by S. Moose
“Calm down, Drew,” Jennifer reassures me. “Keep him hydrated tonight and see them tomorrow. You do have an appointment, right?”
I nod. “Yes, tomorrow morning at eight. Go,” I tell her. “Call me when you land, and if anything happens, I’ll let you know.”
She grimaces and kisses his back, placing her hand in his hair and resting her forehead on my arm. “Thank you.”
“He’s our son, Jennifer. No need to thank me.”
“No,” she answers. “Just thank you for everything. I know I’m not the easiest person to get along with, so thank you. Maybe we can grab a drink when I get back into town.”
“Um, I don’t know. I’m kind of seeing someone.”
“What?”
I close my eyes and calmly repeat myself.
“Oh, okay. Uh, that’s great. I should go. I’ll call you guys later,” she says fleetingly, attempting to recover from her reaction.
“Have a safe flight.”
When we get home, I put Dawson on the couch and run upstairs to grab PJs for him. I gather whatever I can find and run downstairs to the medicine cabinet to pull out the thermometer, children’s cold medicine, and a disposable ice pack in case he needs it.
After I change him and lay him back down, the thermometer is under his tongue, and I place a call to the nearest deli, ordering subs, chicken noodle soup, and drinks. He’s going to need to eat something to keep up his energy even though I know he won’t want to. The thermometer beeps, and his temperature is one hundred point three. It’s not terrible. I give him a dose of children’s cold medicine and hand him a cup of juice I had gotten on the way back from getting his PJ’s.
“Thanks, Dad. Sorry I made you leave work. I tried getting through the day.”
“Dawson, it’s fine. I’m always here, and you don’t have to be sorry for being sick, buddy. You come above everything else, and besides, I’m Superdad, remember?” I raise my arms and flex, looking side to side, and stand up. “No matter what virus you have, Superdad is here to the rescue. No virus is too scary for me. I will beat up everything that hurts you,” I roar.
Dawson holds his belly, laughing and telling me to keep going. “Jump on the table, Superdad!”
I look to make sure there’s nothing that I’ll break, and then I jump on the table in a squat position, partially covering my face and looking around. I whip out my pretend gun and jump off the table, still in a squat form, before going on my hunt for the evil viruses.
“Over there, Superdad!” His laughter in the midst of how crummy he is feeling makes this silly behavior all worth it.
“Bang, bang!” I shout. I tuck and roll, landing on my side and pretending to shoot. “Where else are they, little dude?”
Dawson stands up on the couch and pretends to compute something on his wrist. He shakes his head. “I don’t see anything, Superdad.”
“Try harder, little dude!”
“Superdad?” A male voice echoes throughout the area.
Dawson and I turn to see a laughing Remy and Reagan holding bags, which meant Remy used the code to enter unannounced. She’s trying hard not to laugh, and she covers her mouth with her free hand.
“Oh, man, I wish I had a camera,” Remy adds with a gleam in his eyes.
“I do, Uncle Remy!” Dawson slowly gets off the couch and coughs a little before getting his iPad.
After thirty minutes of laughing and Reagan and Remy telling me they can’t wait to share my Superdad antics with the office, my phone rings, and it’s security telling me the delivery man’s here. I tell him to send him up, and I grab my wallet from the counter. Since Remy’s on the guest list and the security staff know him, he can easily come into the building and to my apartment without any issues.
When I first found this building, I had to make sure it was secure and there was a security guard on shift at all hours.
Reagan’s sitting on the living room floor while Dawson’s lying on her lap, watching some cartoon he likes. I look at them together. She’s rubbing his head. I know how uncomfortable my floor is, yet she’s not fazed by it. She continues to sit with him, comforting him, and in that moment, I see my future.
Remy helps me put the food out, and he brings the food they brought over as well. We talk about what happened during the meetings, and it’s nothing that needs my attention right away.
