“This is incredibly forward and, fuck, probably a lot crazy, but I, well, I don’t know where in the San Diego area you are, but I spend a lot of time down at Balboa Park. I run in the afternoons, and thought maybe you liked bringing your girls there, and maybe we could meet up. If you wanted to talk, I mean. I could meet you guys by Pepper Grove. My nephew likes that park.”
I sound like a crazy man.
Not quite stalker level, but definitely crazy.
Who does this?
Who lunges onto a woman who was just told grotesque things from the man who she lived with?
And who didn’t give a fuck what she looked like, or that maybe her now-ex had spewed truth?
All I know is her voice, and damn, but that’s enough for me.
“Yeah, that’s probably not—” she’s saying, incredulously. Yup. Can’t say I blame her.
So, I gave her an out, and cut her off, “Yeah, no. Sorry. Like I said, that was forward and out of line, I’m sorry. You’re sure you don’t need those numbers? I have them right here.” I try redeeming the call.
“I’m good,” she answers softly. Sweetly. Fuck me. “But thank you, Liam.”
“Right. Yeah. You’re welcome.” I’m losing this conversation and I have no other lifeline. “Good luck, Kens.” I end the call before she can, only to be greeted with a slow clap from across the table.
Johnson gets the middle finger from me right before I pull my headphones on, ready to end the morning.
Shit, I can’t believe I just…
Sighing, I focus on the task at hand.
And try pushing Kensley with the pretty voice from my mind.
When I got home after leaving the station, the very last thing I’d been in the mood for was my afternoon run.
Unfortunately, Guinness, my three-year-old boxer, was.
I managed to hold him off long enough for a shower and nap—shower, because I was boycotting that run—but by the time two rolled around, Guinness was running laps around my open-concept rental, and I could just picture him crashing into the wall and sending the television crashing down from its hanging perch.
…Which is how I found myself running through Balboa Park, as if I hadn’t invited a girl to that very place to talk, only two hours before.
Every time I cast my eyes to the left or right, I tell myself I’m not looking for some faceless woman with two young daughters.
Every time Guinness and I slow down because of a passing stroller or a family on bikes, including a kid wobbling to stay in a straight line, I convince myself I’m not trying to find recognition in them.
I have no fucking clue who this Kensley is, but I still find myself searching for her in every face.
Every family unit.
Now, I sit on a park bench as Guinness lolls on his side, tongue falling out of his mouth and resting on the warm concrete. The sun feels nice on this late winter day. March is a beautiful time in San Diego—brisk mornings and nights, but decent temps during the day.
Cold enough to head out for my run in a light long-sleeve shirt, but warm enough that I don’t bother with sweatpants, and stick with shorts.
I’m leaning back, my legs stretched out in front of me, when I hear my name.
I recognize the voice, as does Guinness.
In one quick, not so graceful motion, he’s up and at attention, stubbed tail wagging at ninety-miles an hour.
“Guinnee!” is the next sound to come, this time from the high-pitched voice of my four-year-old nephew.
Smiling, because I can’t help but smile when my sister and nephew come to hang out, I sit up and tug on Guinness’s leash, the nonverbal cue having him pop down to sit, but not without an exaggerated stink eye in my direction.
“Stay,” I command as I stand, just in time for my sister and her kid to reach us. I reach an arm out and Mae steps into my side, hugging me as I drop my arm around her shoulder. “How’s it going, kid?”
“Still older than you,” she teases, the same comeback she’s had since the day I grew taller than her. “We’re good. Josh was excited to hear you guys would be here.”
Guinness whines at my feet, still sitting patiently. “Alright.” Immediately upon his release word, he stands and—as gently as a dog of his size can—steps into my nephew. Josh laughs and wraps his arms around the dog’s neck.
“Can we play?” Josh asks, both to his mother and me.
I nod but look to my sister, who smiles and nods too. “Just over here. You know he can’t come off his leash, baby.”
As Mae sits, I tie Guinness’s leash to the back of the bench, allowing him to play semi-freely with Josh just behind us.
“So, how are things?” I ask after sitting down. Mae and I have always been close. Three years separate us, but she’s always been my closest friend.
Even when I was an annoyed ten-year-old, being told on more than one occasion, “Oh, you must be Mae’s brother. You look so much like her!”
Exactly what a guy wanted to be told—
You look like your older sister.
Eventually it didn’t bother me—you know, when the testosterone kicked in, and I gained fifteen inches on her.
“It’s good.” Mae nods, a thoughtful look on her face. “I got to talk to JR last night, so that was nice.”
JR is Mae’s husband. Joshua Jameson, the second. Or, Junior. My nephew is a third, himself, but with JR going by that, Josh has always been…Josh.
“When’s he due home?” I like the guy; he’s good for my sister. He’s a helicopter pilot for the Marine Corps and is currently out of country on a brief tour. Last Mae told me, he was supposed to be home last week, but that obviously hadn’t happened.
“Hopefully in a couple of weeks.” Mae’s voice falls a little, and I know it’s because she misses JR. Those two were inseparable from the moment they met, which was over ten years ago. High school sweethearts.
