Raising my cup to my lips, I try to hide my smile as his lips quirk in response.
“Layla—” He starts but my phone rings and interrupts him.
“Hold that thought,” I tell him as I accept the call.
Lee shakes his head but doesn’t say a word as the waitress places our food in front of us. True to his word, Lee cuts a piece of my French toast and pops it into his mouth as the operator on the other line connects me with the dean.
The fucking dean.
“What do you mean he’s suspended?” I shriek into the phone.
Remember when I said I was a mother first and foremost? Well this mother is going to throttle her son.
Chapter Eighteen
Standing in front of the high school, I lean against my truck and reach for my smokes. Striking a match, I stare up at the massive building and try to imagine what kind of shit Layla’s son could have possibly pulled behind those walls. Back in my day, there wasn’t trouble to be found in the halls of a building. Granted, I never made it through high school and I’m sure times have changed, but in my time when you wanted to let your wild side come out and play, you did it on the streets where the risk was great and the pay was worth it. Back then, your mama didn’t know your business and she sure as hell didn’t get a call during breakfast to pick your ass up from school.
That kid of hers has awful fucking timing.
I barely swallowed the bite of French toast I took from Layla’s plate before she slid out of the booth like her ass was on fire. Not understanding the urgency of the situation, I continued to butter my toast until she dragged my ass out of the booth too.
Now here I am, standing here like a chump, smoking my brains out while Layla deals with the repercussions. I suppose I should be grateful the kid fucked up. Shit was getting heavy back there and if we had stayed at the diner, well, who knows what would have happen.
In a way, the kid saved his mother.
He gave her an out, one I’m not so sure she would have taken if we continued to talk. I don’t know how I feel about that. Last night after she left I put the booze down and I stared at Oksana’s shoes. For the first time in a long time, I felt a guilt of a different kind. It wasn’t about Oksana, it wasn’t about my past. It was about the present and the words I cut Layla with.
My intentions were to hurt her and entice anger. I wanted her fire. I wanted her to burn me and prove that I wasn’t worthy of the distraction her and her children provided me with. I make no excuses for who I am and what I’ve done. I own my mistakes and wear the consequences of them on my sleeve. I don’t deserve a reprieve from the hell I’m living, and yet knowing all that, I still wanted it. I wanted to get lost in her and her chaos.
A fucking scary realization for a bastard like me.
So I pushed her. I introduced her to the devil living inside of me and hoped she would walk away. I needed her to tell me I was a piece of shit, a man not worth her time and sure as fuck not worth the privilege of knowing her kids.
However, she surprised me and showed me the resilient side of her. And fuck me, it was a side I wished she never revealed. It was more than admirable, it was attractive. Something I wasn’t prepared to notice. Sure, I’m a man and I’ve noticed her beauty. I’ve gawked at her body and if I’m being a hundred percent honest, I’ve also thought about punishing that mouth of hers.
That wicked fucking mouth.
The thing is, I’ve been mostly drunk or fucked up on my own misery to pay much attention to everything else about her. I’m also a man who has never had a desire to know more about a woman other than her body. Even with my wife, our relationship was based on sex. The companionship, the getting to know one another, that came after we said I do. But after last night, after Layla left with tears in her eyes, I found myself wanting more.
There are many layers that make up who Layla is. She’s not so black and white. She’s got a story under all those wise ass comments and a fire that burns bright inside of her. It’s been dimmed some and I’m willing to bet her ex-husband is the man responsible for her flame wilting into a spark. I may not know him but I know for certain he’s a fucking fool.
Layla is a good woman.
A diamond in the rough.
The type of woman that only comes around once in a lifetime.
The kind of person you want in your life even when you know you shouldn’t. The one you want to let in after you’ve shut everyone else out.
It’s wrong.
It’s selfish.
It’s all kinds of fucked up, but I’m not ready to let her go, and even if I was, I wouldn’t. I’m too weak. I like having her around. I like learning what makes her tick and more than all of that, I like that she makes me forget who I am and where I’ve been. However, she doesn’t come alone, and still knowing that I want a piece of them.
Maybe it’s not as selfish as I think it is. Maybe I genuinely want to help her and those kids. I’m not sure. All I know is they’re a chaotic bunch and when I’m around them I feel useful.
The little one doesn’t make me feel like a monster and the middle one, well, I haven’t figured her out yet, but I see a lot of Layla in her and that alone makes me want to know her better. Then there is the menace. For some reason he speaks to me the most. Maybe it’s because he reminds me a lot of myself. I look at him and I can see his future. I can see me, withered with age and lost in a sea of regret. If I could turn back time, if I could be his age again, I’d want someone who’s ridden down the fast lane to tell me to slow down. I could be that guy, the one that teaches him living life hard isn’t all it’s cracked up to be.
These people, this family, they symbolize all the things I never thought I wanted. The things I never wished for because I knew they were never attainable. I’m not foolish enough to believe they are now, that they could ever be mine, but maybe for a little while they’ll let me be part of their lives.
But the choice has to be Layla’s.
