For an instant, she was tempted to simply snuggle up in his arms. It’d be so easy to lean over, put her head on his shoulder, breathe in his scent, and sleep. Or do even more.
Easing out from under his hand, she padded into her room. She came back with a throw that she draped over him. The couch was a sinful luxury—he’d sleep well enough. At the last minute, she couldn’t resist. She touched a hand to one lock of hair that hung over his forehead. She tucked it back and put a light kiss on that spot.
Heading to her room, she undressed and slipped into bed.
She dreamed of knights and dragons—but Slade featured as Strider, as Aragorn, the king returned to claim his heritage. She woke with a start, the dreams clinging to her. Brushing at her curly hair, she knew she didn’t fit in the role of the ethereal elf princess—she was not much of a match for any king. She shook her head, padded into the bathroom to pee and shower.
When she got out, she could hear Slade and Jason in the living room. The warm aroma of coffee was tempting, but she needed clothes. She dressed in a loose cotton peasant blouse and shorts—the day was already warm. Heading into the living room, she stopped in the hall doorway.
Jason sat cross-legged on the couch, and Slade sat next to him, both were leaning forward slightly, both of their expressions were intent, and both were utterly focused. She could hear the noise of a crowd from the TV. A bat cracked on a ball—ah, another game. The crowd let out a shout. So did Slade…and Jason. The two guys swapped a high five and matching grins—and the resemblance hit her like a train.
Air rushed from her chest. She turned, headed back to the bathroom, had to splash cold water on her pale face.
It couldn’t be—but she’d just seen it. Hadn’t she?
But…no. Tayra, and…no, just no.
Shaking inside, she headed for the main room. She glanced at Slade, caught his eye, and asked, “Can we have a word?” She walked into the kitchen, poured herself a coffee, and stood there holding it black, unable to move.
Slade walked in. He glanced at her, stopped where he was, and asked, “What’s up?”
She pulled in a breath and let it out. Putting down her coffee mug, she asked, “When were you going to tell me that Jason’s your son?”
Chapter 10
Slade lifted his eyebrows. “I don’t know that he is.”
“Is that why you wanted a DNA test? To be sure?” She groaned, turned to the counter, and put both hands on it. “That’s why Tayra didn’t want Brock to know—why she couldn’t tell him he had a son. He didn’t. You did.” She turned and faced him, her cheeks stung red. “Is that why she walked out on Brock—she was having an affair with you?”
Slade’s head jerked up. The air went out of him as if she’d punched him. “I wasn’t. I didn’t. Tayra never cheated—not that I know of.”
“Then how…” She let the words trail off. She waved a hand towards the living room, where Jason was still watching the game. Dropping her voice to a low hiss, she asked, “How do you explain that Jason looks nothing like Brock, and just like you?” She put her hands over her face. “God, I should have seen it sooner. The way you both hold yourselves, the same expressions, the same ear shape and face, and…that’s why you came. To claim your son?”
He stepped over to her, pulled her hands down, and kept hold of her wrists. “We do need to talk. But you need to eat first. Go sit down.” She started to shake her head, but Slade lifted her hands and pulled her with him to the table. “Sit. You like your eggs scrambled or over easy?”
“I get a choice?”
“We always get choices.” Heading back to the kitchen, he put cream and sugar into her coffee and brought it to her. She stared at the mug. Slade wanted to put a hand on her, to tell her it would be okay, but he had no idea if it would be. She’d shaken him with her blunt statement. He’d suspected, but she’d made it all too real—before he was ready for it. He could admit that now.
He’d suspected. The timing fit. But he hadn’t been certain. He also hadn’t wanted Brock here until he knew for certain.
Heading back into the kitchen, he got busy with the eggs. He’d bought bacon yesterday, too, so he fired up some strips. The smell pulled Jason in from the TV, so Slade fried up more bacon, more eggs, and put toast in to brown.
Once they’d eaten—or rather, Jason had eaten; Bethany had picked at her food, and Slade had shoved down mouthfuls without tasting anything because he knew his body needed fuel—Slade told Jason, “Hey, buddy, why don’t you go outside to play? I think someone set up a basketball hoop over the garage.”
