by Brinda Berry
I lean my head back against his arm. There’s frustration in his voice and it’s my fault. I owe him honesty. “Jared and I had a thing. I told him that Ryder was his. He didn’t believe me. He’d already moved on with his life, and he assumed I’d been with someone else. I was so mad that I let him continue to think that. I thought it served him right to lose out on Ryder. I was wrong for doing that. Just because he was an idiot, didn’t mean I had to be one too. So, last year I told him again about Ryder. I told him for Ryder’s sake. He didn’t even take a blood test. When he saw Ryder, he knew.”
“You said you had a thing. Define thing. There are a lot of different levels of thing. One-night thing. Ten-year thing.” His tone is light, as if I haven’t just dropped a bombshell of drama on him.
“Somewhere between those.” I study him. “A friend introduced us. Jared was older and waiting for his break. I wrote some songs for him that he used. I fell hard for him and we slept together. I thought it was a big deal. He didn’t. Does it really matter? I don’t have to know your dating history. Actually, I don’t want to know.”
“If I had a child with someone, it would be important and I’d tell you even if you didn’t ask.” He pauses like he’s waiting for me to respond and I don’t. “OK,” he says. “I only want to know if he’s going to be a problem for us. Or for Ryder.”
“He and I are the past. He’s just a guy who happens to be Ryder’s dad.”
“But you fell hard for him. Sounds like quite a history. You had some feelings for him at one time.”
I wind a thick piece of hair around my hand. “Had feelings. Past tense.”
Jared left Nashville so he could chase the real love of his life—fame. And I told myself that it was better if he didn’t know about Ryder. But really, it was better for me. Thinking about the time he missed with his son makes me feel small. Ugly. Selfish.
My face heats in embarrassment. Why would Aiden even want to go out with someone so untrusting?
“And Jared? You sure he’s not hoping for more?”
“He just wants to be in his son’s life. I want Ryder to have that, too. Now he sees Ryder when he’s not touring.”
Aiden closes his eyes, then opens them. “I did something at the hospital that I shouldn’t have done. Jared…um…he overheard the nurse call me your fiancé and he wasn’t too happy. I think he’s pretty ticked off. I let him think we’re engaged. I’ve probably made a mess for you.”
I laugh in surprise, the sound escaping before I can stop it. “Really? Oh, I shouldn’t laugh. I sort of mentioned you to him one day when he pissed me off. I wanted him to just leave me alone and he was saying all this macho bullshit.”
“It wasn’t anything to make him jealous? You’re not in love with him.”
This statement makes me laugh again. “Lord, no. Seriously. Never. Really. No one is more in love with Jared…than Jared.”
“Ok.”
“Ok?”
“Yeah. That’s all I needed.” He grabs me by the waist and pulls me close, his chin resting on my head. “Do you think Ryder had fun before everything went to hell?”
My mouth curves into a reluctant smile. “He did. He was a little shy at first, but I bet it’s all he’ll talk about tomorrow.”
“And did you have fun before it went to hell?” He leans in and presses a kiss to my temple.
“Um hm.”
He gathers my hair up and lifts it to the side. Kissing the spot behind my ear, he makes a low purring sound that causes me to grab his arms. His lips trail down my neck.
“You’re really good at distracting me,” I mumble, barely able to get the words out between my panting.
He stops for a second. “I’m good at a lot of things.”
“Oh.” The word comes out like a plea for more. “I bet.”
Aiden rests his forehead against my neck and his breath caresses my skin. “Is this OK?”
I turn, sitting halfway in his lap and reach up with both hands to grasp the back of his warm neck. I pull him the centimeter it takes to close the distance. I can’t wait any longer. I need his lips. Now.
He smiles against my mouth in a cocky way, but I don’t care if he knows I’m desperate to kiss him. His lips press against the seam of mine. One second, his kiss is gentle. Then it changes as if someone flips a switch.
Because it’s no longer simply a kiss. His tongue dances in to tangle erotically with mine. Stroking. Teasing.
He lies back on the sofa and drags my body on top of him. His hands leave the hold on my arms and rake down, down, down, and grip my ass. Pressing me to him. My lower body rubs against the hard ridge of his cock and I shudder. My entire body thrums with blazing need.
