by Lacey Black
“Hey, thanks, man,” I tell him as I try to move the baby without waking him up. It doesn’t work, though, and I can already tell he’s about to let one of his loud ear-splitting wails fly.
“No worries, Cruz. Wish I could stay and help, but I gotta get on the road soon,” Fish says, glancing back to where Lena seems to stand like a garden statue. “You gonna be okay?” he asks not-so-subtly, his eyebrow shooting up.
“We’ll be fine,” I reassure him. Though, I’m not sure that’s true. I definitely wouldn’t have made it this far without him, and the fact he’s leaving is another cause of worry. I haven’t even told Lena why I need her help yet, and all I can do now is pray she doesn’t run screaming from my house and fly back to Kansas. “Thanks for, well, everything,” I tell him, following him toward the front door.
“Call me if you need anything. If I don’t answer, I’ll call ya back as soon as I can,” Fish says. Before he opens the door, he glances over his shoulder. “Nice to meet ya, Lena. Be gentle with my boy here.”
I glance back just in time to see her wave and flash him a small smile. She may be uncomfortable, but she’s always polite. Plus, except for his ex-wife, everyone likes Fish. He’s a likeable guy. He’s trustworthy and a damn good friend too, which is why I asked my second big favor in under twenty-four hours, and that was to retrieve Lena from the airport and bring her here.
The first, you ask? Well, we’ll get to that shortly.
When Fish leaves, my son decides he’s hungry and not willing to wait for his food. I lock the door and turn to head to the kitchen. I pass Lena, who’s still standing in my living room, watching my every move, and say, “Make yourself at home. I’m going to grab a bottle and then we can talk.”
Fish set up the counter with everything the social worker brought last night, so I head over and try to juggle the now-crying baby and open the container of formula. First thing I do is knock over the clean bottle. My frustration level reaches maximum capacity as his screams grow more insistent. I haven’t felt this out of my league since the first time I got behind the wheel with the Colton Donavan watching from the pit box.
Suddenly, I feel her presence. Lena steps in and reaches for the baby bottle, her arm brushing against mine, and I’m not the least bit embarrassed to say that touch affects me. Specifically, in my pants. She grabs the bottle of water and glances my way. I realize what she’s asking immediately. “Four ounces.” I move the baby to my shoulder like Fish showed me to do and gently bounce him. He’s not having it though, and the longer it takes to get the boy some grub, the more upset he becomes. With quick and steady hands, Lena pours the water into the bottle. The moment she sets the jug down, I tell her how much formula to add. As soon as she has the bottle ready, I grab it, mumble a quick thanks, head to the living room, and sit on the rocker recliner.
Awkwardly, I adjust my son, his little mouth opening like a baby bird in a nest. I place the bottle against his lip, and he latches on like a champ, greedily sucking his food in massive gulps. “Slow down, little man,” I whisper, watching as he gasps for air. He lets a cry fly as I shift him in my arm and put the bottle back against his lips. This time, he slows down and starts to eat his food.
Out of the corner of my eye, I see Lena slide down onto the corner of the couch. She’s basically as far away from me as possible, and that fact is both welcoming and unsettling. Welcoming because the farther away she is, the less likely I am to pull her into my arms, nuzzle my nose against her hair, and kiss her as long and hard as I can. It’s unsettling because I realize she’d rather sit over there than beside me.
I take a deep breath, the exhaustion of the last eighteen hours weighing heavily on me. I keep my eyes focused on my son, open my mouth, and speak. “His name is Oliver and he’s three weeks old. I didn’t know about him until yesterday when a social worker called me.”
Risking a glance her way, I see her eyes cast downward, but I can tell she’s listening. After a few seconds, she glances up, the uncertainty clear on her face as she asks, “Where’s his mom?”
This is the part that gets a little sticky. “She passed away,” I tell her, noticing how Oliver favors my darker skin tone but his mother’s slightly upturned nose and the roundness of her eyes.
“How?” she asks, as if she wants to know the answer, yet is afraid of it at the same time.
