by Blue Saffire
Jane laughs at him, her shoulders going stiff when he says it, mouth open like she’s about to tell him to fuck off.
“It’s alright, Jane,” I tell her before she can say a word. “Tobias is right, we have some things to talk about. Private things.”
From the look on Jane’s face, she disagrees but she doesn’t say anything. “Come on, Lilah,” she says, letting go of the door to reach over the back of the chair to pull my sister out of it.
“Fine,” Lilah grumbles, swiping the bottle of wine and a half-eaten package of Nutterbutters off the coffee table before letting Jane shove her out the door.
“We’ll be right down the hall,” Jane says it to Tobias, making it sound like a threat.
“And I’ve got the Craig’s List app on my phone and my lawyer on speed dial,” my sister chimes in, giving him a thin, narrowed-eye smile. “So behave.”
Jane laughs, pulling the door shut behind her so she can herd Lilah down that hall.
Suddenly alone, Tobias and I stare at each other, neither of sure what’s supposed to happen now.
“So, is he?” he finally says, hands jammed into the pockets of his jacket. Even from here I can tell they’re cranked into fists
“Is who what?” I say, turning away from him to make my way to the kitchen.
“Is Patrick Gilroy your boyfriend?” I can hear him behind me. He’s following me rather than raise his voice.
“Seriously?” I say, shaking my head. “That’s what you want to know?” Undoing the safety latch, I open the cabinet under the sink and pull out the garbage can before turning to find him standing a few feet behind me. “If I have a boyfriend?”
“No,” he shoots back, jaw flexing and tightening, planted in front of me. “I want to know if he is your boyfriend?”
“I don’t see how that’s any of your business,” I say, turning away from him to skirt the breakfast counter from the other side. Carrying the garbage can into the living room I start cleaning up, throwing half-eaten Twinkies and mostly empty bags of Cheetos into the trash while he stands over me and seethes.
“You’re the mother of my son,” he says in a tone that tells me he’s struggling to keep himself in check. “That makes it my business. I have a right to know who—”
Hearing him say it out loud rips away whatever self-righteous indignation I managed to scrape together. “No, Tobias,” I tell him, setting the trash can down between us. “Patrick isn’t my boyfriend. He’s my friend. He’s been good to Noah and my father adores him. They both tried playing matchmaker a few times but Patrick is involved with someone else so it never went anywhere—does that answer your question?”
I don’t tell him the rest. That I asked him out once and he turned me down. How relieved I was when he said no. That I’ve been hung up on him for the last five years and getting involved with a man like Patrick would’ve been a mistake. Because men like Patrick are the kind you keep. And even though I know that, that he’d make a good husband and a great father, he’s not who I want. “Anything else?”
His hands unclench inside the pockets of his jacket like he’s purposely trying to relax himself. “I want to hear you say it.”
I don’t have to ask what he wants me to say. I already know. It’s the same thing I’d want to hear if I were him.
I take a deep breath, letting it out slowly, trying to relieve some of the pressure in my chest. “Noah is your son, Tobias.”
His face softens, his teeth and jaw unclenching slowly. “Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Why would I?” I laugh, a nasty, one-note sound that stiffens his shoulders under his jacket. “And how, exactly?” I reach down and swipe the rest of the junk food buffet into the trash can. “How was I supposed to do that, Tobias?”
“You knew where I lived,” he says, totally misunderstanding my question. “You mother is my fucking neighbor, for Christ’s sake. You could’ve—”
“I could’ve what?” I laugh again. “Knocked on your door? Asked you to be my Lamaze coach? Filed a paternity suit?” I can feel tears start to push against the back of my eyes, the pressure of them burning my sinuses. “I was barely twenty-one. Scared shitless and ashamed because the guy who got me pregnant thought I was a prostitute. How was that conversation supposed to go exactly, after the way you treated me?” I stack my hands on my hips, fingers digging until it hurts. “How was I supposed to come to you with something like that, knowing what you thought I was?”
40
Tobias
Take it from someone who’s been bought by Tobias Bright—it feels like shit.
Logan’s words come back to me, the truth of them shaming me instantly.
“I had a right to know,” I tell her, refusing to accept what she’s telling me. “He’s my son and you kept him from me.”
“He’s my son,” she shoots back “And I did what I had to do to protect him.”
From you.
That’s what she doesn’t say.
But she doesn’t have to.
I hear it anyway.
Loud and clear.
“I would’ve taken care of you. Him.” I shake my head, jaw set at a stubborn angle. “I would’ve done the right thing.”
“You wouldn’t know what the right thing was if it ran up to you and spit in your face, Tobias.” She shakes her head at me, her gray eye shimmering with unshed tears. “Because when you found out you had a son, all you said, all you asked, was what I wanted from you.” She runs her fingertips under her eyes, wiping away the tears that spill over her lower lids. “I meant what I said—I don’t want anything,” she shoots back. “In case you missed it, Noah and I are doing just fine without you or your money.”
“Mom?”
As soon as she hears him, her face softens, her gaze shooting past me. I turn to see Noah in a pair of monster truck pajamas with what looks like a headless Chewbacca doll tucked under his arm. Dark hair sticking up, gray eyes squinted against the bright light of the living room.