Jason’s eyes lit up and he bolted for the door, his short leg barely noticeable from the speed he was using.
Slade turned to Bethany. “Okay, here’s the deal; I’m saying this once, and just once. Then it’s over. I’m not talking about it again. I’m not answering questions; got it?”
Her lips parted and Slade could see the questions in her eyes, but she pressed her mouth closed tightly and nodded.
Slade got up, poured more coffee for himself—she’d barely touched hers—and sat down again. “After Tayra sent Brock his ‘Dear John’ letter, breaking it off, Brock was…well, he didn’t do so well with the divorce. I watched it eat into the man and I was damn scared he might just get himself killed. Not suicide, just going into a bad situation and being careless. It took me way too long to track Tayra down. It wasn’t that she was hiding; but she was using cash, didn’t have any credit cards, and obviously didn’t want to see Brock or any of his buddies.”
“She stayed with me for a time,” Bethany said, her tone flat.
Slade nodded. “I know. It was after she moved up here that I found her—had to be six months after the divorce was final. I wanted to talk her into going back to Brock—giving it another chance.” He flashed a smile. “Big joke, that. I found her working in a bar, and it was keep a drink in front of me or get tossed out on my ass, so I nursed a few beers. She kept pouring and I kept drinking.”
Bethany stiffened. She lifted her stare from her cold coffee and put it on him. “That’s your excuse for—?” She broke off, waving a hand.
“No, it’s not an excuse; and I told you, no questions. After work, I walked Tayra home. We sat up most of the night talking about everything except Brock. She wouldn’t talk about him, wouldn’t say why she’d left him. She just said she was done—done worrying, and if she was going to be alone, she’d be alone. I told her she didn’t have to be. I told her a lot of things. She was just so damn beautiful. About dawn, she started crying. That did it. I couldn’t leave her like that, in tears. I held her. She kissed me. We ended up in her bed. I left that morning. I made sure she knew how to get ahold of me—or Brock. Left her a note saying if she ever needed anything, she should call one of us. I never saw her again.” He pushed out a breath and scrubbed a hand through his hair. “It wasn’t an affair. Hell, I don’t know what it was. Comfort for the both of us. I was afraid Brock was taking too many risks. I knew she wasn’t coming back to him—not ever. So…” He trailed off.
What else could he say? That he’d been eaten up by guilt afterwards? Sure Tayra had been divorced from Brock at the time and wasn’t ever going back to him. But Slade had still been thinking of Tayra as Brock’s girl. However, she’d put on the tears and the moves, and he’d gone into her arms like a kid of seventeen with no control. It hadn’t been cheating, but it also wasn’t a moment he’d been proud to own.
From it, Tayra had had a son she hadn’t told him about. Which said everything about how little she’d wanted Slade in her life.
He glanced at Bethany. She was sitting so very still, her hands cupped around her coffee mug as if it were still warm, even though it had to be an iceberg by now. Standing, he took the mug from her grip, poured out the coffee, heated fresh, fixed it up the way she liked it with cream and sugar. He brought her coffee back to her.
She took a sip. Color leaked back into her face. He shook his head and said, “I’m going for a run. Back in an
hour.” He headed into the bathroom to change into sweats. He went out the front, told Jason to keep an eye on Bethany for him. Jason nodded and tried to sink a basket. The boy didn’t even hit the backstop, and Slade made a mental note to give him some tips.
The boy.
His boy. His son. He shook his head. Well, maybe he was. Maybe Tayra had actually had other guys in her bed—one night stands, like him. Guys she could take home and kick out and not have to think about again. Funny, for a girl who’d wanted nothing but stability, Tayra had done a poor job of finding it for herself.
Slade took off at an easy jog. He kept to the streets. There weren’t any sidewalks, so he ran on pine duff that crunched under his step, giving off a nice smell. It seemed like the entire run was uphill, going away and coming back. It didn’t take long to put sweat on his skin and a burn in his calves. He’d been away from his habits for too long.
