky said a dude is coming out, a dude came out. Franky said don’t tell Katrina, I don’t tell Katrina.” He flashes a wide grin when my eyes narrow. “Franky says get it done before Katrina walks in and causes a scene, I get it done.”
“I don’t cause scenes!” And yet the handful of diners follow our back and forth with swiveling necks and wide eyes. “Where’s the invoice? I’m paying for it out of my next check.”
“Dunno, hon. I have no clue what invoice you might be talking about.”
“The invoice for the new door!” Moving through the diner and splitting off from Mac as he makes his way toward his regular booth, I pass Tammy and ignore her kind greeting. “Stefan, that door cost money to fix. It needed a new pane of glass. Find me the damn invoice so I can pay it.”
“Sorry, hon.” He peeks over his shoulder. “I got food on the grill, and I heard Franky is on vacation from now until ete
rnity, so you can’t talk to him about it. But Tammy’s kinda busy out there, so if you wanted to start working, that would be cool and all.”
“You’re a bunch of jerks!” I love these guys like they’re real family, but my pride kills me as red flames on my cheeks and embarrasses me. “It was my responsibility to fix.”
Walking away from his grill with a softer smile, Stefan takes me in a side hug and squeezes. “It’s done, baby girl. And Zeke’s actions definitely aren’t your fault. So let it go, move on with your life, and take your ass to the shooting range to learn how to aim properly. Nobody is gonna be sad if the guy breaks into your home and you defend it.”
“Stefan!” Shooting my gaze around in search of my son, a small whimper escapes my lips when I find him leaning over the back of his booth while he chats with none other than Eric DeFrigginWhit.
“Put your stuff in the lockers, then get your apron. He’s been sitting here for an hour already, but he kept telling Tammy he wasn’t ready to order yet. I think he’s probably ready now.”
“Why is everyone up in my business lately?” I walk into the long hall and push the change room door open. Tossing my bag into my locker and snagging my apron on the way back out, I pass Stefan again and grit my teeth when he dances to the beat in his head. “Why is everyone hell bent on not minding their own business?”
“Because you turned thirty, baby girl, and you didn’t get laid once in the last fourteen years.”
Gasping, my gaze snaps to my oblivious son, then back to my coworker. “First, that’s not true. And second, I don’t need your help!”
“No?” Stefan expertly flips a burger patty and wiggles his hips. “So why do you blush every time you see him?”
“I don’t!”
“Why do you do that weird panting noise every time he sits in your section?”
“I do not pant!”
“Why do you fluff your hair and fix your bra so it all sits higher before you go out and take his order?” When I open my mouth to argue, Stefan’s brow lifts, and his eyes look toward my hand… that is currently in my bra. “Honey, I wasn’t born yesterday. I know a woman in lust.”
“I gotta fix them! You’re a man, so you wouldn’t know.”
“You’re right; I’m a man, which means I know what that man out there is thinking. I know he waits for you; I know he taunts you; I know he licks his lips when you walk by.”
“He does not!”
“Katrina… you’re wrong. Why don’t you say hey and be nice about it? You don’t have to rip his head off every time he speaks, ya know? He’s a nice guy. Give him a chance.”
“How would you know he’s nice? I’ve never seen you speak to him.”
“He’s been in here the last hour, hon. Don’t you ever listen to me? He’s in here every damn day waiting for you, so fix your boobies, go say hello, and maybe ask him out on a date. He seems nice, and really, anything is a step up from Zeke, so we already know you’re on to a winner.”
“You’re a jerk.”
“I love you too, sweetpea. Now go, and you could probably shake your ass in his face too, if you want. Best case scenario, he grabs it. Worst case, bigger tip.”
* * *
With my heart in my throat and my boobs sitting weird, since Stefan ruined my move, I blow out a gusty breath of frustration and try to soften my glare as Mac turns in his booth and sits down. My son is right here, listening to everything I say, so I tone my attitude down and pray I don’t stab anyone today. “Hello.” I cough to clear the nerves from my throat. “My name is Katrina, and I’ll be your server today.”
Every. Damn. Day.
Morning, noon, and night I have to say those annoying words and stare into light green eyes framed with dark blonde lashes that are too long for a man. It’s not fair that men get those lashes and women have to fake ours. It’s not fair that men almost always have nicer hair than women, and rarely have to spend more than a minute styling it.
It’s not fair that Eric DeWhit can wear jeans just right, smile the way he does, sit in my booth and act unaffected after stepping up to defend my honor this week, all while my stomach flips with nerves. After months and months of this weird back and forth, of the monotone greetings – from me – and the lame jokes – from him – it would be weird now to give in to what I so desperately want. I’d give a lot of money for a single night of being ravaged with the guarantee of no consequences. One night of selfish fun where I didn’t have to worry about anything else, where I don’t have to be a mom, don’t have to worry where my kid is, don’t have to worry about my bills or the gossip mills starting up the second I dropped my panties. I’d pay anything to have a night where a man treats me as though I matter, and his only goal is to pleasure me.