Every single inch of him is hard where I am soft and my curves melt to fit against him.
He continues to make love to my mouth and his hands slide into the bottom of my shirt and caress the skin above my jeans.
I need more.
I need everything.
“No!” Ryder’s voice cuts through my lust-induced haze and I push against Aiden’s chest. My movements are slow, my limbs loosened and languid, drunk with passion.
“Baby, I didn’t know you were awake.” I stumble to get off the sofa and embarrassment blooms hot in my cheeks.
Ryder grabs and tugs at Aiden’s shirt. “No. No. No.”
I capture his small hands. “Stop it. No. It’s all right”
“No,” Ryder yells. He scrubs a hand along the bandage. “No,” he says in a whisper.
I pick him and cradle him against my shoulder, bouncing him like I did when he was a baby. What was I thinking? Five more minutes and…
“He’s Mommy’s friend,” I say. “Remember Aiden? From the horses? You know him.”
Ryder lifts his head and stares at Aiden. “Mommy,” he mumbles around the two fingers in his mouth.
“Your mommy.” Aiden nods to Ryder. “Yeah. I know. She’s yours.”
Ryder scissors his legs, so I put him down. His small hand folds around my pointer finger and he pulls. Then he removes his wet fingers from his mouth and holds his hand out to Aiden.
“Want us to come with you?” I ask Ryder but glance at Aiden, trying to read his expression.
“Let’s go, big man.” Aiden winks at me. One wink to say so much. To say he’s not scared of this.
“Big man,” Ryder repeats.
We take short steps down the hallway. A nightlight illuminates Ryder’s bedroom and shines on his rumpled bed. It’s a platform bed, low to the ground in case he falls. He releases our hands and climbs on it, settling in the center. Then he grabs my hand to pull me toward him.
“I usually lie down with him until he falls asleep.” I sit on the side of the bed and give Aiden an apologetic smile.
Ryder talks to himself, a mixtape of Humpty Dumpty and Three Blind Mice. He looks to Aiden. “Horse?”
“No horses tonight.” Aiden says. He walks around to the other side of the bed and sits on the edge.
Ryder rolls toward Aiden so he faces him. Patting the pillow, he demands, “Sleep.”
Aiden laughs. A masculine laugh that ends in a ‘hmm.’ The sound rolls gently through my heart. He kicks off his shoes and pulls his socked feet onto the bed. Lying on his side, he looks at Ryder and then me. “Now what? What do we do to go to sleep?”
I lie down and peek over the top of Ryder’s head. “We tell a story.”
Aiden tucks one hand under the pillow, settling in as if he does this all the time. I wish I had a photo of me, Aiden and Ryder like this, looking so content and playful. This is how families are supposed to look.
Or at least it’s the picture I paint in my mind. It’s more Impressionism than Photorealism—only picking up the light parts that I want to see. Probably not like real life, because people can be dark. My daddy taught me that.
I vow I’ll never let Ryder see the dark.
Aiden clears his throat in speaker preparation, and my gaze returns to him. I slam the door on the ghost
s threatening to ruin my perfect picture of this moment.
“Well,” he says, drawing out the word and letting us anticipate. “Once there was the little boy named Ryder.”
“No,” Ryder says around a giggle.
“Ryder and his mommy went to see a horse. Aiden went with them, because he wanted to have fun with the little boy and his mommy. They went to the country to see horses and hills and water and dirt and grass and pigs. Oh, are there pigs in this story? I forget.”
“No.” Ryder’s voice is sleepy and small. “No pig. Horse.”
Aiden locks his gaze with mine. Silver eyes that shine.
I can’t imagine a dark place in his entire being.
Makenna, age 10
“Daddy?” I’m home. I return my house key to the pocket of my backpack and head toward the kitchen. Milk and cookie time, my favorite ritual. Clicking on the living room lamp as I pass, I frown at the drawn curtains.
Daddy likes it dark in the house. He says he needs the curtains closed to watch TV. The ashtray sits full of cigarette butts, gross evidence. No smoking in the house. It’s Mama’s rule.