I have to say, I’m slightly envious of the two of them.
Getting your forever at sixteen.
No need to play the field.
Even though I host a cheating segment on the radio and hear my fair share of stories that deal with military, even though those very stories sometimes have me considering JR being away…
I know the man is head over heels for my sister.
“Weeks now? Dang.”
My sister nods a few times, her thoughts obviously a million miles away. “Yep.” She sighs. “Gotta love the military. Lot of hurry up and wait, followed by change of plans. He thinks it may be a couple months, even.”
I nudge her shoulder and offer her a crooked grin. “At least you’re home. You could be out in North Carolina still, with no family nearby.”
She cracks a smile. “Yeah. Instead I get to see your face every day.”
I feign shock. “I thought you loved me.”
“I do, bub. I do,” she says around a laugh. “Anyway. Enough about me. What’s new with you?”
“In the, oh…thirty hours since I’ve talked to you last?”
“Hey, you’re a popular guy. Things can change quickly.”
I chuckle lightly and look out to the play set where kids of all ages are running around. “Unfortunately, nothing’s changed since we talked. Same ol’, same ol’. You know.”
Mae nods a few times before blurting, “It’s because you hole yourself up in your house with Guinness. You gotta get out.”
Grinning, I look back at her. “You make me sound like I’m some hermit.”
“Well, you are!” Her smile is bright, so I don’t challenge her. “You have friends! Why don’t you hang out with them?”
“Because they’re all married.” And they are. Every last one of them.
The last wedding was back in November; I’ve been the lone guy out for four months now.
Nothing like being the third…fifth—really, let’s be honest here, the seventh—wheel.
“Surely their wives have friends.”
I shrug and look back to the playgro
und, my eyes once again searching for a woman, a woman I don’t know.
“I know you like your job, but there’s more to life than work,” Mae goes on.
“I’m at the station for six hours a day,” I scoff. “Sometimes a little longer if there are meetings and whatever, but rarely am I there longer than eight hours. Monday through Friday, even.”
“Night gigs.”
“Okay, that’s part of the job; I’m expected to make those appearances.” Occasionally I have to hang out at the local clubs or help with some drive or another.
“But that’s all you do, Liam. You don’t go to those places unless you’re there for work.”
I force a new grin on my face. “What’s with you? Why are you going after me?” I try teasing.
“I just want to see you happy.”
“I am happy.” Mostly.
“Mostly,” she says, echoing my thoughts.
Sighing, I run a hand through my hair before dropping my fist to my lap. “You guys want to do pizza tonight?”
Mae shakes her head, that sad smile on her face. “You’re something else, Liam Ryan Hardt. You could be—”
“And I want to hang out with my sister and nephew. Nothing wrong with that.”
Suddenly, Josh pops up from behind, his face between Mae’s and mine. “I want pizza!”
Saved by the child.
I wink at Mae, thankful for the change in topic. “Pizza it is.”
Chapter Three
Kensley
I’m nervous.
I don’t know why; I have no reason to be. Just because I know some radio host frequents the same park as me, doesn’t mean I’m going to see him.
But all the same, my hands have the slightest of trembles to them.
My girls can’t tell though.
London, in all her four-year-old glory, is skipping beside me happily, chattering away about how she wants to go down the slides “twenty-eleven times.”
She knows her numbers; she knows her letters.
Heck, she can do simple math.
She just has half a foot in make-believe and likes to make up numbers and words.
And with the way life has been?
Make believe, child.
Keep making believe.
Her sister, Sawyer, is my much more reserved child.
By eighteen months, London was all about throwing herself on the ground when she didn’t get her way, while Sawyer…
She just looks up at me with her big blue eyes, as if she’s contemplating crying or smiling, before going on her merry way.
The two of them look so much alike, both mini-mes, even though Sawyer has dark hair to mine and London’s blonde. Sawyer’s hair is finally getting long enough to do more than just a waterspout ponytail to, and today she’s rocking pigtails, where London has a need to have French braided pigtails daily.
Currently, Sawyer is playing with the neck line of my V-neck shirt and if she does anything more than just fingering it, I’m going to have to correct her. Right now, though, she’s not doing any harm.
I bounce her up my hip a little more, causing her to giggle which, in turn, makes me smile.
I live for these two, and for the littlest one in my belly.
“Mama, I see the slides!” London says excitedly, and I smile down at her.
“I do too, baby. Stay close until we get there though, please.”
I don’t know why, but since finding out the truth about Mark, my now ex-boyfriend and father to my kids, I’ve been slightly worried about losing my girls.
I shouldn’t be.
Mark doesn’t want them.
Just like he’s never really wanted me.
I should have realized…
I should have figured it out well before I did, but I didn’t.
It was in the late nights. The long trips.
He even missed the girls’ births.
Heck, the first time I met his extended family, he barely introduced me! His mother did the honors, while looking absolutely flabbergasted at her son’s rudeness.
