by Zoey Oliver
“Everywhere,” Ayla replied, biting her bottom lip.
Mick’s nostrils flared and he had to adjust the hardening cock in his trunks, lest it pitch too obvious a tent. Before he could reply, Preston was banging on the window from inside Mick’s SUV. “It’s going to close! We have to go!”
“Is this typical?” Mick asked with a smile.
“Entirely, exhaustingly so,” Ayla answered.
“Excellent,” Mick answered with a wink. He fist-bumped the glass next to Preston, who did the same from his side, and within minutes they were Waveworks-bound.
Chapter 21
“Amy, you don’t understand. They were inseparable. Preston would not leave Mick’s side. I might as well have not been there.”
When they got home from the water park, Preston was exhausted, and for the first time in years, asked if he could take a nap. Ayla took the opportunity to catch up with her sister regarding the events of the day.
“How cool is that?” Amy asked.
“Oh, beyond cool. Way past cool. I never even dreamed anything like this. They just laughed and played the entire time. It was amazing.”
“And the important question— how does he look in a swimsuit?”
“Well, come on Amy, I already know what pretty much every part of him looks like,” Ayla laughed. “But he was the sexiest dad there. By about a million miles. It’s like even his scars were strategically placed for maximum hotness. Preston asked Mick about one on his arm and he told him he got it fighting an orc. And he asked him if he knew what an orc was, and he didn’t, which Mick said was a tragedy and he said he wants to read the entire Lord of the Rings series with him and teach him about orcs and hobbits and elves.”
“When’s the big day?” Amy asked.
“It’s not like that,” Ayla insisted. “I mean, someday, maybe, hopefully, who knows? But it’s premature.”
“But if he proposed today?”
“You’re so weird,” a blushing Ayla replied.
“That’s a yes!”
“It’s not a no,” Ayla conceded.
Across town, Mick pulled into valet parking at Arroyo Place. A day in the blazing Las Vegas sun trying to keep up with the boundless energy of a six-year-old had left him exhausted.
Preston’s smile and laughter were like a drug, addictive sights and sounds he didn’t know how he’d ever lived without. They’d explored every inch of the park, riding all four waterslides, climbing all over the water-cannon-shooting pirate ship, ridden the lazy river, and battled the breakers in the wave pool. Mick knew he was in good shape, but Preston had tested the limits of his endurance. No matter how many times they plummeted down a slide, Preston always begged for “One more!” It was endless. And more fun than Mick Merryweather had had in ages. He made Ayla promise not to go again without checking with him to see if he was available.
And speaking of Ayla, Mick found her irresistible and mouth-watering in her blue one-piece.
When she first removed her wrap and he watched her move clad in just the curve-hugging blue Lycra, he shook his head in disbelief.
This was the woman he got to make love to? To fuck? Fortune had indeed smiled on him.
Seeing Ayla in a bathing suit for the first time moved Mick to recall a favorite piece of poetry, which he shared with her.
“Do you know Basho? He was a Japanese poet; he wrote a lot about Mount Fuji.”
“I… don’t think so. Should I?” Ayla asked.
“No, frankly I’d be surprised if you did. Sorry to ruin whatever impression you may have had of me, but I’m a secret nerd. Matsuo Basho is from the 1600s.”
Ayla watched Preston climb up the netting on the side of the pirate ship, braving water cannon fire as he did so.
“So what brings him to mind?”
Mick leaned in close. “Your ass.”
“You’re so bad!”
Mick recited his favorite Basho piece, from memory:
“Shrouded in the dense fog of late autumn rains –
Fuji is unseen for the day.
Intriguing!”
“You’re comparing my ass to a mountain?” Ayla asked.
“To the most beautiful mountain in the world!” Mick insisted. “What Basho is saying is that as majestic as Mount Fuji is, there’s something beautiful, and, to use his word, ‘intriguing’, about seeing it concealed by fog. Seeing only the fog, but knowing what lies beneath it. Your ass— your entire body, actually— strikes me the exact same way seeing you in that swimsuit. Not that I don’t want you completely naked again as soon as humanly possible, but you’re just so incredibly sexy like this. I don’t know why any other women bother.”
