“I know you will, son. One thing you can always count on is that I’m proud of you. Your parents, God rest their souls, would be too. And that little boy is lucky as hell to have you for a dad.” He grins as moisture fills his eyes. I blink back the tears forming in mine.
“Thanks, Uncle Jake. I appreciate that more than you realize.”
“Brett, you have one happy healthy little boy,” Kristen states with a smile as she tickles Colby under his chin. “All of his vaccinations are up-to-date, so we don’t have to be the bad guys today. The only thing that concerns me is he is a little behind for his speech and his motor skills.”
“What does that mean?”
“There’s a timeline so to speak of where each milestone for a child should be reached. Sitting up, crawling, walking, saying words are all placed on a timeline. Now each child is different and there’s not an exact time they hit each one. Colby here is closer to a one-year-old than an eighteen-month-old. There are several factors that can contribute to this but it in no way, shape or form means there something wrong with him. He’s perfectly healthy. He may need a boost to get him on track. I will check with Skylar and see if she has any openings and can squeeze him in.”
“Skylar?” My interest peaks. How common is that name? It couldn’t be her, could it?
“She’s our new speech pathologist. She’s fantastic with kids and I like what I’ve seen so far,” Kristen says as she reaches over for the phone and pushes the button “Hey, Skylar, it’s Kristen. A friend of mine has brought his little boy in and I think he’s having trouble with his speech. Is there any way you might be able take a quick look at him to see if we need to set up for further evaluation?” I can hear a muffled reply before Kristen’s face breaks out into a grin. “That’s great, just buzz when you’re done and we'll bring him down there.” She spins on her stool to face me. “She’s just finishing up with a patient and she's free for the next hour. It works out perfectly.”
“Is she new here? I haven’t heard you mention her before.” I try to keep my inquiry vague so as not to reveal my interest.
“She started here a few months ago. She’s shy and quiet. But I managed to drag her to Taco and tequila Tuesday last week.”
“Where did she come here from?”
“Before she came here she was working at Children’s Hospital.”
“She’s from around here then?” I’m pushing my luck when Kristen narrows her eyes on me.
“What’s with the inquisition?”
“It’s not an inquisition,” I argue. “If this woman will be treating my child I think I should know something about her.”
“She’s more than qualified. She has her master's degree in speech language pathology with an emphasis in child development and graduated top of her class from Texas Christian University. If I didn’t trust her, I wouldn't send you two.”
“I know,” I breathe out. "There isn’t anyone I would trust Colby with more than you.” Before I can continue a soft buzz sounds in the room. Kris picks up the phone says a couple words and hangs it back up.
“All right she’s ready. Let’s head down the hall.” I gather up Colby’s diaper bag in place and on my hip as we follow Kristen down the hall. As Kristen opens the door, Colby drops the toy block he had gripped in his little hand. I squat down to pick it up, as a pair of black shoes move into my line of sight and Kristen makes introductions. My gaze climbs as I stand up to clash with a pair of gorgeous hazel eyes widened in shock. Her mouth is gaping open like a fish. A smirk appears before I can stop myself and she flushes red. My fingers itch to remove her top and see how far that flush goes.
“It’s nice to meet you. Skylar is it?” I reach out my hand almost daring her to grab it. Her fists clench at her sides, her eyes full of indecision.
“Skylar, are you okay?” Kristen’s voice breaks the standoff that we seem to have found ourselves in.
“What? Oh, I’m fine,” she places her hand in mine, her body tense. “It’s nice to meet you, Brett. And this little guy must be Colby.” The smile she gives my son takes her from beautiful to breathtaking. Colby stares at her transfixed before holding his arms out, hands grasping at air, little grunting noises filling the room.
“I think he likes you, Sky,” Kristen chuckles. “I’ll let y’all get started. Brett, if you have any further questions, just call me.” She leaves the room, the door shutting behind her. Leaving the scared lamb alone with the big bad wolf. His cub as the only barrier.
8
Skylar
What the fuck is he doing here? In my space? My mind races. Well duh. He’s here because of his son. How can I resist that adorable bundle of cuteness when he reaches for me? It also keeps my hands occupied when all I want to do is reach out and touch that blue shirt molded to his muscular chest.
“Okay before we get started, do you have questions?”
“Not really. Until Kris mentioned it, it never dawned on me he wasn’t speaking any words.”
“It’s not that uncommon. Some kids are just late bloomers. Others don’t have a lot to say. I’ll have him do a few tests to get a baseline and we’ll see where we need to go from there.’
‘Nothing that will hurt him, right?”
“Oh, nothing like that. I need you to remain calm and quiet. If we don’t know where we’re starting, we don’t know the right path to take. Why don’t you take a seat over there and we’ll get started.”
Brett takes a seat in the only other adult size chair in the room while I sit with Colby in my lap. I run through a few of the basic tests to see where his vocabulary is at compared to others his age. He’s a quiet child and tries to respond to the testing. Half an hour later, Colby is tiring, and I wrap up. Placing Colby on the floor I watch as he crawls over to the toy bin and pulls himself up to the side, throwing out a menagerie of plastic.
