For The Love of Easton : A Single Parent Romance and Sequel to For The Love of English

by A. M. Hargrove

  Her hand stuck out with my phone in it.

  His voice boomed into my ear. “What’s going on, English?”

  “Trouble at school again and we need your help.”

  “I’ll be over, and you can explain then.”

  “One other question. Can you teach Easton how to better control herself when she encounters these situations?”

  A heavy silence hung between us until I heard him sigh. “Under one condition.”

  “What’s that?” I was very curious now.

  “You take a self-defense class.”

  “Jeez, Dad.”

  “I’m serious. It would’ve come in handy when you faced Stuart the other night.”

  He had a point. A very strong one, indeed. “I’ll think about it.”

  Easton bounced around until Dad showed up. Her excitement was out of control. “Boppy! Are you gonna teach me how to punch Bonnie?”

  “What? Where did you get that idea?” Dad glanced at me and wore a furious expression. I only shrugged because I hadn’t said a word about that to Easton.

  “Because she was mean to me,” Easton said in a glum tone.

  “Come here, peanut.” He patted the cushion on the sofa next to him. When she crawled up there, he went on. “First, never ever punch anyone unless you’re defending yourself and have no other choice. Do you know what that means?”

  “No.” We were back to the protruding lower lip as her excitement fizzled.

  “If you go around punching people, you’ll be no worse than that mean boy who caused you all those problems. You never want to be a bully. Do you understand?”

  “I think so. If Bonnie hits me, I can hit her back, but not before.”

  Dad blew out a breath. “Let’s not talk about hitting anyone, okay? The best thing to do would be to get Mrs. Leonard. I can teach you how to stop someone if they try to hit you though.”

  Her head slanted as she stared at Dad. “I don’t know, Boppy. What if he’s mean and scary?” It made me question if this had to do with what had happened to me. “Mommy, can I take those fight classes?”

  “Fight classes?”

  “Yeah, like on the TV?”

  “I think she means martial arts,” Dad said. “It might not be a bad idea. They teach self-defense and not how to actually fight.”

  As I thought about it, I decided it wouldn’t be a bad idea for the two of us. “You know what, I’ll check into it and maybe we’ll both take them. Self-defense classes. Dad, how does that sound?”

  Dad nodded his agreement.

  “Yay! Mommy and me will learn how to fight for real.”

  “Oh, boy.” She had taken this the wrong way. “No, Easton, we are going to learn how to defend ourselves, not fight.”

  She skipped around the room and paid no attention to me.

  The doorbell rang and she hurried to answer it. I had to break her of this habit, but didn’t know how, short of punishing her.

  “Easton. Freeze!” It was a trick they used in school and she came to a dead stop. “What did I tell you about opening the door?”

  Out came that lower lip. This time it trembled. “I’m not s’posed to.”

  “That’s right. And why?”

  “Stranger danger.”

  “Good girl. Now go sit down for a second.”

  The camera indicated that Tristian was on the porch, so I let him in.

  “I hope I’m not interrupting?” He took in the family scene.

  “Nope, we were just leaving,” Dad announced. “See ya later, peanut.”

  “Wait. Can we take a picture?” she asked Dad.

  “Sure.” The two of them disappeared for a minute and then came back downstairs.

  “Bye, Boppy. Bye Mimi.” She held out her arms and Dad swung her high in the air to a stream of giggles.

  When they were both gone, she asked Tristian, “Can you swing me like Boppy?”

  Before he could respond, I said, “Easton, why don’t you run upstairs for a minute?”

  “I don’t wanna.” She crossed her arms and stood with her feet apart. Why, that little booger.

  “Sometimes we have to do things we don’t want. Go on, because Mr. Tristian and I need to discuss some things. I’ll call you when we’re done. You can make us a pretty picture while you’re there.”

  “Okay.”

  That had been easier than I’d thought. We watched her scramble up the stairs. When the coast was clear, I said, “Thank you again for today.”

  “It’s why I’m here. I wanted to see how things went.”

  “Please, sit. Would you like a beer? Or something to drink?”

  “No, thanks. I’m fine.”