“You’re so silly,” Ayla replied. How was he even real?
Before long, Preston was screaming for Mick to join him in the assault on the pirate ship, bringing a temporary end to Mick and Ayla’s flirting, but not to their fun in the sun.
Chapter 22
Bev Merryweather arrived late-morning Thursday, grumpy and complaining. Mick wouldn’t recognize his mother any other way.
“Bloody hell this place is even more awful than I expected.”
“It’s nice to see you, too, Mum,” Mick replied, leaving the airport and pulling out into Las Vegas traffic.
“Isn’t there anything green here?”
“Sure. Palm trees and cactus. And golf courses.”
“How can people live here?” Bev demanded.
“Air conditioning, Mum.”
“It’s just… this place is uncivilized. No wonder the Crown let the colonists keep it.”
“Well, there was actually a war, you know. The King didn’t exactly just walk away and leave the keys with the new tenants.”
“Feh. Where’s my grandson? You promised me a grandson.”
“I figured you might want to rest first. Maybe we’ll meet them for dinner. Before that we can talk about it. He doesn’t yet know I’m his father,” Mick explained.
“Well that’s complete rubbish,” Bev complained. “I came all this way, poked, prodded, and herded, to spend time with that boy. I’ve seen enough of you. Take me to him now.”
Mick tried to protest. “Let’s get you settled at my condo first.”
But his mother was having none of it. “I’m an old woman. Why do you want to break my heart? Just take me back to the airport if you don’t intend to let me see my grandson.”
Mick relented. “I’ll call Ayla and see what they’re doing. But mom, we talked about this, Preston doesn’t know yet. You can’t tell him. Ayla is his mother, and she wants to ease him into this transition. It’s a lot for a six-year-old.”
“Will her parents be there? I’ll need to meet them as well, if they’re going to be your in-laws.”
“Mum. Mum! We talked about this. No, you won’t be meeting her parents. Not today, anyway, or any day in the immediate future. And you get in-laws when you become married. Ayla and I are going slowly; there’s been no talk of marriage.”
Bev fished around in her handbag, and produced a small box. She handed it to Mick as he drove.
“You’re a father. In my day, it was customary to be married to the mother of your child.” Mick flipped open the box, revealing a diamond ring. “It’s the ring your grandfather proposed to my mother with. You’ll use it with Ayla,” Bev commanded.
“When the time’s right,” Mick said. “We’ll see. Now, are you hungry?”
“What do you think?” Bev snapped. “On a plane for what seemed like bloody weeks on end with nothing to eat but pretzels?”
“Fine,” Mick surrendered. “I’ll call Ayla, maybe they’ll meet us for an early lunch.”
Ayla had just been hanging out with Preston, thinking of going to Mojave Pointe Park. When Ayla mentioned meeting up with Mick at the Green Valley Ranch Station buffet, however, Preston forgot all about the splash pad.
Twenty-five minutes later, the three of them converged in line at the buffet. Preston swung from Mick’s forearm like it was a jungle g
ym. Bev had gone off “to the loo.”
Bev was returning from the bathroom when she spotted Preston for the first time. She stopped dead in her tracks as if she’d seen a ghost.
Mick noticed her standing with a hand covering her open mouth, eyes wide.
“Mum!” Mick called out to her. “Over here.”
Ayla put a hand over her mouth and fought back tears. The raw emotion on Bev’s face hit Ayla like a gut punch. Preston, blissfully unaware of what was transpiring around him, imitated a monkey as he swung from one of Mick’s powerful arms to the other.
Ayla moved first, walking the short distance to where Mick’s mother stood. She offered a hand. “Hello, Mrs. Merryweather? I’m delighted to meet you, I’m Ayla.”