But there’s too much history between us already. Eric and I don’t even know each other, but I can’t swallow my pride long enough to suggest we meet up in the locker room and work this electricity from beneath my skin. I’m too proud for my own good, because it would be easier for me to fuck a stranger in a dark club, a one-night stand I can walk away from with my dignity intact, than to ask if Eric wants me the way I want him.
My stupid dignity ruins everything, and his playful stare does nothing to quench the fire in my belly.
“Hi, Katrina.” His teasing lips twitch and spike my sex-starved, stress-induced bad attitude until I’m tempted to drop my coffee pot in his lap. “My name is Eric, and I’ll be your customer today. I’d love a little of that coffee.” He flips his mug and grins. “Did you make it yourself?”
“I switched the button on the machine.” I carefully pour and work extra hard not to spill it and burn his hand. Last time, I didn’t want to hurt him. This time, I really, really do.
Fourteen years, my libido has been in check.
Fourteen years, I’ve been able to keep my shit under control.
But then my thirtieth birthday swaggers on in at the same lazy pace as the man in front of me, and the universe wants to tempt me with man ass and a good time?
No thank you!
“You always make such delicious coffee, Kat. Can I call you Kat?”
“No.”
“Trina, then?”
“Absolutely not. Burger and fries?”
“Well…” He sits back with a lazy grin and rests his arms on the back of the booth seat. “I kinda want to switch it up today. Can you tell me the specials? A burger will always fix my… hunger.” Damn him for practically growling that word. “But I wouldn’t mind knowing what else is available, just in case something else catches my eye.”
“Fickle,” I bite off. I beg myself to stop it; I scream against the wall my brain has been shut behind while my mouth runs off unchecked. “Men know they have a burger at home. A burger that’ll fill them up and satisfy them until they smile, but no, he wants to know his options. A chicken burger with zesty lemon dressing might be on the menu, and maybe it’ll be less filling, less satisfying, but it’s exotic and new, so he’s gonna try it anyway and risk being hungry in an hour. Because men are stupid and fickle!”
I barely notice my son sliding out of his booth and making his way to the kitchen as Eric’s eyes dance with humor. “I feel like maybe we’re not talking about burgers anymore.”
“We’re not!” Scratching out a deep burger and fries on my notepad until the tip of my pen digs in and rips the paper, I almost feel steam pour from my ears the longer he stares. “Men are pigs. Men are stealing, lying, cheating, filthy, procreating, deadbeat, cheap ass pigs who probably have regular juicy burgers at home, but those lemon zesty bitches are just too damn tasty to walk away from.”
Swinging away from his table on a huff, I jam the half-full coffee pot back on the heat tray and slap the order in with a quietly watchful Stefan. “He wants a burger and fries. Regular burger, none of the exotic slutty stuff.” Then I turn to my smiling son and frown as he rubs soothing patterns into the top of his thigh. “Baby, take your meds if your leg is bothering you, then go to school. Be goo
d. No fighting.”
Turning away from my stunned cook, I grab a set of silverware on the way back to Eric’s table, slam them down just an inch from his hand, and leaning closer, I beg myself to stop my tirade before he has me arrested. “You’re having a burger and fries, because we both know that’s what you were gonna order. We both know you’re screwing with me because you like to reinforce the fact you have a billion options, but that you’re in control of the universe. You like me running after you, and you want me to remember my place while I do it. Eat your burger, Eric, and stop sitting in my section every damn day.”
As I whip around, I expect a round of applause from my non-existent audience and a pat on the back for laying down a savage talking-to, but in reality, I swing back with a gasp when Eric’s strong hand wraps around my wrist and my hip slams against the corner of the table. Glittery eyes stare into mine from just an inch away. “Maybe I ask you the specials so I can keep you talking just a minute longer. Not to show you who’s in control, but because I’m desperate for a minute of your time.”
“Wha– I– Um…”
“Not all men are cheats, Katrina. And not all men are assholes. I sit in your section because I think you’re beautiful, and if I’m gonna eat a burger every day, I may as well do it with a spectacular fucking view. If I’m gonna be here every day and watch you chat to everyone except me as you brush right past without a second glance, then I’ll ask for the fucking specials and buy a moment of your time. You’re projecting your man issues onto me, but your beef isn’t my fault.”
My heart races so fast, I feel it in my throat. “I don’t have beef with anyone.”
“But you do. You surely do have man troubles, and they land squarely on the shoulders of the prick who broke that door a few days ago. You walk around here and ignore every single man between the ages of twenty-five and forty-five. I guess that’s your window. You flirt with old man Ray; you pat Stefan’s cheeks, and kiss Mac’s head, but if a man is somewhere in the same age region as you, he’s a leper, and you’re allergic, so you try to send Tammy over. I’m not a stranger to you, but you act like I just walked in for the first time ever.”