Back home, he ran every morning, had dry whole wheat toast and coffee for breakfast, and then headed into the office. Monday and Wednesday he golfed in the afternoon—range on Monday and nine holes on Wednesday. He put in the occasional tennis game with Clive Farham, the firm’s accountant. He went out every now and then, if he found a woman he liked. If she liked him, they’d spend the night together, the sex would be good, and they’d part in the morning. It was all regular. It was on a schedule. It wasn’t anything like what he’d had with Tayra.
Or what he might have had with Bethany.
Was she going to hold it against him that he’d slept with her sister? Would that be a deal breaker for her? Or was she going to back off now, sure he’d want to claim Jason?
And what about Jason?
He knew damn well he wasn’t great father material. Bethany had been right when she’d said he was married to his work. But that could change. Maybe it was time for adjustments—before he was too set in his ways to make them.
He ran a fast sprint, got his heart pounding, slowed to a walk, and pulled out his phone. He texted Travis to set up a few things for him.
Travis texted back—What about BG checks you asked Trent to get?
Put on hold. Other has priority, Slade texted.
He headed back to Bethany’s house—well, really Tayra’s old house. Stepping inside, he tried again to get a sense of Tayra. She hadn’t really left an imprint on the place. She’d left a son with her eyes and so very little else. He hadn’t seen Jason outside, and the ancient VW wasn’t in the driveway or parked out front, so Slade figured Bethany had gone somewhere with Jason.
Slade headed for the shower.
Bethany wasn’t back by the time he’d finished showering, shaving, and dressing. He found the handyman’s number, called him, made an appointment with the guy, met with him, paid in advance for half the work—which seemed to make Harry’s day. He spent time in the kitchen, making a few things he considered basics from the groceries he’d bought yesterday. When it came to the kitchen, Bethany was about the worst bachelor he’d ever seen.
Finally, Bethany came back, driving up in a cough of smoke. She stopped the car and before the engine was off, what looked like an exhausted, cranky Jason had slammed out of the vehicle. He stomped past Slade, muttering about stupid girls, stupid aunts, and slammed into his bedroom.
Bethany trudged over to Slade, her purse over her shoulders and her shoulders slumping. “What’s wrong?” Slade asked.
Bethany shrugged. “Nothing’s wrong. Jason and I…it’s been a long day. I took him to the library—we usually go on Fridays, but I wanted him to sign up for a reading program.”
“Jason didn’t want that?” Slade asked. She nodded. In his opinion, Bethany was treating Jason too much like a little kid. He was little, but he was growing up faster than she recognized.
She met Slade’s stare, her own icy. “You’re spoiling him with TV and video games. That’s all he wanted to do. Come home and play.”
“He should be in school. He needs more friends his own age.”
She dragged her purse higher on her shoulder. “He needs stability and order.”
“He’s got that. He’s got you.”
“For how long?” She bit her lower lip.
Slade shook his head. “Jason’s not the only cranky one. Did you two have lunch?”
“It’s not always about food.”
“No, only mostly. For someone who talks big about stability and order, you’re not exactly setting a poster child example.”
“I—”
He cut off her hot protest with a lifted hand. “Inside. Go wash up. I’ll have my not so famous chicken salad sandwiches ready in ten minutes.”
“Where’d we get chicken salad?” she asked hesitantly. But she stepped up onto the porch.
“Since you haven’t looked inside the fridge all day, you wouldn’t have noticed that I didn’t just get myself a few things. The idea of groceries around here seemed to be milk, peanut butter, and a lot of canned goods. I stocked up on a few things that had more appeal.”
She bit her lower lip. “I didn’t have time to go shopping this week.”
“Yeah, well your local grocery store doesn’t exactly offer a wide variety, but we’ve got fresh produce, I picked up a cooked chicken—which is where the salad came from—and I’m planning to grill up some burgers tonight. I also want to talk to you about taking Jason to see a specialist in San Diego.”
“Dammit, I knew there was a catch to all this free food.”