  I filled in the blanks for him on the meeting. “I don’t mind if you attend them. You know everything going on.”

  “I only will if you want me there.”

  “Moral support would be nice, especially since you’re my witness.”

  “I should ask them about that. I’m in, you know that. Maybe I need to be in on the meetings.”

  “Stacey was impressed, I can tell you that. I had to pick her eyeballs off the floor and cram them back into their sockets when she saw who the prosecuting attorney was.”

  His deep laughter rang throughout the room. Easton ran to the top of the stairs and asked, “Mommy, are you done scussing?”

  “Almost. I’ll come up and get you when we are.” I turned to Tristian, saying, “I think she’s more interested in seeing you than anything. She’s a nosy little thing.”

  “Did she ever hear anything from that night?”

  My hand covered my heart. “Gosh, no. She’s a heavy sleeper and also sleeps with a sound machine, thank God. That would’ve freaked her out to no end.”

  He stared at my face, making me uneasy. My hands went to cover it. “Yeah, it still looks awful,” I said.

  He moved them away. “No, I was going to say it looked so much better.” Then he brushed the back of his hand over my cheekbone and it was almost my undoing. I leaned into him and closed my eyes. “All I see is you in this room with his hands around your neck and it’s been making me lose my sanity.” Then his lips were on mine, softly at first. My hands rested on his chest and his mouth trailed kisses over my cheek, temple, jawbone, and down my neck. He smelled fresh, of the outdoors, and I didn’t want this to end. “You’re beautiful.”

  A stilted chuckle popped out of me. “You’re too kind. And maybe a bit blind, me having a green face and all. I look like a Martian.”

  “A perfectly gorgeous one. Besides, I’ve always loved science fiction.” A half-grin curved his mouth.

  “Mr. Trishan kissed you,” a little voice said from the top of the stairs. Then we heard the smacking sounds she made with her mouth. The little snoop was spying on us.

  Tristian and I looked at each other and I said, “Busted.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Tristian

  English would have my protection, regardless of the cost. Dark visions of that bastard’s hands squeezing the life out of her haunted me. I wouldn’t rest easy until he was sent to prison, no matter what the attorneys said.

  I’d never been one much for kids, but little Easton was a pistol. Precocious didn’t begin to describe her. The other day when I was there, she’d caught me kissing her mom and then gone on to mimic us.

  “Kissy, kissy.” Smack, smack. She kissed the air.

  “Who taught you that?” I asked, filled with curiosity.

  “The girls at school. They do that when they see a boy they want to kiss.”

  “Six-year-olds want to kiss each other?” I asked English. Those days were too long past for me to remember.

  “Apparently it’s a short-lived phase and then they hate boys for a while.”

  “I certainly hope so. That’s entirely too early to show an interest in the opposite sex.”

  “I agree and asked my parents. Mom said it was a passing fancy. She taught first grade so has a lot of experience.”

  That
was a relief on the short-lived boy interest.

  “Mr. Trishan, do you love my mommy?”

  “Easton, that’s not something you ask,” English scolded, but it didn’t faze Easton.

  “Why?”

  “Because it’s none of your business, that’s why.”

  “But you’re my mommy, so I wanted to know.”

  English grabbed the child and pulled her up on her lap. “Listen, Miss Nosy Britches, you’re right about me being your mommy. But what Mr. Tristian does is his own business.”

  Easton’s nose wrinkled. “But what if he wants to get married and you don’t want to?”

  She was much further along in her thinking than me.

  “Easton, you can’t say those things.” English’s cheeks had blossomed into pink roses of embarrassment.

  “But why? I like Mr. Trishan and so do you. What if I want him as my daddy?”

  “Maybe he doesn’t want to get married or be a daddy.”

  Easton patted both of her mother’s cheeks. “Why wouldn’t he? You’re the prettiest mommy of everyone in my class. And I’m lots of fun.”

  This had gotten funnier with each question English tried to answer.

  “That has nothing to do with it.”

  Easton crossed her arms. “Does too. Mr. Trishan won’t wanna marry someone who ain’t pretty.”

