Single Dad Next Door: A Fake Marriage Romance

by Penelope Bloom

  I get in my car, which Reid finally gave me back after dinner and… what followed after dinner. Tara’s words keep repeating in my head, the sting still fresh. But growing up with my parents forged a certain stupid stubbornness in me. It’s not something I’m proud of, but Tara basically telling me I shouldn’t want to be with Reid makes me want to be with him more. It doesn’t erase the guilt or shame of it, but there it is. Where before, my feelings were a gray, muddy, and hard to read middle ground, Tara helped make it more clear. She wants to turn this into her or him? A year ago, I would have chosen her any day of the week. Now, I’m not so ready to take her side.

  She has blown me off one too many times. She has chosen her boyfriends over me more than once. She thinks I can just be her doormat, loyally waiting for her until she needs me? Screw that.

  I just hope I’m not using him and the potential of having a baby as an excuse to take my mind off my real problems. One way or another, I’m going to lose my bakery. My world is going to be turned upside down and I’ll have to pick up the pieces and rebuild. Is it so wrong to want a man in my life to help me do it? I’ve turned away help for so long because it always felt like a surrender, or charity. Being with Reid would be different. Somehow. I don’t know exactly how I know, but I feel it so surely it can’t possibly be wrong.

  When I get back home I see Mark’s truck waiting outside. I sigh, bracing myself for the interaction I know is going to leave me wanting to hit something.

  He’s leaning against the truck, wearing a casual outfit of a polo and slacks. I can see hints of Reid’s features in him, but Mark has lived a soft life, at least physically, and it’s written all over him. From the slight sagging skin under his jaw to the ruddy complexion and the pudge around his belly.

  “Sandra,” he says, giving me an oily smile.

  “Mark,” I say matter-of-factly, trying to walk past him and avoid this all together.

  “Easy there. Come on. I just wanted to share some good news.”

  I turn, exasperated, but distantly hoping he may actually have something to say that I want to hear.

  “We’re going to be able to offer you twenty percent more for the bakery.”

  “Great,” I say. “You’re still going to be about eighty grand short of covering the brick and mortar. Forget about the crushed dreams and all that.”

  “No problem,” he says, obviously not bothering to listen to me. “The only hitch is that we’re moving the demolition date up. I was able to get approval from the mayor to start earlier. Two weeks.”

  His words knife into me. My stomach feels like ice and fire swirling together. Two weeks? I thought I had months. “I can’t... “ I say slowly. “You can’t just do that. It has to be illegal.”

  “Honey, you signed it away in the contract. Besides, you wouldn’t be able to get a lawyer to act fast enough to do anything even if there was a problem. Just take the money and move on. That’s my advice.”

  “Just take the money and move on,” I yell. “Yeah, the money that doesn’t even cover what I still owe on the bakery? You’re going to take my source of income, leave me with debt, and expect me to just rebuild? I won’t be able to get a fucking loan when I owe close to sixty thousand on the mortgage for a demolished store.”

  Mark sighs, checking something on his phone. “Right, well I have to take this. Just thought you should know.” He steps into his truck and puts the phone to his ear, pinning it there with his shoulder as he drives off.

  I watch after him, hoping a meteor will fall from the sky and obliterate Mark and his stupid truck. Or maybe the ground could just open up and give him the quick ride to hell he deserves.

  I sit on the front porch and throw myself a full-blown pity party. I cover my head with my hands and cry into my knees, thinking about how unfair it all is. I had everything finally going the way I wanted. I fought, struggled, and battled to make a life for myself without my parents’ charity. I made something of myself with nothing but hard work and perseverance, even with everyone in my family trying so hard to convince me to give up and live the easy life. I can just imagine my father’s condescending voice and what he would say if he were here now.

  Dear, you knew it would end this way. You had to know this little game of yours wouldn’t be fun forever. Come home. Stay at the lake house. We’ll make sure you have everything you need.