Mama will pitch a fit when she gets home.
Should I get rid of the evidence for Daddy and not have to listen to their argument? Yeah. I can’t stand to hear them fight. I pick up the ashtray and carry it to the kitchen, where I empty it in the trashcan.
Yuck, yuck, yuck. I don’t understand why Daddy doesn’t quit.
“Daddy?” I call his name once more, so maybe he’ll come out and see me cleaning up after him. Maybe this will make him do it next time.
“I’m back here,” he yells from the back of the house.
I twist the hot water knob and use the sprayer to clean off the ashtray. It’s sort of pretty, a fancy crystal one that Mama says is only for looks.
“I’m home,” I repeat. Duh. But I wish he’d come out and pick up the kitchen. Mama says if she’s going to work all day, he has to pick up the house.
It sucks that Daddy is so sad lately. I don’t think his mood medicine is helping.
I dry off the ashtray with a paper towel. Then I return it to the spot in the china cabinet with all the other pretty things that no one is supposed to use.
My knee hits the bottom cabinet door, which moves as if it isn’t latched. The booze. Daddy’s not-really-secret-stash hiding hole.
Mama threw all the bottles away months ago, but I hold my breath anyway as I take my finger and pull it open so I can see inside.
Empty. Still empty.
Woo, I breathe. Relief pads down my body like tiny kitten paws. Of all the things they fight about, the booze is the worst. He says he’ll quit and he pretends to do it.
But Mama and I aren’t stupid and we catch him hiding a bottle, again and again.
“Makenna?” Daddy’s voice again.
“I’m in the kitchen,” I yell back. I stroll across the wood floor and mentally recite my homework list: one-page essay about the colonization of America and a flow-chart for science. Easy breezy peasy. Four cookies dunked in milk ought to set me up for that.
I stop, one foot away from the refrigerator, at the sight of the glass bottle on the counter. It’s a large bottle with squared sides. Heavy looking.
Half-empty. How’d I miss that?
“Daddy?” I say, hating the way I feel. Dread. Disgust. I hate it when he drinks. I might hate it more than Mama does.
I hate the new secret I’m keeping for him. But I know it only happened because of the booze. Alcohol makes you stupid.
“Makenna,” he yells. “Come here. We need to talk.”
I hate what he did. Hate that I witnessed his betrayal to Mama.
“Makenna,” he repeats. “Now.”
Chapter Ten
Scars
Makenna
“This is a nice neighborhood,” I say to Aiden as we pull into the driveway at his Nonna’s.
He shrugs. “Yeah. I grew up in this house.”
Nonna’s huge home holds court in a cul-de-sac, surrounded by large trees most likely planted before I was born. It’s one of those old neighborhoods with lots of iron fences and locked gates and heavy purses.
The woman must be loaded. Aiden grew up rich. I’m not certain why this surprises me.
Nonna opens the door and sunshine pours out instead of in. The source? Her smile. “Bon vinuta. I’ve been waiting to see you, Mak! What took so long? You are late.” She reaches out to embrace me.
“We’re right on time,” Aiden says blandly, the corner of his lips twitching.
“My grandson is always late,” she answers while looking at me. She waves a hand at Aiden, so we follow her inside. He closes the door behind us.
“You are my guest, so sit in my favorite chair, the one with the chenille blanket. Yes, yes, over there,” she says and nods to an armchair.
“Maybe she wants to sit with me on the sofa.” Aiden walks over to it and sits. He pats the spot beside him, and Nonna scurries ahead of me. She plops down into the space before I can possibly sit there.
“You see her all the time. I only have today.” Nonna smiles at me. “Go on and sit. I want you where I can look at you.”
This leaves me with the chair facing them. “Sure.”
Nonna motions to the silver tray on the coffee table between us. “I made you cookies and coffee. I was going to make tea, but Aiden, he says you must have the coffee.”
“Oh. I hope you didn’t do this for me.” I look at a frowning Nonna. The look borders on baffled and bummed. Yowsa. What did I say?
“Aiden was wrong? You don’t like the coffee?” Nonna turns her disapproving glare on him.