I exhale. “It’s all a big complicated mess, Lean,” I whisper, the weight of everything settling like an elephant on my chest. “I was told she had a stroke. His mom, Renee, was just…someone I knew. We weren’t dating or anything. I hadn’t even seen her in more than nine months. She worked for the league and was often at the racetrack. Apparently, she missed a few big events and was fired. I don’t know all the details because we never kept in touch after she left. This is just what I heard around the track. I mean, it’s not like we were friends or anything,” I tell her, feeling guilty for not staying in touch with Renee after she left, but it’s the truth. We weren’t friends, we just…fucked on occasion. That makes me sound like the biggest asshole alive, I know, but it’s the truth. Neither of us were expecting anything from the other out of it, and we damn sure weren’t the only ones doing it. It was consensual every damn time, yet I still feel this horrible guilt now that she’s gone, mixed with my anger.
Yes, anger.
Why the fuck didn’t she tell me about my son?
“So, you guys were…fuck buddies?” she asks, almost in a business-like voice.
“Yeah,” I answer, glancing her way once more, but she’s not looking at me. Lena’s staring at the floor again, as if it’s the most interesting hardwood floor known to man.
When her eyes meet mine, it’s a startling clash of pain and confusion. “But you didn’t know about Oliver?”
“No. I never heard from her after she left. Hell, I don’t even know where she went. All I know is she gave birth to Oliver three weeks ago in her hometown of Fresno, putting me down as the father on the birth certificate. I was told she mentioned me to her mom, but refused to go into details about our relationship. When she died, her mom reached out to the state and told them of the situation. That’s when they stepped in and called me yesterday morning.”
“So, now you’re just taking care of him?” she asks, her eyes locked on the bundle in my arms.
“Yeah,” I tell her, wishing I could run my hands through my hair again. Unfortunately, they’re both busy right now, feeding Oliver. “Mrs. Reynolds, the social worker, told me Renee’s mom is sick. Cancer, I guess, and she didn’t feel comfortable taking care of the baby if I’m able to do it. What was I supposed to say? No?” I ask, incredulously. I’ve only known about the boy for a day, but there was no way I could walk away and leave Renee’s mom with the burden of caring for him, or worse, someone in foster care.
Lena smiles softly at Oliver. “I think you did the right thing.”
“You do?” I ask.
Those green eyes meet mine once more as she nods. “I mean, what else were you supposed to do?”
“Right,” I say, noticing the bottle is about half empty already. I remove it from Oliver’s mouth, just the way Fish instructed me to, and carefully transfer him to my shoulder. I’m still a little uncertain on this part, but I was actually about to get a burp from him during his last feeding without my friend’s assistance. Oliver squawks but calms down a bit as I gently start to pat his back.
When I glance over, I see Lena watching my every move.
“Fish had to give me a crash course in fatherhood,” I tell her, as I rest my nose against his soft baby head.
“I thought he didn’t have any kids,” she says.
“He doesn’t, but he’s the oldest of eight kids,” I tell her. “When he was a teenager, he was helping his parents with all his younger siblings, including the newborns. There are like twelve years between him and the youngest Fisher kid. For the last few years, he was always talking about them, so when Mrs. Reynolds showed up yesterday with my son, I called him for he
lp.”
“He’s a good friend.”
I glance her way before replying, “He is. The best. But don’t tell him I told you that. It’ll go to his head, and that’ll be all he talks about for weeks.” I offer her a small grin just as Oliver lets a small belch fly. With a kiss to the crown of his head, I shift him back into the crook of my arm to finish his bottle.
After a few minutes of quiet, Lena finally asks, “So why am I here, Mack? What do you need help with?”
Just the sound of her saying my name, my first name—not my last name as everyone has become accustomed to calling me—takes me right back to a time I’ve tried to forget. A time where it was just us against the world, usually me covered in grease and her sitting on a stool, camera in hand as she snapped photo after photo of whatever sparked her interest.
Knowing I just need to get this out, I angle my body toward her, maintain eye contact, and tell her exactly why she’s here. “I need your help raising Oliver. At least for a little while.”