  Easy words. I feel like a sailor from the old myths, watching on shore as a siren tries to lure me to my death with a sweet, tempting song. That’s exactly what it would be, too. It would be the end of me. I am who I am because I resist. The moment I give in, I become them. I become the people I’ve fought so hard not to be.

  “Saw you crying outside,” says Reid. “Figured you’d cry inside if you didn’t want to be bothered.”

  I look up to glare at him as he sits beside me on the porch. “Just leave me alone,” I say.

  “Sure. As soon as you tell me what’s going on.”

  I sniff, shrugging my shoulders. “My life is just falling apart one huge piece at a time. No big deal.”

  “Just ask your parents for some cash. Money fixes everything, right?”

  I turn toward him, fists clenched in my lap. “You don’t know me at all. You know that? Do you really think I just let my parents pay for everything?”

  Reid’s eyes narrow.

  “I haven’t taken a penny from my parents since I moved out at eighteen. I worked my way through college and I’m still paying off the loans. I worked to save enough and get a loan to open the bakery. I’d rather fail then go back and beg them for money.”

  He raises his eyebrows, looking at me like he’s seeing me for the first time. “It’s not about the the result. It’s how you get there.”

  I smile a little, surprised he can sum it up so succinctly. “Yeah… Exactly.”

  “Most rich kids just accept it. What made you turn away from all the money?”

  I lean back. I never really tried to pin it down to an exact moment, but now that I think about it, my thoughts bring me to a particular day when I was younger. “When I was twelve. I remember going into a bakery with my mom and dad to get some danishes one morning. While we waited for our food, I watched the baker and the workers behind the counter. I remember being mesmerized by how hard and fast they were working. The workers were like parts in a machine, all perfectly tuned. There was something on all their faces. It wasn’t really happiness I don’t think. It was more like a satisfied kind of exertion. You know? Like they were doing something they enjoyed and doing it as well as they could. That was enough for them. I don’t think at that moment it mattered how much money they made or how big their houses were. It was just the satisfaction of doing something well.

  “Then we got in the car and my parents spent the rest of the car ride belittling the baker and the workers. They thought it was disgusting to see how hard they were working. My parents even spent a while speculating on how much money they probably made and compared it to the passive income from interest on their trust funds.

  “I guess that was when I realized that my parents weren’t like regular people. They were just… there. The baker and the workers were all striving and living and doing something. They were impacting people’s lives, even if it was a small thing. My parents just secluded themselves in their rich people bubble and never gave anything back. The only goal they had was to protect the wealth they already had and to protect the family name, whatever good that does.”

  Reid nods slowly. “I get you. Yeah.”

  I grin. “That’s it? I pour my life story out and you get me.”

  He smirks back. “Yeah. I get you.”

  Great. Well. My life may be crashing down around me, but at least Reid Riggins gets me. “How could you? You really have no idea what I’m going through.”

  “Try me,” he says.

  “Okay. For starters, what if you knew the only way to make your family happy was to give up on your dreams?”

  He looks up at me, eyes
squinted against the sun. The fading sunlight casts his flawless, stubble-covered skin in a golden glow, highlighting his kissable, cocky mouth and powerful jawline. He’s perfect. How could a man so beautiful and sexy be anything but arrogant, obnoxious, and self-centered? How? No matter where he goes, every woman’s eyes will be locked on him, their imaginations running wild with what a night tangled together with him would be like.

  His lips pull back into a grin and he looks down. “I think I could relate to that. My grandfather started this shop,” says Reid, tilting his head toward his house. He looks over his shoulder at the shop, almost longingly. I sense the same thoughtfulness in him I saw as he looked over the landscape behind his house and can’t help being reminded there’s more to this man than grease, muscle, and sexuality. It’s something deep that he keeps well hidden, but it’s there, in the small, quiet moments.

  “He wanted more for me,” says Reid. “They all wanted me to play football.” He bites his lip, shaking his head. “It was perfect. Reid Riggins. Big, strong, and stupid. Football was my only shot. At least that’s what they all thought. I got offers starting junior year. Full rides. I even had a few coaches come out to recruit me. They offered me all kinds of shit. Cars, apartments. You name it.”