“What’s the verdict?”
“Is he taking any steps?” I question, still gathering information for my assessment.
“He will take a few if I’m holding his arms.”
“But nothing unassisted?”
“No, not yet. Is that a problem?” Not answering right away, I grab the tablet from the top of the desk and pull off the milestone timeline.
“Was he premature?” I ask, tapping away on the screen.
“I believe it was two weeks before her due date.”
“Was he a low birth weight?” I glance up at him to find him staring at his hands clasped in front of him, thumbs hitting together.
“Yes, he was under five pounds but the doctor said he was healthy.”
“Any drug use by his mother?”
“Her grandmother said she was using drugs until she found out she was pregnant. She went to rehab then.”
“If you don’t mind me asking, where is his mother?” I enter the information into his file.
“She passed.”
“I’m so very sorry.’
‘Don’t feel sorry for me. I didn’t know her.” My eyes widen at his admission as the anger fills his tone. “I only found out about Colby a few weeks ago when his great-grandmother tracked me down. I didn't know I had a child,” he defends, body tense.
“I see.” No, I don't. How do you not know you have a child? Or are our worlds that different?
“It’s a long story. Let’s say it was a one-time thing and leave it at that.”
“No matter how they come to be, a child is always a blessing.” I can’t help but look over at Colby and wonder what my child would have looked like at that age.
“Do you have any kids?” he blurts out. All the strength in my body seems to slide out of me.
“No, I don’t,” my voices cracks at my admission. Picking up the tablet, I pull up a chart to make it easier for him to understand. "Right now, Colby is behind in at least two of his milestones, speech and walking, and when they’re lagging behind in two or more areas we become more concerned. I think he will take steps without you holding his hands soon though. He will take off a
nd you're gonna be chasing him everywhere. Low birth weight can relate to speech development. Not necessarily any drug use or anything like that since he’s otherwise healthy. If you’re agreeable I think bringing him in a couple of times a week until we get a plan established will be beneficial for him and for you.”
“Only twice a week? Wouldn’t every day be better?”
“Twice a week is sufficient otherwise he’ll tire of it and won’t cooperate every day. You’ll get enough of that when he starts school. Not only will I be teaching him things, I’ll be teaching you techniques to help him communicate better. From what I have seen, he's a quiet child. He may not be a big talker. Is he vocal at home?”
“No, not really. When he gets excited about something he likes to bounce up and down and wave his arms. It makes me wonder though.”
“Wonder what?”
“He was being raised by his great-grandmother who is very old fashioned. I’d bet my left nut it was the type of house where you are seen but not heard. No running around or screaming like little kids do.”
“That could be a reason why his vocabulary is limited. I can give you some suggestions for games that will encourage him to be more verbal.”
Tapping on the tablet I print out a few games to help build Colby’s vocabulary and get him talking more. When I hand him the papers to read he grazes his thumb on the inside of my wrist and whispers thank you.
“All right, well that’s all for today. I’ll talk to Sylvia at the front desk to make your appointments. Whatever’s good for you. Earlier in the week and later in the week would be best but we need at least two days apart in between appointments.” He chuckles when I rush through the words, restacking the papers on the table in order.
“Do I make you nervous, Skylar?” Amusement tinges his question.
He smirks as I move to brush the hair behind my ear with shaky fingers, forgetting I have it in a ponytail. “Nervous? Why would I be nervous?” My voice trembles and I bite my lip.
“Maybe you’re thinking about the other night.” Does waking up in the middle of the night, nipples aching, pussy throbbing as I dream of you touching me, count? Heat blooms across my face as the denial lodges in my throat.
”I know I am.” His voice lowers to a velvety rasp sending shivers down my spine. He crowds me against the wall, my breasts cushioned against his chest, his cologne filling my nose and turning me to putty. I always thought the cliché 'heaving bosom' was stupid but damned if I’m not doing it. My ragged breathing pushes my breasts closer to him as if they’re dying for him to stroke them. He reaches out his thumb and pulls it from between my teeth before stroking over the abused flesh. I almost suck the digit into my mouth. His tongue slowly traces his lower lip, my eyes are drawn to the motion. “It’s all I can think about. You’ve invaded my dreams. You haunt my days. It’s like you’re a drug and I’m jonesing for my next fix. What have you done to me?”
“I…I…I don’t know what you mean.” My voice quivers.
He chuckles “I think that answers my question. Go out with me this weekend,” he orders, a denial not an option. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out his phone After a few taps on the screen, it's thrust into my hand. “Put your number in.”
My thumbs are flying across the keyboard before my brain can tell me to stop. As if sensing my hesitation, he jerks the phone back before I can erase my mistake.
“Hold on a second,” I rush out, reaching to take it back.
“Too late.” His thumb hovers over the screen. Drawing out my anticipation of his next move he presses the green call button my breath hitches in my throat as my phone vibrates on my desk.
“Now you have my number. Answer it when I call. Saturday, be ready.” Why am I getting hot when he's ordering me around?