I’ll miss his mother being a constant presence. I hope she’ll continued to want to watch the girls. This week she hasn’t said anything, but I fear the day that she says ‘no more’. I may not want Mark to have fifty-fifty custody of the girls—more for their sakes than for any ill-will toward him—but that doesn’t mean I should punish his parents.
They love the girls. They’re the very best grandparents…
If I’d paid attention to the signs Mark showed before, where would I be now?
Probably not carrying sweet Sawyer on my hip, that was for sure.
I turn my head to press a kiss to her pudgy cheek, making her giggle again. “Mama!”
Smiling wide, I drop my head to her neck and blow a raspberry. Shrieking out a giggle, she pushes against my shoulder but when I raise my head, she yells, “More! More, mama!”
God, I love my girls.
“How about I put you down to play,” I tell her instead, which does nothing for her smile but make it bigger. “Alright, ladies,” I continue as we near the edge of the playground, “go do your thing.” I put Sawyer down gently and immediately she’s off, chasing her sister. I park myself on the nearest bench, the one that has the best viewing of the slides that London plays on the most. From here, I’m close enough to keep a hawk’s eye on the two of them, close enough to scramble up to rescue if needed, but also far enough where I’m not stilting London’s newfound independence.
That girl…
She’s going to give me a run for my money. I just know it.
Smiling, I settle back into the bench and refrain from looking around the park for a familiar face. Familiar, though, only because I looked him up online…
The nerves this afternoon have nothing to do with the fact I didn’t know when Mark was going to be back in town and he could be at this very park, a park we play at once a week…but for the open invitation that was spoken nine days ago.
It was Saturday, though.
Maybe he changed up his schedule on the weekends.
Maybe he’d long since forgotten about me.
Maye, just maybe…
He offered the same to every jilted woman.
I shake my head and sigh.
God, I can be so stupid.
First Mark.
Then the constant thoughts about the voice on the radio…
I mean, who does that? Who offers—not so subtly, mind you—to ‘chat’ with someone you don’t know? Right after hearing some not very nice things about her?
Stupid?
No.
I was embarrassed.
Mortified.
It’s a good thing I did what I did on the radio, and not on some televised segment. Could you just imagine? My face plastered everywhere? With the things Mark told the entire San Diego area?
I’d never have sex again!
Not that I was looking to anytime soon.
I mean, eventually.
Maybe when this little one was in school.
Maybe then I’d find time for myself again.
Until then?
No, sirree.
Me and my babies. That would be enough.
It would have to be enough.
Surprisingly, the thought doesn’t give me the same heart palpitations it did last year, back when I first suspected Mark of cheating on me.
Really, the first inkling should have been when Mark’s mom, Sharon, brought up marriage shortly after London was born.
Why ruin a good thing? He joked. We don’t need a piece of paper; we’ve been together for four years.
As if four years was some major milestone.
“Mama! Watch!” London’s voice brought me back to now.
Smiling, I nod as my eyes lock in on her, standing atop the slide. “I’m watching, baby.” Quickly, I scope out Sawyer; she was never too far from London. I hate not having her right next to me, but she’s at that age where she wants to copy London in everything, inc
luding doing things without her mama by her side.
We come to this park at the same time, every Saturday—well, other than last weekend, when we were moving. This is our routine; giving London and Sawyer a little bit of room to grow was a little new still, but every week, I get a little bit better at letting them.
Out of Saturday and Sunday, Saturday’s are the least crowded…at least, during San Diego’s off-season. It was only a matter of weeks before the crowds would start and then I’d have to rethink my Sawyer strategy.
I smile at that.
Sawyer strategy.
From the slide, London carefully sits and, leaning forward to reach dang near her knees, grips the side of the slide…
And races to the bottom.
Every time.
Every darn time, and I think she’s going to end up head-over-feet down the slide or, worse, over the side of the slide.
She’s going to be my daredevil.
She already is.
London laughs as she jumps off the bottom of the slide. “Can I bring Sawyer?” she asks excitedly.
There’s no question in my answer.
“No.”
“But mama—”
I shake my head. “No, London.” These slides are too high. Way too high for Sawyer. “If you want, we can walk over to the little play area, and you can bring her down a slide.”
“But that’s for babies.”
“Sawyer kinda is a baby, though.” Sawyer hears this and quickly looks up from her woodchip pile.
“Nuh-uh!” Her face is comically screwed tight, like she understands completely what’s being said.
She probably does.
“Well, fine,” London huffs. Then, without another word, goes on to another attraction at the park.
I stand, always aware of where London is, and move toward Sawyer. “You want to swing?”
Sawyer’s face brightens as she stands, woodchips falling from her lap. “Swing!”
I scoop her up and we head toward the set of swings. She reaches for the chains as I lower her into the baby swing that is beside a vacant big-girl one. It will only be a matter of moments before London sees, demanding she be pushed too.
From behind the black rubber-type seat, I gently push Sawyer even though she yells to go higher. My mama’s heart can only take so much and as sturdy as this swing set is—it’s no aluminum special from the early nineties—Sawyer is okay going the height she’s going now.
Caught in the Act Page 3