“I’ll be away for a few days. I have my laptop in my office, but I’ll need you or Mom to drop me off the files. It’s in my drawer under Benson and Towler. I need that file, so the deal can get finalized.”
“No worries. I got it.”
“So”—I fucking hate asking this question, but I need to know—“how was lunch?”
“Really good. She’s a great girl. So sweet and nice. The conversation flowed really well, and we got to know each other so much better than the office allows, ya know.” He skeptically looks at me. “You okay?”
The container of soup spills over onto the counter, and I don’t feel the heat of the food on my hands until Remy says my name. "Damn," I mutter, and walk into the kitchen to put my hands under the cold water. "Can you clean that for me?" I ask Remy.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” I bite out. “Do you fucking like her?”
Remy pats my shoulder. “I do, but she has eyes for you. This was her idea, getting you and Dawson food and bringing him some toys.”
“She bought him toys?”
He nods. “Yeah. They’re in my car. She wasn’t sure how Dawson would be or how’d you feel about her buying him things.”
“Oh.” I know, in the past, I was a bit of an asshole, but we’re starting over. I don’t want her feeling that way.
A few hours pass, and Dawson’s back in his room. His temperature went down a little, but he still feels warm. He ate a little bit, which is better than nothing.
When I come downstairs, Remy and Reagan are in the kitchen, cleaning.
“Leave it. Don’t worry.”
“It's no problem.” Reagan smiles. “I’m so glad he’s feeling a little better. I hate being sick.”
“He’ll be okay. Thank you for coming over. Both of you.”
Before either of them can say anything, I hear Dawson yelling for me. I storm upstairs and hear someone following me. When I walk into Dawson’s room, I quickly pick him up. There’s puke everywhere, and he’s burning up. Remy starts stripping his bed.
“I’m taking him to the ER.”
“Go! I’ll take care of everything here.”
“Thank you.” I quickly change Dawson into something else and pick him up again, rushing downstairs and looking for my keys.
“What happened?” Reagan asks.
“My keys. Where are my keys?” I frantically look, trying not to lose it.
“Stop, Drew. First, your keys are in your hand. Now, let me take you guys. Emergency room?”
“Yes, please. We have to hurry. He’s burning up.”
Reagan opens the door for us, and we rush to the elevator. Once we’re downstairs and out in the garage, she follows me to my car. While she gets in the driver seat, I'm with Dawson in the backseat in case he gets sick again.
“Do you know where to go?”
“Yeah. I had to bring Aimee a few months ago because she was sick. Don’t worry, Drew.”
“Okay.” I'm trying my best to slow my racing heart.
Dawson's always so healthy and happy, so seeing him sick isn’t sitting well with me at all.
We get to the hospital in fifteen minutes, and Dawson’s quickly brought back. Reagan excuses herself, and I’m in the room with Dawson and a nurse.
He’s settled, and they’re pushing medicine and fluids. I pull out my phone and update my parents, Remy, and Jennifer. The only person who doesn't respond is Jennifer and that doesn't surprise me.
Before I try to call Jennifer to let her know what's going on, Reagan comes back. I stop walking and stare at what she’s holding—a balloon and water bottles. I forget about calling Jenni
fer and put my phone in my pocket.
This woman is too damn good.
20
Reagan
Drew has been frantic, but it only further proves what a caring man he is. The very idea of Dawson being sick, it's something that has rattled him to his core. He’s an amazing father, and that quality alone makes his appeal overwhelming.
“I got you something to drink,” I tell him, stepping further into the room. “I wasn’t sure exactly what to get, so I assumed water was the safest bet.”
“It’s perfect actually,” Drew replies.
He reaches out and takes the water, but then he holds my hand, using it to tug me closer.
“You’re amazing,” he says, giving me an intense look. “Thank you for coming to my place to check on Dawson, thank you for comforting him, and thank you for just being concerned in general.”
The way he's looking at me with that longing, almost lustful look in his eyes is hard to resist, but when it’s mixed with pure devotion, it makes my heart race so fast, I swear I might pass out.
