“Mother–”
“Here.”
A deep voice comes up from behind me, making me gasp and lose my grip on the box completely, lucky that the deep voice has cat-like reflexes because he swoops in from behind and grabs the box with a grunt before it hits the ground.
“Jesus, what do you have in here? A body?”
“Don’t be silly. A body wouldn’t fit. There’s just body parts in…”
My sentence dies when I turn around and see who saved my books from becoming bent up piles of trash. “Holy shit…” I utter under my breath, but apparently not quite enough because my reaction gets a chuckle out of him. It’s Liam Prescott, Ben’s father. I’d recognize that face anywhere. His sandy brown shaggy hair and beard is the complete opposite of what the military usually demands, but when you’re in the middle east, they like the soldiers to try to fit in. I notice that he and Ben both share the same seafoam green eyes. To put it simply, he’s stunning.
With a smile, he shifts the box to get a better hold. “Where can I put the body parts?”
I swallow, trying to clear my mind of some serious lust induced fog. “Yeah, um… Inside?”
He laughs again. “Are you not sure where you want this?”
I shake my head and laugh. “I’m sorry, yeah, follow me.” I step around him and head into the condo. I’m such a ditz sometimes.
When I enter, it’s quiet, which means the kids are probably in their rooms unpacking. More than likely they’re in their rooms so they don’t have to do any more physical labor, but they’re not getting off that easy. I survey the room, trying to figure out where the box can go. “Anywhere?”
I spin around and see Liam standing at the threshold of my door. “Yeah, you can drop it anywhere. They’re just books.”
“You a big reader?”
“What–No? Oh, I’m an author.” I stop at my confession. “Shoot. Pretend you didn’t hear that.”
The box slides down his arms as he carefully sets it on the floor next to his feet. “Is there anything else you didn’t want me to hear?”
I scrunch my nose. “What?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the door to where my car is, and that’s when it hits me. He’s talking about the ‘holy shit’ comment. Closing my eyes, I will the embarrassment to stop as it creeps up my neck.
“So why do you want me to pretend I didn’t hear the last part?”
“Mom!” Jenna shouts from her room before coming down the hall. Her steps falter a bit when she sees Liam in the living room. “Oh. Um, you’re Dillon’s dad, right?”
He nods, shoving his hands in his pockets and smiles. “Yep, that’s me.” There’s a slight blush that hit his cheeks.
“Sup,” I hear Trevor say from behind me, and the low baritone of his voice startles me. When I turn to look at him his brows are furrowed. He’s not happy with our guest. I want to laugh, and then I want to ruffle his hair and tell him I’m proud that he’s protective of me.
“Hey.” Liam gives a small wave while smiling.
The room falls silent. Okay, this entire situation is a bit awkward.
“So, anyway,” I say trying to break the tension, “I’m Whitney James. I’m Ben’s teacher.” I step towards him and extend my hand. He immediately takes it with a firm but gentle handshake. There’s a familiarity when my skin touches his.
“I’m Liam Prescott, but I guess you already knew that. I’ve got a place a few doors down.” And now he’s a neighbor. Perfect.
“Yeah,” I reply, a bit too breathless for my liking. He drops my hand, and I instantly rub it on the side of my shorts. His eyes flick to my movement before bringing his eyes back to mine.
“I thought you said you’re an author.”
The kids choose this time to conclude that the situation is now boring and retreat to their rooms.
“Yeah, I am. Part-time, I guess you can say, but no one on campus knows what I do after hours. I don’t like to advertise it because we do have uptight parents and I wouldn’t want them to have an issue with my teaching their children, you know?”
He looks confused. “I don’t get why it’s such a big deal.” Hoping that he’ll take a hint and maybe leave while the getting’s good, I start to busy myself with pulling boxes open. “Not going to answer?” His voice startles me making me turn to see he’s now standing beside me.
Making a quick look towards the hall to make sure I don’t have any eavesdroppers, I drop my voice to almost a whisper, “Because I write romance and not your hearts and rainbows type, either. Hot and heavy is more my speed, if you get my drift.” I raise my eyebrow as I wait for him to get what I’m saying.
He rocks back on his feet, doing that snap and smack of his hands thing. His eyes go wide, and I know he now understands what I’m implying. The blush hits his cheeks again, making him seem younger than what I’m sure he is. “Ah, I totally get the secrecy now.”
“Yeah, not everyone is open-minded,” I tell him as I continue to unload the box of knickknacks.
“So what do you write about? Like… um, ball gags and butt plugs?”
My head snaps to him. “What?” I shriek, making my voice a little higher than I intend. “No, definitely not that.” I laugh. “That’s considered erotica, and I’m nowhere near brave enough to travel down that road.”
“Everything okay, Mom?” Trevor questions from the hallway.
Turning my head, I see the concerned look on his face again. “Yeah, honey.”
“Well, I better get going,” Liam says.
“Oh, yeah, right,” I respond, somewhat relieved that this visit is coming to an end.
“Later,” Trevor comments before heading back towards his room.
“Thanks for the help with the box,” I tell Liam as I walk him towards the front door.
