by Marie James
When Alex steps away, watching his mom drive off, I can still feel miles of distance between the two of us despite him being only a few yards away.
I push it down, plant a smile on my face, and walk toward my truck.
“Are you thinking burgers, pizza, tacos?” I ask as he climbs inside, not missing his eyes roaming all over the dash and to the leather seats.
His attitude seems to shift once again, his lackluster enthusiasm about being with me beginning to turn into regret. I don’t think he hates the truck, but it’s more than just a vehicle. My transportation, to him, is just another form of proof that things have been better for me than they have been for Tinley and him.
If buying her a brand-new SUV would help me win him over, I’d park the thing in her driveway by morning, but I get the feeling that gifts of any form wouldn’t go over well. He’s lived some of the same life I have. Nothing is given for free, and this kid doesn’t want to owe me a damn thing.
“Maybe you should just take me home,” he answers, his eyes focused out the side window as I crank the truck.
“Don’t make me decide, but I’ll admit that pizza would hit the spot.” Pizza also takes a little longer to make than a drive-thru burger, and I want as much time with him as he’ll allow.
Silence fills the cab as I wait for him to snap at me to carry him home.
“That place down on 8th that has great garlic bread,” he offers instead.
“Tony’s?” I ask, getting a nod from him. “Sounds great.”
I’m familiar with Tony’s. The Italian restaurant wasn’t something I could afford as a kid, but it’s been around for decades. Another great thing about the place is it’s sit-down only with no drive-thru, so it gives me more time to try to get him to open up to me than I was initially expecting. This day just keeps getting better and better.
***
I only thought things were shifting between us.
Alex hasn’t said a word since we sat down. I don’t know how the framed landscape art on the wall is so enthralling for a twelve-year-old boy, but he can’t seem to look away.
“Here we are,” the waitress says as she approaches with our plates. “Be careful. The plates are hot. The chicken pesto linguini for you, and Tony’s Trio for you.”
I don’t bother hiding my smile when Alex’s eyes practically bulge at the sight of his food as she places it on the table in front of him. He did exactly what I would’ve done if I were his age, ordering the most expensive thing on the menu, not including the wine selection. Not only has he probably not had the chance to enjoy such a meal, it’s a passive-aggressive way to jab at me by hitting me in the wallet. What this young man doesn’t know is I’d spend a hundred dollars every day on dinner if it meant we could spend time together.
“I was wondering what size shoes you wear.”
He gawks at me while shoveling chicken parmesan into his mouth.
“What?”
“Your cleats look a little worn.” I shrug as if my offer means nothing. “Figured I could grab you some new ones. I found a couple awesome pairs online and figured—”
“I don’t need your fucking pity gifts,” he snaps, his mouth still full of food.
I stop short of chastising him for his language, still unsure of how to approach this without ruining my chance of him ever accepting my offer for dinner again.
“Not a pity gift, but okay. Let me know if you change your mind.”
Something I can’t decipher flashes in his eyes, but instead of arguing, he changes the subject.
“Why do you hate my mom?”
Fuck, I wish he’d give me more shit about the damn cleats rather than have this conversation.
“I don’t hate your mom.”
“You pushed her away.”
“I did.”
“Because you hated her.”
“Because I love—because I loved her.” I do my best to ignore the slip and wait for his response. God, that woman has the ability to tangle me up despite the lies and years between us.
“That makes no damn sense.”
“Alex, we were young. We both had stars in our eyes, and I knew if I asked her to stay, she’d never leave. She’d be stuck in this life, miserable and struggling.”
“You mean the same life we have now?”
My heart clenches with his words. He’s in pain. He knows how bad things are. He’s dealing drugs for Cedric Ramirez for fuck’s sake. At only twelve, he’s well aware of the struggles most kids shouldn’t ever get a glimpse of. He’s seen things, done things, experienced things meant only for dramatic movies, not real life. I hate myself a little more knowing what my response to Tinley that night caused.
“I didn’t want this for your mother. This is exactly what I was trying to avoid. I thought pushing her away gave her better opportunities, the ability to be more successful.”
He continues to push his food around on his plate but doesn’t take another bite.
“This town chews people up and spits them out mangled and broken. I was eighteen, thinking that she was better off without me.”
“Without us,” he clarifies, and it makes me wonder what all Tinley told him about our relationship. Knowing her, she gave bare facts, but even those don’t win me any humanitarian awards.
“I didn’t know about you.”
“And if you had?” His eyes look up from his plate at me as if he’s waiting to determine if I’m going to lie to him like I’m sure so many other people have.
Placing my fork on my own plate, I shift in my seat. “I’d like to think I would’ve gotten my shi—” I pause. Lead by example, right? “My stuff together, but I don’t know how things would’ve ended up. I wasn’t given the opportunity.”
