Whether it was the right thing to say or not, she didn’t know.
But it was all she had.
TWENTY-FIVE
IT was a rare thing for her to wake up and smell food cooking.
Very rare. As in it never happened. Not even in the past two months since she’d starting sharing her home with somebody else. Sharing . . . as in making somebody else part of her life.
It was a weird adjustment to make; making somebody else part of her life.
But as weird as that was, she still couldn’t quite accept what her senses were telling her.
Breakfast. Made by somebody else. Did Alex know how to cook?
Turning her head, she eyed the clock with a scowl. It was seven. On a Saturday. Alex up early . . . and cooking?
Scowling, she sat up and tried to figure out how she felt about a kid cooking breakfast in her kitchen. Granted, this was a kid who had more responsibility thrown at him than was really fair, and yeah, he kind of knew his way around a kitchen. Kind of, as in he knew how to make hot dogs and macaroni and cheese. But she’d thought that was it.
Still, they could discuss that after she had some bacon.
Her mouth was watering as she paused long enough to put on a bra and something other than the spaghetti tank she usually slept in. She’d gotten used to not being able to sleep in nothing, but all the little adjustments were strange.
She wasn’t even down the hallway when the door to the room she’d given Alex opened. He stood there and gave her a sleepy smile. “You’re making breakfast?” he said.
Her heart jumped into her throat even as adrenaline jumped up to high. She stared down the hall toward the stairwell. Go back into your room for a minute, Alex.
He blinked at her, frowning.
Then he cocked his head and peered down the steps.
Something flitted through his eyes, and before she could grab him, he was running downstairs.
She caught him halfway down. Did you not hear me? she demanded, putting enough volume into her mental voice that she saw him flinch. Wait in your room.
“But it’s Gus,” he told her. “I can feel it.”
The strength wanted to drain out of her legs.
Shaking her head, she pointed up the stairs and hoped he’d listen. Part of her wanted to believe him. Who else would be in her house cooking bacon?
But she’d taken a kid into her home and that meant she’d protect him. Even against bacon-making intruders who might or might not be his uncle.
Slowly, Alex pulled back and nodded, trudging back up the stairs. She eased her way down them, although considering how much noise they’d made just now, was there really any point in being quiet?
Her heart slammed hard against her ribs as she pressed her back against the wall, peering around the corner. There, just there, on the long skinny table behind the sofa, she spied a ball cap. It wasn’t hers. It wasn’t Alex’s. Seeing it made her heart ache even more.
She took a deep, slow breath and eased forward one more step.
“One thing I can manage well enough is breakfast.”
At the sound of his voice, she sagged back against the wall. Not certain she trusted her ears or her eyes, she stood there. Was she awake? Yeah. She was pretty certain she was.
“It won’t be warm, though, if you two don’t come in here soon.”
Lifting her head, she focused on the man standing in the doorway.
He wore a pale blue polo, the closest thing to dress wear that she’d ever seen him in. His eyes rested on her face, and the look in his gaze was cautious.
Vaughnne didn’t know whether she wanted to throw herself at him, or the nearest heavy object.
“If you’re going to break that kid’s heart again,” she said, focusing on the most important thing, “I’m going to hurt you in so many ways.”
He shook his head.
What that meant, she didn’t know, but she had to hope it meant something. Because just then, she heard a creak on the steps, and when she leaned over to look, she saw Alex there, a look on his face that melted her, even as it infuriated her. “Come on down, Alex.”
She barely had time to move before he was blasting past her.
Seconds later, the boy was wrapped in his uncle’s arms. And she had to admit, even if she’d cried herself to sleep a few times over the past couple of months, it was a sight that did her heart good.
Then Alex jerked back and punched Gus in the arm. “Tell me you’re not leaving again,” the boy demanded. “You . . . you . . . you stupid cabrón. You tell me you won’t leave me again.”
Gus’s brows arched over his eyes. “I ought to tell you to watch your mouth, but I suspect I deserve that.” Then he sighed and leaned in, pressing his brow to Alex’s. “No. I’m not leaving. We’re family, Alex. We should be together.”
Alex hugged him, sniffling.
Over the boy’s head, Gus stared at her.
She inclined her head. “Took you a while to figure that out. I told him a while ago . . . you’re a smart man, Gus, but you’re not very bright.”
“No.” His voice was hoarse. “Not very bright at all.”
Vaughnne padded down the last few stairs and eased around them. “I’ll make sure the food doesn’t burn. You two should probably talk and all, right?”
She could feel the weight of his gaze burning into her, but she didn’t look back. He’d come back for Alex, and the boy needed him.
So do I, her heart screamed. But she wasn’t a lonely, scared child. Gus didn’t owe her anything. Maybe she wanted him. Maybe she needed him. Maybe she loved him—
As she flipped the bacon out of the skillet, she blinked back tears. Okay, no maybe about it. She did love him. Craved him. He was like a drug in her system, and the past couple of months hadn’t gotten him out of her blood at all. But he’d come back for Alex—
“I think it’s the three of us who need to talk,” Gus said.
Her hand shook as she turned the burner off. He’d already made eggs, scrambled with salsa and cheese. They smelled good. They would taste like sawdust, but she’d make herself eat. Turning around, she eyed him. “I don’t much see what we have to talk about, Gus.”
“If we are going to give him a family,” Gus said, moving deeper into the kitchen, “I think there are a number of things to talk about.”
We . . .
Her breath caught as he reached up to cup her face in his hands. “That’s part of why I came back . . . I want us, Vaughnne. All of us. I want Alex. I want you. I want a family. Starting now.”
Her knees gave out on her, and if she hadn’t been standing next to the counter, if Gus hadn’t been right there, she might have wilted to the floor.
“Is it too late for me to have a chance with you, Vaughnne?” he whispered, pressing his brow to hers. “Did I mess it all up?”
She reached up and grabbed his wrists. “The only way you could have messed it up was if you didn’t come back at all.”
He stared at her, with misty gray eyes that could burn like molten silver. And then, something she’d never experienced happened. A smile, one that knocked the breath right out of her, lit up his face, and changed everything about him. “I’m sorry it took me so long, mi vida,” he murmured, leaning in and pressing his lips to hers.
She hummed against his lips as he kissed her, soft and light, both of them too aware of Alex standing a few feet away.
When he pulled back, she reached up, touched his lips. “What does that mean . . . mi vida?”
“It means ‘my life.’” He pulled her against him with one hand and then turned to Alex and held out his other hand. The boy rushed over to them. “It took me long enough, but I finally found it.”
Glossary
carajo fuck
corazón heart (endearment)
(ése/éste) cabrón hijo de su puta madre (that/this) fucker son of his bitch/whore of a mother
esta chingadera this shit
hijo de la chingada son of a bitch/whore
>
’mano brother
mi hijo my son (familial term of endearment for a male child)
mi vida my life (endearment)
mierda shit
no, no oigo nada no, I don’t hear anything
pendejo/cabrón asshole, idiot, moron, fucker
¿qué carajo? what the fuck/hell?
¿qué carajo clase de mierda jodida es ésta? what manner of fucked-up shit is this?
tío uncle
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