“Hey, kiddo,” she says, pushing a smile on her face. “Did we wake you?”
“No,” he says to her but he’s staring straight at me. “Can I have some water?”
“Sure.” She smiles again, picking up the trash can. “Get back in bed and I’ll bring you a drink.” She carries the garbage can into the kitchen and puts it away. I can hear her washing her hands. Getting a cup from a cabinet, running the tap to fill it with water.
“You’re the man from the restaurant.”
It takes me a second to realize he’s talking to me. Watching me with the kind of wary expression that makes me feel like an intruder. Someone who came here to do harm.
“I am.”
His jaw juts out, the same angle as his mother’s when she gets angry. He opens his mouth, on the verge of saying something else but then Silver shuts off the tap and he bolts back down the hall to get into bed like she told him to.
“I think you should leave,” she says to me, carrying Noah’s water through the living room. “This is going to be hard enough as it is for him without you coming here and confusing him.”
“Okay,” I say, watching as she disappears down the hall. I mean to leave, to do as she asks but somehow I end up following her down the hall. Stopping in front of Noah’s open doorway.
Bright blue walls. Solid oak Captain’s bed. Star Wars themed bed spread. Bins full of toys. A low-slung table under the window, piled with crayons and coloring books. Han Solo poster above his bed.
I lean against the doorframe and watch while Silver perches herself on the edge of his bed and hands him his water. “Do you need to use the bathroom?” she asks, taking the half-empty cup from his hands to set it on his nightstand.
“No,” he answers her before looking straight at me. “Are you my dad?”
As soon as he says it, Silver’s shoulders lock up, stiff and rigid—like she’s bracing for impact. She knew I was standing here, I’m sure of it. She was just ignoring me. Hoping I’d disappear. Go away and leave th
em alone.
“Yes.” I tell him because maybe I didn’t deserve the truth but he does. He deserves to hear me claim him. To know he matters. “Yeah, Noah. I’m your dad.”
“I’ve never been fishing,” he says it like he finds the fact equal parts shameful and exasperating. “Papa’s always too busy and besides he doesn’t know how. I want to ask Patrick to take me, he’s been lots of times, but Mom says I—”
“I’ll take you.” I’ve never been fishing in my life but I’ll be damned if another man is taking my kid anywhere.
He looks at me for a moment like he’s trying to decide if I’m pulling his leg or not. Finally he shrugs. “Okay.”
“Okay.” I whisper it because anything louder would show the cracks in my voice. “Good night, Noah.”
He sinks into his bed and turns away from me to close his eyes. “Night.”
41
Silver
I tuck Noah in, acutely aware that Tobias is still standing behind me. Watching while I kiss his cheek. Pull the covers up to his chin. Tuck them in around his shoulders.
“Love you, mom,” Noah mumbles, headless Chewbacca tucked under his chin.
“I love you too,” I say, pushing his hair off his forehead. “No talking to Bixby. Both of you need sleep. You have school in the morning.”
“Okay.” His lids droop closed. “Aunt Lilah bought me Poptarts. She helped me hide them under my bed. Sorry…”
Of course she did.
“It’s okay,” I tell him. “Just go to sleep.”
He mumbles something else under his breath but it’s too soft and slow for me to catch.
Sliding off the edge of the mattress, I open the built-in storage cabinet under Noah’s bed to dig out the box of Poptarts my sister buried under a pile of shoes.
Strawberry.
My favorite.
I switch off the bedside lamp and stand up from my crouch. Tobias is still standing in the doorway, his silhouette backlit by the light coming in from the living room. Tucking the box under my arm, I skirt the end of Noah’s bed to push him out of the doorway so I can close it.
“I asked you to leave,” I say, stomping down the hall to my own room. “You can’t be here. You can’t just—” I try to shut my door but he makes it impossible by wedging himself into its open space.
“Tell my son truth?” he bites back, slapping his hand against the door to stop me from shutting it in his face.
It’s either start screaming and shoving or give in. I give in because Noah’s had enough excitement for one night. Jane calling the cops and possibly assaulting his father with the baseball bat she keeps under her bed is more than he can handle right now. “I need to shut my door so I can change my clothes.”
Instead of stepping into the hallway like I’d hoped, he steps into my room and pulls the door closed behind him. When it becomes clear I have every intention of ignoring him he switches gears. “Who’s Bixby?”
I sigh, toss the box of contraband Poptarts onto my dresser. “I’m not sure.” I open my top drawer, fishing out a pair of pajama pants and an old T-shirt. “Sometimes I think he’s Headless Chewy. Sometimes I think he’s—why are you smiling?”
“I…” he shakes his head, leaning his shoulder against the closed door. “I used to have an imaginary friend when I was his age. His name was Ham.”
“Ham?”
“I was five.” He shrugs. “My mom used to make him a peanut butter and banana sandwich and put it in my lunchbox every day, for school.”
I think about the woman in the picture I saw the night Tobias took me home. Her dark hair and wide smile. The way she had her arms around him. Like it was natural to hold him that way. Like she did it all the time, even when there wasn’t a camera pointed at her.