Bev made no move to shake Ayla’s hand, but she spoke, quietly. “It’s just like seeing Mickey as a little boy. Saints preserve us.” She turned to make brief eye contact with Ayla, then returned her gaze to monkey boy Preston.
As people moved into line behind them, Mick shifted Preston out of line and walked him over to where the two women stood.
“Preston, this lady is my mommy. Her name is Bev. She’s come all the way from England to visit us. That’s very far away. She flew on an airplane.”
“That’s cool!” Preston said, flashing two thumbs up.
“Do you think maybe you could give Miss Bev a hug, Preston?” Ayla asked.
Bev’s expression softened, and she squatted down slightly to get closer to eye level with her grandson.
Preston threw his arms around her neck, and Mick and Ayla watched as she closed her eyes and choked back sobs, squeezing Preston with all her might.
Bev tousled Preston’s hair when she let go, marveling at him. “You remind me very much of two little boys who used to live at my house,” Bev said to Preston, in a thick Sheffield accent with which he struggled to keep up.
“She says that when I was your size, we looked a lot alike,” Mick explained.
“You were never my size!” Preston argued. “Otherwise, your muscles could never be so big!”
“Ah, but if you eat the right things and keep exercising, you can be even bigger than me!” Mick insisted.
Preston seemed satisfied, and he flexed his muscles as they returned to the line.
The four of them ate and laughed and talked the afternoon away. Ayla found Bev to be charming and sweet, contrary to Mick’s reports of his mother as irascible and argumentative.
Preston had softened her; letting her heart return to a place and time when her husband and both her sons lived at home. Just seeing Preston, watching him eat, hearing him plead for “just one more” slice of pie or scoop of ice cream, just like her Mickey and Frankie had done, thawed the block of ice that losing Frank and Harry had implanted in her chest.
Hugs all around concluded the meal, and the Mick’s amazement, his mum had made no mention of her letter from the Queen.
Bev was exhausted, and Mick knew she needed to get back to the condo and take a nap. Ayla drove Preston back home to watch a movie and digest.
On the way home, Preston posed a question. “Are we going to see grandma again tomorrow?”
Ayla almost drove off the road.
“What grandma, buddy?”
“Grandma Bev. Mr. Mick’s mommy.”
“Is she your grandma?” Ayla asked, turning the radio down.
“Hey, I love that song!” Preston protested when Ayla silenced his favorite song, the new Lia Melody hit.
“I’ll play it for you when we get home. Now answer my question. Is Miss Bev your grandma?”
“Grandma is mommy or daddy’s mommy, right?”
“Yes.”
“Well she called Mick my daddy, so that means she’s my grandma.”
Ayla felt herself go pale.
“She did?”
“I was eating shrimp, the crispy ones, just like Mr. Mick, and she said ‘Your daddy loved shrimp when he was a boy, too. He liked biting the heads off.’ And she watched us eating them, just the same way. Is Mr. Mick my daddy?”
Ayla was startled. She never expected Preston to unravel the truth on his own. “How would you feel about it if he was?”
Preston clapped his hands. “It would be awesome. He’s cool. And strong!”
Ayla sighed. The crushing weight of having to deceive her son for so long was gone.
She had money in the bank for the first time in her life. Real money, not just enough to hopefully make it to the next paycheck. She was desperately in love, and madly in lust.
A life that just a week prior seemed to be spinning inexorably down the drain, no matter how much she scratched and fought, was in a better place than her wildest dreams dared to imagine.
Mick got his mum back to the condo and tucked her into the spare bedroom.
He sat in the living room with a glass of his favorite Scotch, swirling it in his hand as he replayed the events of the past few days in his mind.
The longer he thought of Ayla, the more his cock strained in his pants. He was obsessed with every inch of her body, and longed to be alone with her again.
He took a burning sip and his thoughts turned to Preston and the joy with which he filled Bev’s soul. Preston’s spirit and exuberance were contagious, and Mick found himself imagining the adventures they’d share.