  “‘Who’s not pretty,’ not ‘ain’t,’” English corrected.

  Then the little mite ignored her mother and leaned over to ask me. “Would you, Mr. Trishan?”

  How the hell did I answer that? “Um, Easton, the way someone looks has nothing to do with it.”

  “Uh-huh. Boppy tells Mimi how pretty she is all the time. Why would you want to marry someone that’s ugly?”

  “Easton Bridges, that is not nice. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder.”

  “What’s a buholder?”

  English groaned, so I offered the answer. “What your mom means is that each person has his or her own standard of beauty, so I may think someone is pretty while someone else may not.”

  “But you think Mommy is pretty, don’t you?”

  No use denying that. “I think your mother is very pretty.”

  “Then that means you wanna marry her, right? So I can be a flower girl and wear a pink princess dress.”

  English grumbled and rubbed her temples. “Easton, it’s like this. You love Boppy, right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “But you wouldn’t want to marry him, would you?”

  Bubbly giggles flowed out of the pint-sized human. “Noooo! Mimi wouldn’t let me. He’s already married.” Then her little mouth contorted into a strange expression. “What does it mean?”

  “What does what mean?”

  “Married?”

  English answered, “It’s complicated, but when people get older they do it so they can live together and have children.”

  Easton clapped her hands. “Yay! I want to have a sister! But not any brothers! Boys are icky.”

  This was not going well at all. My tongue poked the inside of my cheek, while English’s face got even redder than it had been. Then she declared, “It’s time to change the subject.”

  Easton seemed happy with that, but English nearly fell off the couch when she asked, “Mommy, does Mr. Trishan have a weenus?” She accentuated the ‘wee’ part.

  English sputtered for a solid thirty seconds, then stood, holding Easton, and disappeared into the kitchen, mumbling something about a snack.

  I gave them a few minutes of private time before I joined them. “May I have one of those?”

  Easton grinned with her mouth full of cookies. “Yeah, but you gotta sit here. Remember?”

  “Easton Bridges, no talking with your mouth full.”

  “Oops.” Her hand covered her mouth.

  English handed me a cookie. “May I please have some milk?” I asked.

  Her brows rose a tad, but she filled a glass and handed it to me.

  Easton’s eyes burned holes into me, specifically below the waist, so I turned to her. “What’s up?”

  “Mommy said you have a weenus and I have a wagina.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Yep. Boys have those. Weenuses. Will you show me yours? Cuz I never saw one before.”

  English’s jaw hit the floor. “Easton! That is not nice and remember what I told you.”

  “You mean never ever show my pirate parts?”

  “Yes, that’s right. And if you are never to show yours, what does that mean?”

  “Mr. Trishan can’t show his either.” She bit off another piece of cookie as if it didn’t faze her a bit. I’d had no idea kids asked these things. Then the best part came when she added, “Boys don’t have boobies either. Isn’t that right, Mommy?”

  “I give up.” English’s hands went up in the air in surrender as I laughed. One bonus was—this kid was definitely entertaining as hell.

  “Hey, Tristian, did you hear what I said?” My brother’s voice brought me out of the past and back to the present.

  “Uh, sorry. Can you repeat it?”

  “Where the hell were you? You had a dazed expression on your face. Almost like you got hit with several hundred volts.”

  Interesting. It was close to how I felt. “Yeah, I sort of wandered off. I’m back now. So how is Landry coming along?”

  “He’s great. I’m impressed with him. We’re doing video meetings together, and I’m letting him handle more and more each day. He surprised me.”

  “How so?”

  “I never took him for such a serious one,” Stanton said. “He’s focused and determined to do it right the first time.” A chuckle followed his statement. “Dad would’ve been proud of him.”

  “Have you told him that?”

  “Not yet, but I plan to. He’s toe-dipping right now, but when he’s halfway in, I’ll let him know.”

  “Stanton, tell him now. Out of all of us, you were the closest to Dad. I would’ve loved to have known how Dad really felt about me. I always thought he was indifferent and hated the fact I went out on my own. Landry needs the encouragement.”