He stops and turns towards me. “I’d like to read your books if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no, that’s okay.” I shake my head. “You don’t have to do that. Let’s forget that you know I write at all, okay?”
He laughs. “You know I can look you up online, right?”
“Well, you could if you knew my pen name, but you don’t so good luck with that.” I pat him on the shoulder.
Sighing in defeat, he continues out the front door. “I’m pretty good at finding things,” he tells me over his shoulder as he continues to retreat down the path.
“Not as good as I am at hiding them,” I call back before shutting the door, ending the conversation.
“Mom?” Jenna’s voice startles me, making me turn around. “Why are you blushing?”
“No reason, baby.”
No reason at all.
We’ve been moving, unpacking, and decorating for the past day and a half. The kids have been working hard, and even though I’ve had to yell at them a couple of times, all in all, they’ve been a huge help. With school starting back up tomorrow, I thought they deserved a nice dinner that doesn’t come from a bag or a cardboard box. And preferably one I didn’t have to cook since my kitchen counter looks like a frat house with all the different cartons of takeout we’ve been consuming while getting everything in order. Of course, Trevor wanted a burger, and Jenna isn’t a fan of red meat, so we settled on the shopping center where they can each grab what they want, and we can share a nice table outside.
“I want a Berry Blast from The Drink Shop.” Jenna pushes her food away.
“I’m gonna meet up with Kenny. He’s over at Fizzle.” Trevor stands, taking his trash with him. These kids can’t be alone with me for more than a couple of hours, especially when we’re out in public.
“All right. Only like another hour, Trev. I don’t want to be here all night, and we have school in the morning,” I yell after him before I pull a few dollars out of my purse and hand them over to Jenna.
“Thanks, Mom.” She gives me a kiss on the cheek and hurries off to The Drink Shop.
The somewhat silence is welcoming. I haven’t felt like I’ve been able to sit back and brea
the for the past month and a half. My mind has been plagued with all my life choices, teetering back and forth on which is best and which isn’t. So far, the kids seem to be doing all right. I expect for them to have their setbacks, for them to be resentful, emotional, even angry. None of this is easy, and there have been plenty of times that I’ve felt like a selfish piece of trash that I’m putting my happiness before their own. What kind of parent does that?
Jenna pulls back the seat next to me and drops into it. She’s holding a large, colorful slushy-type drink. I guess frappes and lattes are the things of the past in the teen community. Now it’s all about overpriced, weirdly named, frozen drinks. Her straw is covered in a bright pink whipped cream.
“I’m so gonna deep throat this,” she says before wrapping her lips around the straw and taking it completely in her mouth.
As a mother, I should scold her for her comment, but my mind can’t help but flutter into the very distant future of where my daughter is going to make her man very happy. Clearing my throat, I try to act calm and not in a panic because my thirteen-year-old daughter is talking about sexual actions. “What exactly do you think deep throating means, honey?”
She pulls her lips from the straw, her mouth full of whipped cream. After she swallows, she shrugs. “I’m not quite sure, to be honest. I overheard a couple of girls at school talking about how her sister never really gags because she has a deep throat. I thought I was using it in the right context. You know taking the straw in my mouth–”
“I get what you’re saying, Jenna,” I cut her off. “You don’t need to repeat it.”
“Whatever.” She rolls her eyes in typical Jenna fashion. “I’m gonna go hang out with my friends,” she says as she bounces off.
Coughing comes from behind me. “Jesus,” he wheezes.
I don’t need to guess who that voice belongs to. Even only hearing it once, I know who it is, and that thought alone has me blushing. When I turn around, my fears materialize. Liam Prescott. I inwardly cringe. Of course, he heard my daughter’s comments, but I still pray to the good Man above that his choking is a coincidence.
Instinctively, I lean over and pat his back, it’s the mom thing to do. I almost want to tell him to put his hands above his head like I used to do with the kids, but think better of it. He’s an adult, for one, and for two, he flies a jet. I’m sure he knows how to calm himself down enough to ease the choking. He gasps between taking deep breaths.
“Are you all right?” I ask.
He takes a deep breath and coughs again. “Yeah, I think.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on his knees. He adjusts his body, and my hand is no longer touching his back. Realizing that maybe I was touching him for a bit too long, I pull it back and put it in my lap.
“Is that what I have to look forward to?” He turns his head to look at me, and that’s when I notice that his beard isn’t anywhere near as long as it was two days ago.
“You cut it.” I point to his face.
He chuckles a bit, rubbing his hand over the short scruff of his face. “Yeah, I’m doing it slowly but surely.” His gaze flicks behind me, and when I turn around, I see that Jenna has walked off and is now hanging with a group of kids. “My youngest, she’s only four, and I didn’t want to shock her. I didn’t want to be Grizzly Adams one day and clean-cut dad the next. She’s already having a tough time adjusting to me.” He takes a deep breath. “They grow up fast, don’t they?”
“Yeah, they do,” I agree. “One minute you’re wiping snotty noses, and the next you’re watching them graduate high school and start off on life.”
“Or explaining the action of deep throating.”