“And that’s Mom’s fault?”
Technically, yes.
“She made the choice she thought was best. I could sit here and tell you that you’d have a perfect life with nothing to worry about if she had told me about you because I never would’ve walked away from you had I known, but I don’t have a crystal ball or the ability to change how things are now. I can tell you that I want to be a part of your life.”
“It’s a little too late to walk into my life and play daddy.” The bitterness in his tone almost makes me grin. He’s so much like I was at that age.
“I’ll take what you’re willing to offer.”
“Shoes and gifts? Anything I want because you’re trying to buy my love?” He sneers at me, unable to keep the acidity out of his words.
I guess that’s one good thing about boys his age. It’s nearly impossible for them to hide their true emotions.
“I’m not trying to buy your love, but the offer still stands. If you need something, I want you to feel comfortable asking me for it. It’s not a favor. I don’t offer expecting anything back from you. I should’ve bought you a million things already. It’s my job to take care of you, not an obligation.”
“Mom has done the best she could.” Clearly, he’s reading more into my words than I expect him to.
“I know she has, and at the risk of keeping you from ever accepting my offer to hang out again, there are a few things we need to talk about.” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this conversation without pissing him off further. “Not coming from a parental position but from a man who lost his mother at a young age and would give nearly anything to have her back, you’ve got to stop making things harder for her.”
He frowns, his jaw working back and forth as if he’s grinding his teeth.
“Getting in trouble at school—”
“I haven’t gotten in trouble once this week,” he snaps.
“I know.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “And that’s awesome, but letting me help out will also help her.”
I don’t see it as a form of manipulation, but he also doesn’t seem too keen on the idea when he plops his back against his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan to help?”
“You could let me take you home every day after practice. Your mom wouldn’t have to wait in the parking lot. She has to leave work early to do that, doesn’t she? She drops you off and goes back?”
He tilts his head up, an annoyed look on his face.
“What else?” he asks, not denying the offer outright but also not agreeing.
“I could take you to grab groceries for the house,” I offer.
“What did I say about throwing your money arou—”
“Does Brooke still like those little toffee candies? How long has it been since she’s had some?” I interrupt, already well aware that although this kid has a chip on his shoulder, he also understands the significance of family.
Despite the lies, I know Tinley raised him to be respectful and loving. That’s one thing in the plus column. She loves this boy.
“You ask her to keep it when I buy her a new car. The one she has is complete shit.”
“We don’t need—”
“Does it crank every time? I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to be running a little late to work only to have the car not crank.”
He snaps his mouth closed.
“What’s her favorite color? It used to be turquoise, but I think such a flashy color would draw the wrong kind of attention. Maybe black or silver would be better.”
“She likes silver,” he mutters, and I do all I can to hold back a smile.
“The front porch on the house is sagging a little.”
“She mentioned wanting to have it fixed, but she had to spend the money she’d saved on my grandmother’s medical bills.”
“So, doing those things for her would be helpful, you think?”
He glances down at his food before picking up his fork to continue his meal.
“I guess, but owing you would just cause more stress for her.”
“Not favors,” I remind him. “Things I should’ve done all along.”
“A new house in a ritzy neighborhood would probably relieve all of her stress,” he says with a small smile before shoveling chicken alfredo into his mouth.
I grin a little. “If I honestly thought she’d go for that, I’d offer it in a heartbeat.”
The smile fades away. “I hate it here. If Pop hadn’t died, things would be different.”
“I know,” I tell him, because despite that man’s hatred for me, he worked his ass off to provide for his family.
“What are things like in St. Louis?”
My heart races with the prospect that he could want to know because he’s interested in living there.
“Are the schools good?”
“I haven’t done much research on schools, but I imagine the ones where I live are good, mostly private academies.”
He nods, contemplative as another bite of food makes its way to his mouth.
“But it doesn’t matter. My life isn’t there any longer. Regardless of what you’ve convinced yourself, I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away from you.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” The anger is back like the flipping of a switch. “Giving up all the good things makes no sense.”
I tilt my head in a that’s just how it is sometimes way.
“Maybe, but I doubt you can convince your mother to move across the country.”
“You’d want that? You want us to live with you?”
The first hint of hope in his voice makes me want to offer this kid the world. I mean it’s something I was planning to do eventually, but I thought it was a long way in the future.
I tread carefully. “Living with me isn’t something I’ll ever be able to convince your mother of doing, but I’d want you close.”
“But not together?” The hope disappears.
“My relationship with your mother is complicated.”
“Because you don’t love her?”
God, this kid knows how to hit me like a swift kick to the nuts. I’ve focused the last couple of weeks on my anger because seeing her again brought everything back—the memories, the feelings, the regret. I’ve let all of that remain clouded because a second chance with her is nearly impossible with the obstacles she put between us.