  “You’re right. I’ll tell him tomorrow. Honestly, he’s made me proud. I used to think all he was interested in was partying. But my mind has made a one-eighty on that.”

  I rubbed my chin, deep in thought. “When Mom called to tell me about the accident, the last thing I wanted was to come here. This place was never welcoming. It hadn’t felt like home in so long. But things are different now. Knowing how you and Dad changed the company and realizing our relationship is better because of it, I look forward to these visits.”

  “And to think we wasted all those years.”

  I tapped his shoulder. “That’s over. No more wasting time.”

  He grimaced as he changed positions. “Can you help me up? I need to move around some.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Yeah. I’m supposed to get out of bed often. This makes my back ache and my ass sore.” He waved a hand across the bed.

  “Is it the mattress? We can change it.”

  “No. It’s lying around like this.”

  I helped him swing his leg to the side and then pulled him up using his good arm. He’d had surgery on the other shoulder, and the leg, along with sewing up a ruptured spleen and some other internal stuff. His age and his physical state had put him in a better survival category. He also worked every day with the therapist and was getting stronger.

  “Walk me to the bathroom, please.”

  I left him in there with a crutch, but I was worried he’d fall or something. When he emerged, he said, “I can’t wait to take a full-body shower without this cast.”

  That hadn’t crossed my mind. My skin itched at the thought.

  “Stop it. My leg has itched for several weeks now.”

  “I feel for you, man.”

  He stood, leaning on the crutch. “I never thought I’d appreciate standing so much.” He frowned but it took on a sorrowf
ul tone. “I’ll never forgive myself for speeding that night.”

  “Stanton, don’t go there. It was an accident.”

  “No, it wasn’t. If I hadn’t been so careless, Dad would still be alive.”

  Maybe if he talked this out it would help. “Can you remember all the details of that night?”

  “Most of them.” His head hung as he gazed at the floor. “We’d gone to that breakfast meeting. We did a stupid coin toss on who would drive.” A rueful chuckle escaped from him. “If only that coin had only picked him and not me. Anyway, we were on the way home, and you know how I love driving fast. I thought nothing of it until we came around a curve and the car didn’t respond like it should have. Then I spun out of control and the rest you know.”

  My ears perked up. “Wait a minute. What do you mean the car didn’t respond like it should have?”

  “I don’t know. It was sluggish on the turn. It felt stiff or something.”

  Stanton loved fast cars, and he drove them that way. He currently owned a Porsche, but in the past had owned a Ferrari, a Lamborghini, and a Bugatti. I was simple when it came to cars—functionality was more my speed. Give me an SUV any day of the week and I’d be a happy man.

  “Sluggish as in it wouldn’t turn?”

  “As in the power steering didn’t feel right. It was fine when we left the meeting, but the further away we got, the stiffer it became.”

  It made me think someone had tampered with it. “The car is totaled, but I’m going to see where it ended up.”

  “Why?”

  “A hunch. That’s all.” I’d keep my suspicions to myself until there was something concrete to share. “I need to go have a chat with Mom and Ravina.”

  “Yeah, how’s that going?”

  “Ravina has yet to get a job. I believe she thinks this is all a joke.”

  “You do realize you’ll have a difficult time of evicting her?”

  “Not the plan. I’ll take all her money away, including what she gets from the trust.”

  Stanton sputtered. “Holy shit, Tris. Can you do that?”

  “You bet I can. Oh, and did I tell you I fired Sherman?”

  Another choking sputter came out of him. “What the hell! How did you manage that? Better yet, why?”

  “The man was robbing us blind.” I sat down again and told Stanton, “I went over everything Sherman had been billing us for and it was four times what it should’ve been. He’s been living off us for too long. Dad never ordered anything in the will that says you can’t run the company. I am the executor, but Sherman lied about too many things. After having two other highly qualified attorneys review the will, there was nothing of the sort in there. You can run the company without me at all. I am the trustee though. Mom was given a percentage of the wealth and the ability to live here for however long she wants. Ravina can go to work in the company if she wants, but she’s shown zero initiative.” It totally pissed me off that her actions were so selfishly driven.