  I frown at him. I knew he played football in high school, but I never bothered going to the games. He didn’t even go to my school, and I thought the rumors about how good he was were just inflated because of how much every girl wanted to sleep with him. “Tara never talked about that…”

  “Because she didn’t know,” he says, meeting my eyes. “If I had told my family they would’ve pestered me for the rest of my life. I tossed the letters and told the coaches to go fuck themselves. Football was fun, but it wasn’t my dream. I wanted this life. This fucking life I have right here.” Reid stands. “Give me my garage and an honest day’s work. Give me my son. And you’ve given me all I need.”

  He starts to walk back to his house and then stops, as if just remembering something. “I mean,” he adds. “A good fuck now and then is fine too.”

  I’m left speechless as he strides back to his garage and barks orders to one of his employees who appears to be slacking off. Every time I try to pin Reid down and think I have him figured out, he defies me. He shows me he’s more than I thought, and with every new development, I’m left wanting more. I want to know more. To feel more. To see more of him.

  I swallow hard, realizing with a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach that I’m falling for Reid, inch by muscled, throbbing inch.

  13

  Reid

  I knock on Tara’s door and wait. I can hear the TV from inside and figure she probably has Roman planted in front of it again. Mother of the year, as fucking usual.

  The door swings open and I’m surprised to see Roman.

  “Daddy!” he says.

  He reaches to hug me and I dodge him, ducking his head under my arm. He spins free and puts his little fists up. I hold up my palms as targets for him and he punches out a series of lefts and rights. Each little impact of his fist is laughably soft, but his face is scrunched with so much concentration that I almost expect the punches to hurt.

  “Good one,” I say after he gives me a right hook. I shake my hand like the punch stung. Roman relaxes, grinning like crazy and running to hug me.

  I let him this time, kneeling to hug him back. “How was it, Bud?”

  “Good,” he says, but his eyes dart to the side.

  I frown, looking over his shoulder and still seeing no sign of Tara. “Is mom around?”

  “She’s in the bathroom, I think,” he says.

  “Why don’t you go get your stuff ready. Just wait here when you’re done, okay?”

  “Okay,” says Roman.

  I step inside and head toward the bedroom. I open the door and find Tara sprawled on the bed with her forearm resting over her eyes.

  I glance behind me and make sure Roman isn’t in earshot. I hear him distantly knocking things around in his room on the other side of the house.

  “What the hell are you doing?” I ask.

  Tara sucks in a surprised breath and sits up. “What?” she groans, rubbing drool from the corner of her mouth.

  I move closer, kneeling to get a better look. Bloodshot eyes. Slumping posture. She looks dizzy.

  “Are you drunk?” I ask.

  “No,” she says. “I just had a cocktail to take the edge off.”

  “To take the edge off?” I ask, shaking my head. “I’m not leaving Roman here with you again. Call that fucking lawyer of yours if you want. If you want to see him, you need to grow up.”

  “Grow up?” she shouts. “You want me to talk about growing up? You’re over there playing in your stupid fucking garage and your stupid fucking cars. And you’re fucking that slut who used to call herself my best friend. Get a real job. You’re teaching our son to be lazy and pathetic.”

  I can’t help smirk at the hypocrisy. “I have better things to do, Tara. Sleep it off, and you can call me when you’re ready to be a fucking mother,” I say, slamming the door behind me. Roman is waiting by the front door when I step into the living room. “Come on, bud, let’s go home.”

  When we get back home, Roman goes inside to help Taylor with an oil change. At his age, helping basically consists of handing Taylor tools when he needs them, but Roman loves every second of it. I’m about to get to work when I look toward Sandra’s house and hear muffled cursing and a loud metallic clatter.

  I head over to her house, wondering what I’m doing with every step I take. I guess I don’t have a plan. I don’t know if I’m hoping she really is pregnant. I don’t know if I want to throttle her or want to marry her. All I know is my feet are taking me over there. Again.

  I find her in the garage. Her hair is pulled back in a messy bun and her pants are soaked up to the knees. She’s wearing a man’s style button-down shirt with the sleeves rolled back, and she looks fucking adorable in it.