“Because adult relationships are more than a nice condo and a new car. There’s a lot of time, distance, and hard feelings between your mom and me for us to ever be a thing again.”
He nods like he understands, but there’s something in his eyes that makes me think he doesn’t believe a word I just said.
Chapter 14
Tinley
“You’ve got to stop giving him false hope,” I snap first thing at Ignacio when he takes a seat beside me in the bleachers.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He keeps his eyes on the field even though it’s devoid of players. The teams are in the dugout getting last minute instruction from the coaches before the game starts.
“He came home the other night wanting this brand-new life in St. Louis.”
“He hates it here,” he says, as if uprooting my entire life and moving to where he lives is as simple as packing a suitcase and climbing in his truck.
“Everyone hates it here,” I snap at him with the reminder. “It changes nothing.”
He chuckles. “Good to see you haven’t lost that fiery attitude, Tin.”
This man makes my blood boil, but if I’m being truthful with myself, it could have more to do with the intoxicating scent of his cologne than his laissez-faire attitude about what he thinks is best for my life after all this time.
He’s been sitting beside me less than two minutes, and I’ve already found myself leaning closer and breathing deeper.
“Don’t call me Tin,” I hiss, giving the woman in front of me a weak smile when she turns around, looking in our direction and being nosy.
I don’t have to worry long about her thinking ill of me because her attention stays on Ignacio when she notices him. He nods in her direction before refocusing on the field.
“He told me he hasn’t been in trouble the last two weeks,” he says, once again ignoring my shitty attitude. I can’t help but take it as his way of saying Alex is acting better because he’s such a goddamn positive influence, but I don’t complain. I’ll take all the help I can get at this point.
“He’s been doing better. No calls from the school.” And it’s been a true blessing.
Mom hasn’t been feeling well the last couple of days. It was hard to leave her to attend the game, but she insisted that Alex needed me to be present more than she needed me hovering over her while she took a nap.
I’m taking my irritable mood out on Ignacio. It’s not fair to him, but I won’t apologize for it either. I’m stubborn like that.
“He’s good,” he says twenty minutes later after Alex’s first at bat carries him to second base.
“He’d be better if he didn’t keep skipping practice when he gets in trouble.”
“I’ve been at every practice for the last two weeks. He motivates the team and helps the coach after practice.”
I keep my eyes on the game even though I’m itching to look over at him and see if his face reflects as much pride as his tone does.
“He’s a great kid,” I whisper, more for myself than him.
“He is.”
Two words soften me to him a little. He could have responded with an attitude that it was pure luck rather than hard work to raise him to be a decent human being. He could easily remind me about the trouble Alex has been in recently.
But he doesn’t do either of those things.
“I ordered him some—” Ignacio’s word stop when my ringing phone interrupts him.
I pull it from my pocket, my heart galloping the second I see the next-door neighbor’s name on my screen.
“Mrs. Hunt?”
“Tinley? Honey, you need to get home. Something is going on with your mother.”
The world stops. “Something? Mrs. Hunt, what do you mean?”
I’m already on my feet, climbi
ng down the bleachers, finger pressed into my ear as the crowd cheers. I don’t have the ability to listen and watch what’s going on, but I’m pretty sure Alex just slid into home base, adding a point to the score for his team.
“There was a delivery man over there, and the next thing I know the ambulance was pulling up.”
“Ambulance?”
“Yes, dear. They loaded her up and carried her away.”
“So, she’s not home, but on the way to the hospital?”
“I think so, dear.”
My entire world narrows to a spot on the sidewalk at my feet.
I shouldn’t have left her. I had a feeling things were worse than she let on. I knew a day like this was coming, but I figured I had more time.
“Tin? Tinley?” I look up, finding myself standing in front of an alarmed Ignacio, his hands gripping both my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
“M-Mom. She’s been taken to the hospital. I don’t know what’s going on.”
“Let’s go.” He turns me, directing me to his truck.
I plant my feet. “No. We can’t both go. Alex is going to know something is wrong. You stay.”
“Can you drive? The last thing he needs is you getting hurt because you’re too upset to drive.”
I take a slow breath before looking back up at him. “I’ll be safe. The hospital isn’t far.”
“Text me when you get there and let me know you’re safe and what’s going on.”
I think I nod in agreement, but my next blink brings me to the front doors of the emergency room with no real memory of how I arrived. Getting information from the woman at the counter is like pulling teeth, only I can get dental work done in south Houston without practically giving a DNA sample, proof of income, and the promise of my soul at death.
The delay for news while I sit in the overcrowded waiting room is absolute torture. The news I get two hours later is even worse.
***
“Months?” I whisper to the doctor.
He gives me a weak smile, one I’m sure he’s used a million times in his career while giving bad news.
“Weeks?”