In his pocket, he felt the box with the ring in it, and he wondered if it would be absolutely insane for him to propose to Ayla. He could count the days they’d known each other since their serendipitous reunion on one hand, but it didn’t matter. This was love. True love. And he couldn’t bear the thought of risking losing it ever again.
The next time he saw Ayla, he’d propose to her. If they were married, the whole “How do we explain all this to Preston” matter would be, in a way, resolved.
Mick finished his glass and walked over to the Strip, watching the cars and people go by, far below. He wondered if, in a trillion multiverses, alternate timelines, and abstract realities, everything had ever converged so perfectly to have him fall so deeply in love with Ayla Murray. He decided it was impossible.
His phone rang, and Ayla relayed the news regarding Preston’s happy discovery that he had a Dad. And a grandma.
Mick poured himself another glass and lifted it into the air, toasting his father, his brother, and nearly seven years of what he thought had been an unhealthy obsession with the mysterious blonde in the blue dress.
Epilogue
Mick Merryweather held up the newspaper his mother had mailed them from Sheffield. The headline said:
Yank Nephew of Fallen Local Star is Sporting Legacy
“I hate that term, ‘Yank,” Ayla said. It sounds crass. Sexual.”
“That’s just in your dirty mind, my love,” Mick said to his wife as he wrapped his arms around her from behind and pressed his hips forward, against the ass he’d spent two decades mesmerized by.
“You’ve made me this way,” Ayla said, reaching behind her to squeeze Mick’s cock through his pants.
“Careful, or you’ll wind up with a baby younger than your grandson,” Mick teased.
His union with Ayla, the marriage following their whirlwind reunion nearly twenty years ago, had produced five younger siblings for Preston, four girls and one more boy.
All six had, or were in line to, graduate from Oasis Academy.
The large Merryweather clan settled permanently in Las Vegas, although Bev, the matriarch of the family, could never be convinced to permanently leave Sheffield.
Besides her own grandchildren, she had five grand-nieces and grand-nephews thanks to Ayla’s sister, Amy, and brother, Allan. Despite being eighty-seven, she could recite all eleven children’s full names and birthdates, as well as what was on their ever-changing Christmas and birthday wish lists.
Mick had risen to head of corporate security for Watterson Gaming International, a goliath casino conglomerate with properties on three continents. His seven-figure salary meant that Ayla had given up her pre-dawn shifts at
NPE long ago to be a stay-at-home mom for her beautiful brood.
Preston had been named to the United States Olympic rugby team for the 2036 games, prompting The Sheffield Telegraph to interview Mick and Preston and pen an article about the athletic legacy of the Merryweather family, focusing on Frank and his tragic death, all those years ago. His mother was quoted in the article, “Preston is my son come back to me.”
His statue still stood at Bramall Lane, where mourners still covered it with flowers each year on the anniversary of the accident.
Preston’s wife, Mya, was a Sheffield girl he’d met while visiting his grandmother prior to his senior year at Stanford. They were wed within a month of meeting, against the advice of all their family and friends. Preston knew better.
Love doesn’t wait.
Their first-born, Harry, arrived two weeks after Preston’s graduation.
Mick had tried to broker peace with Ayla’s family, but to no avail. He had the door shut in his face when he knocked on it and introduced himself, and although he sent Christmas cards and birth and graduation announcements, they received only silence in return.
The entire extended family, all of Amy and Allan’s kids, as well as Ayla’s, spent a traditional week at Disneyland every year during Christmas break, financed by Mick and Ayla. Bev attended each and every one, the sweetest, most loving grandmother and grand-aunt imaginable.
Ayla and Mick poured themselves into their own children, raising four girls and two boys who shared the beauty and grit of their momma, the courage of their daddy, and a single-minded obsession to bring glory to the Merryweather name, and never bring it shame.
THE END
SAVE ME DADDY
Copyright © 2017 by Jess Bentley
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No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.