  Sandra glances up at me. A wet lock of hair is plastered to her forehead. “Reid,” she says.

  “You know you could get seriously hurt trying to fix that yourself,” I say.

  She drops the wrench in her hand and puts her face in her hands. I’m surprised when I realize she’s breaking down in tears.

  “Hey,” I say carefully, moving to sit beside her and put an arm around her. She feels so good in my arms. So small and fragile, even though I know the mind knocking around in that head of hers is strong as hell and fiercely independent. “You’re okay. You’ll be fine.”

  “No,” she says, voice heavy with emotion. “My parents are coming tomorrow. They are going to find out I’ve been lying. They are going to see my life is a mess.”

  “Your life isn’t a mess” I say. I stare outside as I hold her, watching the way the trees I’ve grown up looking at sway as the wind whispers through them. “See those trees?” I ask, nodding toward the trees. “Tell me what you see.”

  She sniffles. “It’s windy,” she says. “What am I supposed to see?”

  “The trees can’t do shit about the wind, Sandra. Wind comes. The trees bend. But those are the same fucking trees that have been there since I was a kid.”

  She’s quiet for a moment. “What are you saying?”

  I shrug uncomfortably. I’m not used to voicing these kinds of things. They usually just float around in my mind. “I just mean shit happens and it may feel like it’s going to knock you down, but the trees that are too stiff to bend get uprooted in a storm. The trees that bend make it through.”

  She grins up at me. “Okay. Maybe you’re not just a barbarian who hits cars with wrenches. I see your point. But I don’t see how it is going to help me.”

  “Because there’s more than one way to fight this. Bend, but don’t break.”

  Sandra sighs and leans her head into me. I close my eyes, listening to the sound of the trees and the distant clink of the boys in my garage working on something. Holding her and being here with
her feels so fucking right. I feel a sudden surge of certainty. The way I’m feeling about Sandra isn’t because of my grandfather’s will. Maybe it started that way. Now, every time I’m with her my feelings just get stronger. The craving. I can hardly believe she was in front of me all the time I was with Tara and I never saw her for what she is. Perfect.

  “Bend, but don’t break…” she says thoughtfully.

  There’s a loud crash from the garage. We both jump up together and run the distance from her house to mine. We find Roman wincing in pain and holding his toe. Taylor is white as a ghost. My eyes go immediately to the heavy toolbox on the ground and its spilled contents. I see the dent on its size from where it must have fallen.

  I pick up Roman, who is starting to cry hard now. “I’ll go with you,” says Sandra. I place him gently on Sandra’s lap in the back of my track and take off toward Dr. Stephens’ clinic.

  Sandra sits in the back of the truck and holds Roman, rocking him softly and running her fingers through his hair as she shushes him. I start the car, feeling like my insides are ice. My little guy. Fuck. I should have been there. Taylor watches us drive away, rubbing the back of his neck guiltily. My first instinct is to be pissed at him for letting something like this happen, but I can’t blame him. I’m the one who walked away from my son in a dangerous place like a garage to go look in on Sandra.

  Fuck.

  I can practically feel his pain. My foot burns just imagining what it must feel like. Cold tendrils of empathetic pain snake from my foot and all across my skin, giving me goosebumps. “You’re going to be okay, Bud,” I say, glancing in the rearview as I pull close to a hundred miles per hour in my rush to get him to Dr. Stephens.

  Sandra meets my eye in the rearview as she looks at the damage. “Nothing permanent,” she mouths.

  I feel a slight relief. Thank God. My first thoughts were to the idea of him losing a toe. Toes, even. He wouldn’t be able to play sports like I did. He’s too young to have his options limited. I knew I would never put any kind of limits on what he can do. I spent so long feeling chained up by my family’s desire for me to play college ball that I promised to never do that to my own kids. If he wants to be a fucking computer programmer, well, good. I’ll encourage the shit out of it. I’ll even take a class up at the local college so I can know what the hell he’s talking about.