If the kids weren’t in the picture there would be no choice. I’d take everything and damn the consequences to hell. Allowing her to decide how much she gives me relieves me from the burden of guilt.
That’s why I put the booze down.
It’s the reason I showed up on her front porch this morning.
It’s why I took her to breakfast, laid my cards on the table and shared my truth with her.
As vague as it may have been, she took my truth, absorbed it and she didn’t run.
She stayed.
And now here we are, leaning on one another, taking what we need from each other. For her it’s a ride to the school to pick up her boy. For me, it’s her company.
Turning my attention to the entrance of the school, I lower my sunglasses and watch her storm out of the doors with Tommy in tow. Still dressed in her pajamas with those ridiculous rain boots covering her feet, she stalks toward the truck looking all kinds of pissed and I’ve never been more relieved to see an angry woman before.
“Mom,” Tommy starts but she spins around and places her hand over his mouth.
“Not a word,” she grinds out. “Not a fucking word, Tommy.”
Dropping her hand from his mouth, she draws in a deep breath and points to the truck.
“Get in the truck,” she demands.
“But—”
“In. The. Truck.”
I round the front of the truck and watch as he angrily pulls open the back door. Throwing his backpack in first, he climbs in and slams the door shut. Balling her fists at her sides, she turns her attention to me.
“He broke some kid’s nose,” she reveals, snatching the cigarette from between my lips. “My son broke another kid’s fucking nose,” she says as she takes a long pull. “A bone. He broke a bone.”
“Ah, it’s a nose. Technically it’s a soft bone,” I tell her.
“You breathe through your nose!”
“You can breathe through your mouth too,” I point out.
“You’re fucking crazy you know that?”<
br />
I smile at her.
It’s just a smile.
But for me it’s a lot.
It’s a sign of life.
“Lethal,” she murmurs, tossing the cigarette onto the ground.
“What?”
“That smile of yours,” she answers, spinning around to face the truck. “Thank God you don’t use it too often, it’s lethal,” she continues, opening the passenger door. Before she climbs into her seat, she glances over her shoulder at me.
“What?”
Smile still intact, I shake my head.
“Nothing,” I reply as she gets in the truck and I close her door. Once I slide in next to her, I glance back at Tommy who is staring aimlessly out the window. The kid doesn’t have a scratch on him, a sure sign he’s the victor, but I don’t think now is the time to point that out. Instead, I start the engine and turn to Layla.
“What’s his sentence?”
“He’s suspended for two weeks.”
“Am I still not allowed to talk?”
“Tommy, you’re not allowed to talk until your twenty,” she grunts.
“That’s bullshit! You didn’t even hear my side of the story.”
Unbuckling her seat belt, she twists in her seat and levels her son with a glare.
“You broke someone’s nose, Tommy, and you don’t have a mark on you. So I don’t want to hear your side of the story because if you tell me he took your gym shorts, I might kill you. Now, we’re going home and I’m calling your father. Maybe he can knock some sense into you because I’m at a loss as to what else I can do here.”
Neither of them say another word as she turns back around and secures the seat belt once more. The ride back to the house is awkward and I find myself steeling glances at the kid in the rearview mirror. Once I pull the truck into the driveway, Layla and her son storm out, slamming the doors simultaneously.
Reaching for her phone, she calls the kids father and starts for the house. Tommy stays behind, throwing his backpack on the grass before taking a seat on the steps as his mother slams yet another door. Unsure if I should follow Layla or go back to my own house, I stand beside my truck and stare at the kid.
I tell myself to walk away.
To go work on her car and mind my own business.
I do neither of those things and instead I walk up to the kid.
“What the fuck are you doing, kid?”
Lifting his head, he rolls his eyes.
“Sitting down, what does it look like I’m doing?”
“It looks like you’re fucking up your life.”
“He had it coming to him,” he grunts as I take a seat next to him.
“I’m sure he did,” I say as I lean my elbows on my knees. “But I’ve been where you’re at and using your fists won’t get you anywhere in this world.”
“It got him to shut the fuck up.”
“You broke his nose not his jaw,” I reply. The moment I realize what I had said, I cringe and shake my head. My luck, the kid will go back to school in two weeks and break the little shit’s jaw and he’ll tell Layla I planted the idea in his brain.
How’s that for helping the family?
“Look, Tommy, I was about your age when I started getting into trouble and I’m telling you to snap the fuck out of it. Whatever you got going on in your head, shut it down because if you think high school is rough you don’t want to find out what it’s like to be in a juvie prison.”
His eyes widen as he snaps his attention toward me.
“You were in juvie?”
I nod.
“Yeah and it ain’t pretty. No one gives a fuck about you in there. All you are is a number, another delinquent the state funds. It’s the first stop on the path to misery and it won’t be long before you find yourself in a federal prison fighting to see the dawn of a new day.”
He blinks in response and I point behind me, toward the house.
“You got a good mother who loves you. She’s trying her hardest to give you a good life and keep you on the straight and narrow. Now you got her all twisted, thinking she’s failed you in some kind of way. The last thing she wants to probably do is call your old man and tell him she can’t get a handle on you.”