My mother died on my birthday.
“How did she die?”
“Cancer.” That all he says. He doesn’t tell me what kind or go into detail because when someone dies of cancer there’s no need. It doesn’t matter what kind. The details are horrible and painful and completely useless.
“What was her name?” I don’t mean to ask, know that I shouldn’t. I’m just complicating things. Making it harder on both of us but she was Noah’s grandmother and I feel like I should know.
“Beth.” He clears his throat. “My mom’s name was Beth.”
“Beth Bright?”
He shakes his head. “Bright is just a name I made up. Changed it as soon as I turned eighteen. We all did. Her name was Sawyer. Bethany Lynn Sawyer.”
He told me he has brothers once. Three of them. I feel a little bit better knowing he didn’t have to go through it alone. “It must’ve been hard for your dad, taking care of four boys on his own. “
“I never had a father.” His tone tells me the subject is closed. That the curtain he drew back to let me catch a glimpse of who really is has fallen back into place.
“Make him promises you won’t keep.”
He stares at me like he has no idea what I’m talking about until I finally turn my back on him to toss my change of clothes onto my bed. “That’s what I was going to say,” I tell him while unpinning my dress. “You can’t make him promises you won’t keep, Tobias. He’s only four…” My explanation gets lost behind the sound of him turning the lock on my bedroom door and god help me, my body responds the second I hear it.
“Tobias…” I whisper his name a moment before I feel his hands on my shoulders.
42
Tobias
Noah.
My mother.
The truth about my father.
The fact that Silver lied to me.
Hid my son from me.
I push all of it away.
All of it.
Bury it deep.
Focus on this.
Her.
The feel of her skin under my mouth.
The soft sigh she lets loose when I slide her dress off her shoulders.
“This isn’t going to change anything,” she tells me, even as she angles her neck, offering herself to me. “I can’t let it.”
Hearing her say it, knowing she means it, does something to me. Makes it hard to breathe. Scares me.
So, I ignore that too.
Unclasping her bra, I slide my hands down the slope if her shoulders, taking its straps with them. Freeing her breasts, I take one in my hand. The way her nipple swells and heats against my palm shoots through me. Wraps itself around my cock until I’m so hard and desperate for her, I have to force myself to go slow. Take my time.
Turning her, I slide a hand into her hair, cradling the back of her head while my mouth slides along her jawline toward her mouth. As soon as our lips touch, hers part for me, moaning softly against my mouth when I rub my tongue against hers.
She tastes like she did the first time we did this. Like chocolate.
Feels like perfection.
Like she was made for me.
I walk her backward. Stopping when we hit the edge of the bed, I skim my hands downward until I feel the swell of her hips. Slipping my fingers beneath the waistband of her panties, I slide them over her ass, pushing them down until they fall past her knees.
I push her back and she lets me, falls back onto the bed to watch me while I pull off my clothes, her eyes the color of storm clouds, dark hair tumbling around her like waves.
This won’t change anything.
I can’t let it.
Naked, I stretch over her and she parts her legs. Lifts her arms to wind them around my neck. Tilts her pelvis toward mine so I can push inside her, my way eased by her arousal.
She moans softly, her knees coming up, widening with each deep, slow stroke that I give her, her hips flexing and pumping against mine.
Supporting my weight on one arm, I reach between us with the other to find where we’re joined and she gasps when she feels my fingers against her, caressing her, again and again, until she’s arching off the bed, heels dug into the mattress, shuttering and shaking against me—around me�
�while I thrust and stroke myself inside her, finding my own release with a hushed groan that feels rough against my throat and sounds like her name.
We lay there for a while, her breathing soft and uneven against my shoulder. My heart pounding and knocking against hers.
“Let me up,” she says softly and for one insane moment, I want to tell her no. I want to stay right where I am. I’m prepared to stay here forever if it means she can’t push me away.
Make me leave.
“Silver,” I say but she stops me, pushing her hand against my shoulder.
“Please let me up, Tobias.”
It’s not what she says that moves me, it’s what I hear in her voice.
She’s seconds away from breaking down and if I make her do it in front of me, she’ll never forgive me.
So I move. As soon as she’s free of my weight, she scrambles off the bed toward the bathroom and I follow her because even though I know I have to let her go, I can’t.
“Silver, please. Just let me—”
“I want you to leave us alone.” She turns in the doorway, hand braced on its frame. “You keep asking me what I want. That’s it. I want you to leave us alone, Tobias.”
She shuts the door in my face, the sound of the lock turning between us as loud as a gunshot.
So I do the only thing I can.
The only thing I know how to do.
I get dressed and I leave.
43
Silver
It’s been three days.
I’m not sure what I expected. An army of lawyers to descend on me like a swarm of locusts. A licensed healthcare worker to show up on my doorstep with a handful of cotton swabs and a court-ordered DNA test.
I told Tobias what I wanted and that’s what he’s given me. Exactly what I asked him for.
He’s left us alone.
It’s Saturday, which means laundry and grocery-shopping. We usually round out the day with pizza and a movie while I fold clothes and Noah runs stacks of shirts and pants to his room to put them away.