“Yeah, well, eat first, talk later.” Slade led the way into the house. He made up sandwiches with the bread he’d bought—that had looked freshly made and local at least—sliced tomatoes, lettuce, and the chicken salad. He put a plate in front of Bethany and then headed down the hall to get Jason from his room.
Jason lay on his stomach, his face half buried in his pillow.
Slade glanced around the room. It looked like any kid’s room. Sport posters on the walls, a messy bed, and clothes spilling out of a hamper. Slade noticed what was missing—no baseball glove or bat, no sign that Jason had been encouraged to get into sports and do more than watch or play them on video games. That wasn’t right.
Five photos stood out on a battered dresser. One showed Tayra and Jason, but the other four were of Jason and Bethany, all at different places, and both of them grinning into the camera. Slade made up his mind right then—she was important to Jason.
He glanced at the small boy on the bed, cleared his throat, and said, “Lunch is on.”
“Not hungry,” Jason muttered.
Slade slapped a hand across his butt. Jason bolted upright, glaring at Slade. “Couple of new rules,” Slade said. “Number one, you don’t miss a meal; not unless you’re too sick to eat. Number two, you never lie. Number three, you got some itch under your skin, you tell me about it or you tell Bethany. Now is she the problem here?”
Jason shook his head. He kept glaring up at Slade. “I wish you were dead instead of my mom.” The words burst out. Jason’s eyes widened.
Sitting down on the bed next to Jason, Slade put his palms on his knees. “I wish that, too, buddy. I’d have traded place with her, if I could. But that wasn’t a call I got to make. You don’t get to either. You miss her?”
Head low, Jason muttered something.
Slade knocked Jason’s shoulder with his own. “Speak up. You mumble like that, folks will think you can’t talk.”
Jason looked up. “Did you know my mom?”
Slade nodded. “I did. Your mom and I…well, I knew her a long time ago. Before you were born.”
Jason thought about that for a minute. He scrubbed at his face with his hand “Why didn’t you ever come to see her?”
“I don’t think she wanted to share you with me. I think your mom was scared about a lot of things. I think one of them was maybe losing you. She probably figured I’d meet you, like you, and want to hang on to you.”
Jason’s face screwed up. His room, Slade noticed, smelled like dirty socks and bubble gum. Glancing at Slade, Jason said, “
Mom didn’t like to be scared. She didn’t even like to watch any kind of action films. She didn’t want me to watch ’em, either.”
“But you did?” Slade could already guess the answer.
Jason dug one tennis shoe under the rug beside his bed. He glanced at the door and lowered his voice. “Don’t tell Bethany, but Mike—he gets homeschooled like me—but his folks let him watch war movies. They say it’s like learning history.”
“Jason, did your mom ever tell you anything about your daddy?”
Jason shrugged. “She said he was nice. That he couldn’t be with us because what he did was too dangerous.”
Slade nodded. His job could be dangerous at times. He’d been shot at more than once, but luck had kept him safe.
Jason banged the back of his heels against the bed. “Slade, how come you never came to see my mom when she was sick?”
“I didn’t know that she was sick until a few days ago. Your Aunt Bethany called me, but I was in a place called Jawhara making sure some very important people were safe. Now, how about that lunch? And don’t tell me you aren’t hungry because I can hear your stomach growling like a tiger.” Slade reached over and poked Jason’s stomach.
Jason gave a laugh, but he got up and headed for the kitchen. He wolfed down his sandwich, asked if he could have juice. Bethany started to tell him they didn’t have any, but Slade got up and produced a can of grape juice. “Why don’t you go out and shoot a few hoops,” Slade said.
Face scrunched up again, Jason shook his head. “I’m not very good at it.”
“Go on.” Slade put a hand on Jason’s shoulder. “I’ll be out in a few minutes to give you a few tips.”
Feet dragging, Jason headed out. Slade turned to Bethany. “I want you and Jason to come to San Diego with me for a few weeks. I’ve set it up so that we can leave tomorrow.”
Chapter 11
Bethany stared at him. “Are you insane? I can’t just pull up and go.”
His Secret Child (Slade Security Team Series Book 2) Page 5