Drew lifts his hand, trailing his finger over my jaw in a slow, tender manner, and my eyes flutter shut. In that moment, I can’t remember ever feeling so at peace. The things of my past, those that have kept me hidden from daily life, quickly fade. When his lips press to mine, I lean in toward his body, accepting his kiss, his touch.
“Well, that right there could be grounds for a lawsuit.”
I quickly pull back, pressing my fingers to my lips, as I stare at Drew with panic.
“Yes, dear, I would say you are correct.”
Drew chuckles, and I ever-so slowly peek over my shoulder to find Miranda and Vincent Powers standing in the doorway, both smiling brightly. Their eyes are locked on me and the place where Drew’s hand still firmly holds on to me.
“I’ve got her written consent,” Drew adds, playfully.
“Well then, we’re safe.” His father nods his head, as if we’ve just confirmed some type of business deal, before he moves toward the bed that holds his grandson.
I remain in place, mortified that I was caught lip-locking with the son of my boss. Though Drew seems completely unaffected, Miranda cannot seem to wipe the smile from her face.
“No rules against interoffice romance,” she says as she leans in close so that only I can hear her, “just as long as I don’t find the two of you necking during work hours. Work must go on, but on your break or after-hours, I give my complete consent for the two of you to carry on as you see fit.” With a wink, she steps around me and moves toward Dawson.
I, on the other hand, remain frozen. My throat tight, my breaths rapid, I feel like a teenager who got caught with a high school boy on a back road. How embarrassing.
I’m busy at work, still avoiding direct eye contact with Miranda. A little childish, I know, but each time I look up and our eyes connect, I get that sudden dropping feeling in my stomach. You know the one—as if my belly bottoms out and hits the floor beneath my feet. Yep, that one. It’s humiliating because that feeling alone leaves me dumbfounded and momentarily unable to speak full sentences.
It has happened twice now, and it’s barely noon.
Heaven help me.
So, imagine my reaction when Miranda steps up to my side and sets a laptop and files on the desk beside me. Yep, you got it. I jump, and a small squeak escapes me as my hand presses tightly to my chest.
“Sorry, dear,” she says. “I wanted to see if you could deliver these to Drew at his apartment. Remy planned to, but with meetings this afternoon, I just don’t think he will have the time.”
If you’ve guessed that I'm having one of those mute moments, you’re right. I attempt to respond, but once my eyes lock with hers, I dip my head once more, my chin resting on my chest.
“Sure,” I manage to get out, feeling once again like someone who has lost her mind.
One good thing about it is that Miranda seems oblivious. Either that or she doesn’t want to make things even more awkward. I'm thankful. I’m not sure I need any more humiliation. I will get past this; I know I will. I just can’t confirm when.
After I finish logging the last of the financials for Miranda’s meeting with Edgar Wilmington and Associates, I click Save and hurry to gather the items for Drew. Before I leave the office, I send him a quick text, asking how Dawson is doing and if he needs more medicine or anything else.
Drew: Hey. Thank you for asking. Dawson’s feeling much better. He’s back to his normal self. Must have been a 24-hour bug.
Me: Aw, okay. I’ll be over to drop off files for you. See you soon.
Drew: Sounds good.
I lean over, locking my computer before moving quickly toward the elevator. The impending excitement of not only seeing Drew, but Dawson as well brings a smile to my face.
Seeing them yesterday, playing together so sweetly, was the most adorable thing. I won’t lie; it did give me a flash of what my future could be like with a man like Drew.
After hailing a cab, I spend the entire drive to his place with that very same smile on my face.
Burton, the doorman, is the same man on duty when Remy and I stopped in yesterday.
He recognizes me as I enter the building and offers me a wave. “Hello, miss. It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too. Thanks.”
We share small talk about the weather and the upcoming events being held at my most favorite place—Navy Pier. It is refreshing actually. I’ve found that allowing Drew in has made it easier to allow others in, too.