“He won’t care,” he says immediately.
I don’t know what kind of man Layla’s ex-husband is and I don’t know what kind of father he is therefore I don’t defend him or speak on his behalf. It’s a fucking shame the kid has no faith in him though.
“Your mother cares,” I tell him. “And should the day come where she has to visit you behind bars, you’ll break her heart. You want that kind of guilt on your shoulders?”
“No,” he mutters.
“Then wise the fuck up and get your head out of your ass because if I’m still around and you break your mother’s heart I will beat the fuck out of you.”
He raises an eyebrow.
“What’s the deal with you and my mom?”
“We’re friends.”
“You don’t look like the type that has many of those floating around,” he comments.
“You’re right, I don’t, but when I do I hang on tight. It’s called loyalty and respect, two things you should probably learn. They’ll make you a better man and your mother proud.”
“She’s had a rough time,” he mumbles quietly.
“What’s that?” I ask, leaning closer.
“My mom,” he sighs, lifting his head. “She hasn’t had it easy.”
His words cause the roles to shift and suddenly I’m not the one issuing a warning.
“I get that,” I reply with a nod.
Seeming to size me up, he continues to stare at me. I want to tell him to stop searching, that it’s a wasted effort because I’ll never be the guy good enough for his mother. I also want to ease his worries by assuring him his mother is safe with me. I won’t break her heart because I won’t get close enough to let it happen. However, the words never come because they’re blocked by the unrealistic notion that maybe I can change. Maybe both Tommy and I can turn things around and make Layla happy. It’s a fucking scene out of The Partridge Family and I quickly shake the insane thoughts from my head.
Needing to shift gears, I reach for another cigarette and pray I don’t fucking lose a lung before this day is over.
“Why’d you lay the kid out?” I ask as I light the cigarette. I almost offer him one but I stop and think before I act. It’s a new thing I’m testing out. So far I haven’t acted too much like an asshole so maybe it’s working.
“He hit on my girl.”
“You fought over a girl?” I ask him incredulously. Blowing out a ring of smoke, I shake my head and point the lit tip of my cigarette toward him. “Mistake number one,” I hiss. “Shit, at your age girls are a dime a dozen, boy.”
“Not Brianne. She’s the shit.”
Great.
The kid is already thinking with his dick.
“For now,” I mutter.
For Layla’s sake, I hope her ex-husband has taken the time to tell him to wrap his shit up. The door swings open behind me and the thoughts of killer becoming a grandma are interrupted as we both turn to face her.
Holding the phone in her hand, she glares at her son.
“So, I got in touch with your father. He can’t pick you up until the weekend and I can’t lose any more work because you can’t be trusted so we need to come up with a plan.”
“Ma,” Tommy starts as I surprise him and myself by swinging an arm around his shoulders. Layla tears her eyes away from Tommy and looks at me like I’ve lost my fucking mind.
“Don’t worry,” I tell her. “Tommy here is going to be too busy to cause any more trouble.”
“I am?” he asks, pulling away from me. I grab his shoulder and hold him in place beside me as I plaster a wicked grin on my face.
“Yeah, kid, you’re going to fix your mother’s car.”
His eyes widen and I stop myself from laughing in his face.
This think
ing before doing is really working out.
“And while you’re at it, you should probably learn how to mow the lawn,” I add, before turning to Layla.
Stunned, her pretty little mouth forms the perfect ‘O’ and I start to wonder what her lips feel like.
What they taste like.
Oh, that mouth.
That wicked fucking mouth.
Chapter Nineteen
The kid is good with his hands. He pays attention when he needs to and gets shit done. In the last three days he’s learned how to repair a radiator. He’s also changed the motor mounts and rotated the tires. Now he’s priming the new bumper I picked up at the salvage yard while I wait to drive Layla to work.
“You missed a spot,” I tell him as I lurk over his shoulder, inspecting his work.
A few days ago, the kid probably would have rolled his eyes and given me lip, but we’ve bonded some and now he isn’t so quick to mouth off to me. In fact, he listens to me. He doesn’t always agree but he doesn’t take what I say with a grain of salt either. It’s like there is an unspoken understanding between us.
“There you are,” Layla calls from behind us. Turning around, we both drink her in. She’s ditched those god awful rain boots she always seems to wear and replaced them with a pair of knee high boots. Staring at them, the first thought that crosses my mind is that they’re perfect for riding. It makes me realize it’s been too long since I’ve straddled two wheels and I fucking miss it.
Since I offered to help Layla and the kids out, I feel like I’ve been Driving Miss Daisy, making this the longest stretch behind a wheel my life’s ever seen. It’s time to change that; the funny thing is I don’t want to ride alone.
My eyes travel further up Layla’s body, taking in the rest of her outfit, making sure she’s fit to ride. Dressed in jeans and a tight-fitting tee, it’s almost as if she dressed for the occasion. With my mind made up, I watch her interact with her son and force myself not to stare at her ass too much.
“Mom, you don’t have to worry,” he assures her. “I’m not going to fuck up.”
“Tommy,” she groans. “The language.”
From the Ruins Page 15