She seems stunned. So stunned, in fact, she doesn’t say anything for several seconds. Seconds that feel like long minutes, actually, but in reality, aren’t that long. “I can’t,Mack. I can’t stay here and raise your son. I have a life and a job in Kansas,” she replies, flabbergasted by my request.
I expected this, really. I mean, as much as I’d love for Lena to jump at the opportunity to practically move here and help me raise my son, I knew it wasn’t likely. So I have an offer prepared. “What about for a short term? Like two months?”
She just gapes at me, as if I’ve lost my mind. “You’re serious?” she asks, as she gets up from the couch and starts to pace the room. “What about Fish?”
“He’s getting ready to head home for a week. His grandpa passed away, so he’s off to Oklahoma to bury him.”
She walks back and forth, from the front door to the hallway and then back again. “What about…someone else?”
“There is no one else, Lean.” My voice drops as I glance down at my son. “No one I trust anyway. Not with something this big.” When I glance back up, she’s standing directly in front of me, her eyes as wide as hubcaps. “You know this business. No one understands this commitment like you do. I need someone I trust to help me with Oliver. At least for a little while.”
“Two months?” Her question is barely above a whisper.
“That’s negotiable, but I’d love your help as long as I can get it. We’re off this weekend from racing, but I have to go to Fresno on Friday for Renee’s memorial service. There are four more races in the upcoming weeks, and I’m not sure how it’s going to work with having Oliver at the racetrack with me. There’s so much to figure out, and I just don’t know what to do.”
Just then, Oliver spits out the bottle and curls up in my arm. He fits so snuggly there, as if my arms were always meant to hold him. Recalling what Fish said about burping, even when he falls asleep, I move him back to my shoulder and tap his back.
Lena returns to the couch, this time sitting a lot closer to me than before. She watches as I burp Oliver, her brain spinning a million miles a second. It amazes me how easy it is to read her, the way I was able to years ago. “I can’t stay here for two months, Mack.”
“How about six weeks? That gets me through the next four races. And I’ll pay you, Lena. I don’t want to take advantage of you in any way. I just…” I sigh deeply and rub my tired eyes. “I just need you right now. I need a friend. Someone I trust.”
Now it’s her turn to sigh, and I know I have her. She closes her eyes for a few moments, so I let her be and continue to try to burp Oliver. When the baby finally burps and lies limp against my body, I start to get up from the chair. As much as I’d like to hold him—because for some crazy reason, the need to hold him close is so fucking strong—I follow Fish’s recommendation to put him in the bassinet. It’s the one thing, furniture wise, he ran out and bought for me last night. We’ll need to get a lot of other stuff, but I just haven’t been able to venture out just yet.
Just as I approach the stairs, my right foot poised on the bottom step, I hear her voice. “I’ll do it. For six weeks.”
I almost sag with relief as her words register. “Thank you, Lena,” I say as I turn to face her. “I know this isn’t easy on you. It’s not easy on me either, but I just, well, I didn’t know who else to call.”
She nods.
Turning back to the staircase, I’m about take a step when something else hits me. “Am I keeping you away from anyone back home?” My heart thunders in my chest as I await her answer.
“No.” That’s all she says, and relief fills my entire body.
I make my way up the stairs and toward my room where the bassinet is set up. Carefully, I lower Oliver on to the thin mattress, grateful that he stays asleep for the time being. I’m so tired, I feel it deep in my bones. I never expected parenthood to be quite like this. I mean, I knew babies took a lot of time and energy, but I wasn’t prepared for the pure exhaustion that comes with it.
And this is only the second day.
I drop onto my bed, my legs rejoicing in relief as I throw them up on the mattress. Maybe if I rest for a few minutes, I’ll be able to go down and properly deal with Lena and our new arrangement. I’m sure it’s the tiredness that has me not firing on all cylinders the way I normally do, right? It has nothing to do with the beauty from my past downstairs on my couch.
I’ll close my eyes for just a second, and then go down and wash the bottle. Maybe I’ll even be able to take a quick shower. You remember when showers were a luxury you had whenever you wanted, right?