He wishes me a good day and clears me to go up without even notifying Drew. It’s exciting to be able to surprise him and Dawson again. The nervous energy runs through me with each floor the elevator climbs.
A chime announcing the arrival to Drew’s apartment rings, making the excitement grow, just as the door slides open. I step out, a smile covering my face, only to come to an abrupt halt.
Laughter carries throughout the open space—not only Drew’s and Dawson’s, but a woman, too. A gorgeous, elegant woman. Perfect hair, perfect skin. She’s flawless.
Jennifer. Drew’s ex.
I watch as they hover over Dawson, both tickling him in various places. Dawson’s legs kick, and his body twists from side to side as he tries to get away.
“Stop.” He giggles. “Mommy, stop.”
My heart feels like its stopped beating, and my breath hitches. A lump’s stuck in my throat, and I’m watching Drew and Jennifer play with Dawson.
They look like a happy little family. I’m not delusional. I know they have problems and are divorced. But, at this moment, they look perfect, as if there were no problems.
I'm so lost in my own thoughts that the moment my name is spoken, I jerk in surprise. I force a smile as I step in further and thrust out the files I'd brought for him. “Sorry to barge in, but Miranda asked me to deliver these to you. The doorman let me in,” I ramble. I feel inadequate next to the bombshell, who is now curiously watching me.
“Thanks,” Drew says as he moves across the room and takes the items from me. “Reagan, you remember Jennifer”—Drew nods toward the woman—“And Jennifer you remember Reagan, my mothers’ assistant and the woman I’m dating.”
I’m momentarily ecstatic when a look of surprise takes over her face.
“Hello. It’s nice to see you again.” In that moment, I wonder if my feelings are portrayed in my fake-as-shit smile. “I’ve heard so much about you.” Another lie. I want to say, Hmm, we rarely ever talk about you.
“I wish I could say the same,” she offers.
The disdain in her smirk is a definite indication of her dislike for me. Only I don’t care. The feeling’s mutual.
21
Drew
“Dad?”
“Yeah, Dawson?”
He turns on his side and props himself up a little. “I really like Reagan.”
“I do, too.”
“But…” He pauses.
I can see his hesitation. “What is it,
Dawson?”
He sighs. “I heard Mom on the phone. She called Reagan a gold-digging whore. What does that mean?”
I’m stunned and rendered speechless. I didn’t think me dating would upset Jennifer. Regardless, I need to make sure she understands that’s not who Reagan is and make sure Dawson doesn’t repeat what he heard.
I sit down on the edge of his bed. “Buddy, you know me and your mom love you, right?”
“Yeah.”
“I know you’re young, and if you don’t understand this question, it’s okay. Do you have a problem with me dating Reagan?”
“No, I don’t. I like her. She smiles a lot at me, and when you weren’t looking tonight after dinner, Reagan gave me extra cookies. She said it was our secret.”
“Is that so?” I laugh and lean down to kiss his forehead. “Don’t repeat what your mom said. It’s not nice, and I don’t ever want you to say that about anyone.”
“Okay, Dad. Good night.”
“Good night. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
“Hey Dad.”
“Yeah, buddy,” I answer him.
“I’m glad Reagan’s making you happy.”
I smile with his statement and nod. “Me, too.”
Standing in his room for a few minutes longer, I try to process what Jennifer said. When she came over, I noticed the tension between Jennifer and Reagan. I want to address that and make Reagan understand that Jennifer’s my past. Now, I’ll need to talk to Jennifer and make her understand that, too. Our divorce has been final for a few years, and there’s nothing that’ll make me go back to her. I love her because she’s the mother of my son. We have to remain civil for the sake of Dawson.
I decide it’s best to let it go for now, and I go back downstairs to spend time with Reagan. I reach the bottom step to find her sitting on the couch, leaning back, holding her glass of iced water. Standing here, watching her, I realize I like having her here, in my home.
“Hey.”