I groan. “Don’t remind me.”
He chuckles. “Do you just have the two?” he asks.
“I have three. Charlie, my oldest, is enlisted and stationed in Germany.”
He nods. “I have three as well. Dillon is my eldest.” His mood seems to have changed. He’s more somber than he was. It makes me think that the subject of his kids is hard for him.
I watch as, who I’m assuming is Dillon, throws his head back, laughing at something another kid said. Jenna stands with another group, mostly girls, giggling and chatting as well. “To answer your earlier question, yes, you have that to look forward to. Abrasiveness, snootiness, sarcasm when it’s unwarranted. Those are just some of the things that make up a girl in her teens nowadays. And that’s today. There’s no telling how they’re going to evolve in the next nine years. You may not survive it.”
“You don’t paint a pretty picture, do you?”
I shrug. “Telling it like it is.”
“Maybe I should look into Catholic school or something.” We both look at each other, trying to keep a straight face, “Hell, we both know the Catholic girls are the worst.”
Chester’s is one of the best places in town to grab a cold beer. Not only is their beer the coldest on tap, but their food isn’t half bad either. This was always our place of choice when Whitney and I were able to get away and spend some time together. She hasn’t been into cocktails for years now, and Chester’s has over fifteen different types of ciders on tap, so her options were endless.
Another great attribute is the atmosphere. There are big screens hanging in various locations throughout the pub, and one of the walls is completely made out of windows, showcasing the entire shopping center. This is a popular spot for the kids these days. Not only does the center have the biggest theater in the area, but it also has the latest trends in yogurt and drinks that cater to the teenage clientele.
“’What’s up?” Steve slaps his hand on my shoulder before taking the stool next to me.
“Nothing much. Just got back in town this morning.” I glance at him before I go back to peering out the windows in front of us. “Thanks for standing me up, by the way. I enjoyed the seven-plus hours I had to myself on the drive there and back.”
“Dude, blame your wife on that one. I had to help her move into a condo that she shouldn’t be moving into in the first place. My back is killing me.” He signals the bartender, placing his order.
“How did everything go?” I ask before I take a pull of my beer.
“How did it go? I don’t know, Heath. I moved my wife’s best friend into a condo when she has a perfectly good house where her husband lives readily available.” He turns his head towards me. I can tell he’s not happy with my lack of action when it comes to Whitney. “I thought you were going to fix this shit. This is getting out of control. Whitney just signed a year lease, Heath. A lease.”
“She needs this.”
“I thought we talked about this. I thought your plan was to get her to see that nothing has really changed. She’s in her own place. Don’t you get that? Your wife is living in a house that you don’t share.”
Before I can respond, my cell phone goes off. When I pull it off my belt, I see it’s one of my men. “I need to take this,” I tell him before I lift myself from the stool and walk outside.
I rotate my head on my shoulders, trying to ease the burn. A crew member was injured on a job site. He was working after hours, something that wasn’t authorized, not by my superintendent or me. Now the property owner is questioning my ability to keep track of my men. When I slip back on my stool, my old beer has been replaced with a cold one. I track the fall of the condensation as it rolls down the amber glass.
“What’s going on?” Steve eyes me as I down half the bottle.
I pull the bottle from my lips, swallowing down the cool liquid. “Employee was injured.”
“You know you can’t keep doing this one-man show shit, Heath. Your business is growing, and you need more help than Alice–”
“I know what I need,” I lie. I don’t have a clue. This is why I don’t want to get any bigger. This is why I don’t need the awards because notoriety only brings along problems.
“You aren’t a spring chicken anymore. You can’t be burning the candle at both ends.”
“I know what I’m
doing.”
“I call bullshit. If you knew what you were doing, then you’d have a project manager dealing with these issues while you concentrate on your family life.”
“I really don’t need your two cents on this.” My phone vibrates from my pocket where I shoved it when I ended the call earlier. When I pull it out, I see the employee has been admitted to the hospital for observation. Fucking perfect.
“What’s going on with you? Have you changed your mind on rearranging your priorities?”
I glance at him. “No, I haven’t changed my mind. You’re acting like Whit and I have been split for years.”
“I’m sorry, buddy, but if this is showing your wife she’s wrong in thinking that you don’t care anymore… Let me just say that if this is your plan, remind me to never ask you for marital advice.”
I take another long pull of my beer before setting it down. “Whitney and I have been together for a long time, Steve. Longer than your average couple. Most married people can’t survive the first few years, let alone twenty. I know what I’m doing. Shit’s been crazy at work, and I’m trying to find some help, but I don’t think any of my men are capable of handling more than what they’re doing now. I’m giving her space, and I’m getting my ducks in a row so when the time comes, and I make my move, there will be no reason for her to doubt me.”
“When you make your move?”
“Yes, when I make my move. I know my wife. She needs this time. We both do. If I had stepped in as soon as she left and made her open-ended promises just to keep her under the same roof with me, then she still wouldn’t be happy. And I want my wife happy.”
“So allowing her to move out is what’s making her happy?”
Take 2 on Love Page 8