“She loves it, Nonna.” Aiden pats her back. “Sure she does. She’s just not accustomed to people forcing food into her. Give her a minute. And I told you not to go to any trouble. You’re supposed to take it easy. Doctor’s orders.”
A tea kettle whistles from deep within the house. Nonna hops to her feet, looking like a tiny bird. She may not understand the meaning of ‘take it easy.’
“I will go and get my tea. Make your coffee,” she demands, ignoring everything Aiden just stated.
Once she’s out of the room, I examine the shiny silver tray with the pretty dishes. “She went all out.”
He grabs the silver pot and pours a cup of coffee. He spoons sugar into the black depths. Placing the cup and saucer on my side of the serving tray, he mutters, “It’s like she thinks she’s serving the Queen of England.”
“She doesn’t do this when you come visit?” Snagging a cookie, I pop the entire thing into my mouth. “My gosh,” I say around a mouthful. “These are fantastic.”
“Walnut balls. She really likes you. You want me to find some milk for your coffee?” Aiden looks around the tray. “She’ll be upset when she realizes she didn’t offer it.”
“Good gracious, no. I don’t want…”
The sound of Nonna’s return stops me from finishing. “I made the cookies this morning,” she says. “Have some.”
“They’re delicious. Nonna, cookies like these could make a person rich and famous. I would love to have the recipe.”
Nonna purses her lips in a pleased half-smile. “Oh, it’s nothing.” Then she straightens. “Of course you can have the recipe. You will inherit all my cookbooks. But you can have this recipe early.”
I fidget. Ah, yes. As the fiancée of her only grandson, I would get things from her. I don’t want to lie, but I’ve promised Aiden I’ll do this.
“You cook then. Good. Aiden, he builds his muscles so he must eat. Do you live alone?”
I glance to Aiden, then back to Nonna. I’m not going to lie about this. She may not be happy that her grandson is involved with a woman who has a child. But that’s Aiden’s problem, not mine. “I have a son, Ryder.”
Nonna’s brows come together. Yes. I knew it. She’s not in love with this scenario. Tough luck.
Nonna wags a finger at me. “Why is he not here? I want to meet him,” she demands. �
��Do you know I may be dead tomorrow and not get to meet your little boy?”
The corner of my mouth hitches at being scolded. Well, color me wrong.
Aiden sighs. “Nonna, you’re not dying tomorrow. You’ll meet him next time.”
“Hmph,” she says. “Do not deprive an old woman of the joys of having children around. You two should hurry and give Ryder brothers and sisters. Children need big families. I had seven brothers and sisters.”
My eyes widen. “Seven? That is big. Do you ever see any of them?”
“I am the baby,” she answers. “All but one passed before me. One brother still lives in Sicily.”
We visit for almost two hours with Nonna, her curiosity about my life endless. My curiosity about her childhood in Sicily even greater. What would it be like to visit a place like that? I’ll never know. My place is here with Ryder and Mama.
Nonna pivots and places a hand on Aiden’s shoulder. “My lightbulbs in the upstairs bedroom. I cannot replace them myself.”
“I’ll take care of it,” Aiden says, getting to his feet. “Just the bulbs?”
“The en suite toilet. It sometimes flushes and sometimes not. It hasn’t worked for months. Can you take a look?” Nonna tilts her head sweetly. “I don’t know how to do such things.”
“You should’ve called me,” he scolds. He frowns and shakes his head. “I’ve been here every week for dinner, but you think I don’t have time to do this?”
When he’s gone, she turns back to me. “I have to trick him to have time alone with you.”
“That was sly. Did you need to talk to me about something?”
She examines me, suddenly serious. “My Aiden is a strong man. He’s proud. He might not tell you things you should know.”
An eerie chill sprinkles warnings down my arms, causing gooseflesh in its wake. “Oh?”
“Has Aiden told you about his mother?”
I shake my head. This doesn’t feel right that Nonna’s sent Aiden out of the room. “No. But maybe he should tell me.”
“That will never happen. He doesn’t speak of her. Aiden’s mother left him on my doorstep after my son died. The bitch left her own child like someone might desert an unwanted dog and hope it is cared for.”