He pockets his phone before reaching out and wrapping my ponytail around his hand, arching my neck. My heart pounds and I can just imagine that my scrub top is fluttering with the effort. His head lowers and my lips part. I hadn’t imagined how soft his lips were between the rough stubble on his face. Time stands still as he steals the breath from my lungs. The kiss ends as he traces his thumb down my jawline. “Until Saturday. Think about me.”
Before I can collect myself and tell him no, he’s picked Colby up off the floor and walked out the door. I stumble weak-kneed to my chair and drop onto it.
“Why didn’t you tell him no, Skylar?” I mumbled to the empty room. “This is such a bad idea.” Running my hands over my face, I need to be honest with myself. The man turns me on more than anyone ever has and it scares the shit out of me. “Skylar, you’re so out of your freaking league.”
Two quick buzzes of a text notification on the Formica desktop startles me as I lean back in the chair, and my arms pinwheel trying to keep me from falling on the floor.
Unknown: Saturday 7 PM get ready.
Get ready? Why does it seem like a warning? Just who in the hell does he think he is? Ordering me around. Pffft. I’ll show him. Picking up the phone to tap out a witty reply and tell him to go to hell, I feel his hands ghost over me like the other night. Do I really want to give that up? The man is turning me into a damn wanton woman. What is wrong with me? What is it about that man that makes me lose who I am, my inhibitions. Maybe this is what I need after Craig. To let loose and have fun. What could go wrong?
Saturday evening finds me a nervous wreck. My hands crumple the hem of my blue sundress as the clock slowly ticks by. Several times over the past couple of days I have started a text to let him know that I’m not going on a date with him but delete it before I ever hit the send button. His last message was to dress casual and he would pick me up. Now I’m caught between anticipation of seeing him again and relief because I never gave him my address. He is tenacious though and I wouldn’t have put it past him to sniff it out somehow.
Half an hour before he’s supposed to arrive, a knock sounds at the door and the butterflies take flight again. Damn, he’s early. I’m not ready for this. My breath comes faster, and my palms sweat.
“Sky, you in there?” Zane’s muffled voice travels through the thick panel before knocking again.
“Just a second.”
The door cracks open an inch before he’s pushing his way through.
“Wanna go to the movies tonight?” he asks before plopping on the couch.
“Not tonight.”
“Why not? You got plans?” he asks before he looks over at me, eyes widening when he takes in my outfit. “I guess you do. You look pretty.”
“Thank you.”
“Anyone I know?”
“I’m not sure if you know him.” I hedge around answering the question.
“Name?” he barks out.
“Excuse me?” The venom in his voice shocks me.
“Who. Is. He?” he bites out rising from the couch.
“A guy I met at the grocery store. What’s the big deal? Why are you acting like this?”
“You’re going out with some stranger you met in a store? How do you know that he isn’t a fucking serial killer or something?”
“A serial killer? Really? Where do you come up with this shit?”
“You never know these days. You just go out with some guy that you’ve met one time and he’s picking you up at home? Did you give the bastard your address? Are you stupid?” His voice rises to a yell causing me to shrink away.
“I think you need to leave, Zane. I don’t know what’s wrong or why the hell you’re acting this way, but you will not talk to me like this.” Walking to the door I pull it open to find Brett standing on the other side, a bouquet in his hand.
“Hey, Skylar. You look beautiful. “
“Brett,” I breathe out.
“Oh fuck no!” Comes from behind me. “This isn’t going to happen.” Brett’s eyes narrow as he looks over my shoulder at Zane walking up behind me.
“Zane,” Brett says, his voice full of disdain.
“Skylar, there is no way in hell you are going out with t
his guy. You have no idea the shit he’s done.”
“Zane, that’s enough. I think I asked you to leave.”
“You don’t know," he argues before Brett steps between us.
“I think the lady asked you to leave, Zane.”
“Fuck off, Brett."
“Zane, I know you’re my friend and you’re only looking out for me, but I can take care of myself.” Zane’s eyes narrow on me, lips curled into a sneer.
“Don’t come crying to me when he fucks you over,” he bites out walking past me before shoulder bumping Brett on his way out the door.
“Not the way I wanted to start our evening,” I whisper as Zane disappears around the corner.
“No, it’s not how I pictured it either. These are for you.” He hands me the bouquet of colorful pink cellophane-wrapped flowers which looked out of place wrapped in his tattooed hand.
“They’re beautiful. Thank you. Please come in. I'll put these in some water.” Turning I walked toward the kitchen eager to put space in between us. The door shuts with a resounding click and knowing he’s in my home seems to suck all the air out of the room. I pull the vase out from under the sink and stand up to find him standing beside me. His massive frame dwarfs the room as he leans back against the counter, booted feet crossed as he hooks his thumbs in the front of his jeans. His black button-down shirt stretches taut across his chest, biceps stretching the seams of his sleeves and I wonder if the poor material's gonna rip. His square jaw covered in dark stubble draws my stare. My palms itch to run my hands over it. I busy myself arranging the flowers in the vase so I don’t fall into temptation.
“So where are we going?" I ask trying to relieve some of the tension in the air.
“I hope you like Italian. There is this great little restaurant that makes the best homemade pasta.”
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