Right.
Just give me one second…
***
I wake with a startle. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings. The clock reads four fifteen, which tells me I just slept for an hour and a half. I jump up and check the bassinet, only to find Oliver still sawing logs in the exact same position, head to the side and arms above his head. He looks so sweet, so peaceful, and I can’t help but smile.
Yeah, he’s peaceful now. Three in the morning? Not so much.
I carefully slip out of my room, leaving the door open so I can hear him cry. The stairs squeak slightly under my weight as I descend them, the scent of something cooking making my stomach growl. Lena isn’t in the living room, so I head to the dining room, already spying her leaning against the counter in the kitchen, lost in whatever she sees on her phone. Her ass is to me, and I can’t help but stop and take a long appreciative look at Lena’s backside. She’s always had a great ass, but now, after three long years, the view is doing inappropriate things to my cock.
I’m not sure if it’s simply for the fact it’s my Lena or because I haven’t exactly had a reason to get this kind of erection in the last nine months or so. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve taken matters into my own hand on multiple occasions, especially after a race where the adrenaline is coursing through my veins, but I haven’t slept with anyone since Renee that fateful night all those months ago.
Why, you ask?
I’ve had a fucked up year.
And I’m worried Colton isn’t going to renew my contract after this season. I’m in year three, which means he has the option to extend my ride with CD Enterprises, but if I can’t pull off anything better than a top five placement, there’ll be no reason for him to keep me around. He wants a racer. A winner. And I haven’t done that since last fall.
Lena shifts, tapping away on her phone, the motion wiggling her ass in my direction. I almost groan, but manage to hold it in. The last thing I need is for her to take off because I can’t keep my mind out of the gutter when she’s around.
“Hey,” I state, stepping into the kitchen and startling her.
“Oh!” she hollers, her hand against her chest as she whips around to face me, her phone still clenched in her hand.
“Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.” I look over at the stove and find the source of the amazing smell. “What’s that?” I ask, nodding toward
the big stock pot.
“Oh, uh, I made some beef and noodles. I hope that’s okay,” she replies, looking at me uncertainly.
I walk over and glance in the pot. It looks as good as it smells, and my stomach growls angrily, reminding me my eating schedule hasn’t exactly been normal lately. “It’s perfect, actually. Thank you.” Our eyes meet again, and it’s like a kick to the chest. It hurts a little, but I’ll be damned if I can look away.
Lena’s the first one to break eye contact as she gazes back down at her phone. “It’ll be ready in about thirty minutes.”
She’s studying that device pretty hard, and I can’t help but reach my hand out and ask, “Whatcha got there?”
Lena glances down and blushes. “Oh, uh, when you didn’t come back downstairs, I sort of went up to make sure you were okay. I noticed you don’t have much yet for the baby, so I got online and started looking at different sites. I started adding a few things to a shopping cart,” she replies with a shrug.
Extending my hand, I ask, “Can I see it?”
Our fingers brush as she hands me the phone, and it feels like electricity zipping through my blood. It’s a familiar and welcome feeling. I try to keep my cool and play off the sensations coursing through my veins and scan the shopping cart. There’s a lot here, and honestly, I have no clue what most of it is, but I trust Lena. She’s a researcher, so if she has it in a cart, it’s probably something we need. “Let’s order it all,” I tell her, handing her back her phone.
“What?” she asks, her eyes wide. “There’s like…four thousand dollars’ worth of stuff here.”
I shrug. “If you think I need it, then we get it. I’ll get my credit card,” I tell her, grabbing my wallet off the corner of the counter.
“But don’t you think we should go through it? It’s a lot of stuff,” she argues, taking in the extensive list of baby products.
Again, I shrug. “Not necessary. It’ll save us from having to go out and try to deal with shopping in the store,” I tell her, reaching for the phone to enter my card information. It takes me a few minutes to input my shipping and billing details, and even though I rarely pay for express shipping, I go ahead and click next day. It adds an ungodly amount to the total, but it’s necessary. “Done,” I tell her as I hand her back the phone.