Next In Line: A Cake Series Novel

by J. Bengtsson

  It explained the conflicted man in my car. And it explained his empathy toward me when I’d laid my past out on the line for him. Okay, well, maybe I hadn’t laid out everything. I had left out one glaring truth. Which if revealed, it would explain to Quinn who I was over all else.

  Pulling into the hospital parking garage, my tires squealed for the second time that day as I banked into an open spot. I was almost out of the car when I realized that I was still wearing Quinn’s clothes. The t-shirt would work, but the boxers would not get me through the emergency room doors. I struggled into my damp jeans before dashing from my vehicle and taking the stairs two at a time.

  This is what you get, a nasty voice popped into my head. He was injured because you put yourself first. No, it was just an accident! That’s what they’d said. An accident with blood and broken bones. I fought the tears threatening to fall because, deep down, I feared that voice was right. Anytime I focused on my own happiness, I put his at risk.

  Oh, god. What if…

  A quick sprint across the hospital roundabout led me straight to the emergency room, where I nearly spun a hospital doc around like a revolving door.

  “Whoa, slow down, young lady,” he called to my back. There would be no slowing down. Not until I got to him, until I could see with my own eyes that my flesh and blood had survived.

  Coming to a sliding stop at the triage desk in the middle of the lobby, I slapped my hand down on the counter. Through bated breath, I gasped, “Noah Ledger. Where is he?”

  The woman put her palm up to slow me down. “First, I’m going to need some information.”

  “He was brought in here about an hour ago. Eight years old. Brown hair. Blue eyes. He fell and might have broken something.”

  “Yes, I remember him,” she said. “And who are you?”

  I straightened, standing strong and proud. That little boy in there was my one all-encompassing truth.

  “I’m his mother.”

  The soothing elevator music made me want to crawl out of my skin. My kid was in the hospital. My injured kid. The least they could do was have a little “Crazy Train” blaring out of the speakers. The other three people in the elevator must have sensed my instability because they moved to the side, away from the fidgety mess I’d become. But there would be no apologies or excuses from me. I had reason to be anxious. Noah was all I had. The love of my life. My pride and joy. If I didn’t have him, I didn’t have anyone.

  The elevator door opened on floor four, and I came face-to-face with the camp counselor, the man who’d promised me safety but had delivered me back a broken kid.

  “Tell me,” I insisted, resisting the urge to slap him across the face.

  “Miss Bello,” he said, “Please come sit down.”

  Resisting stomping my foot in protest, I replied, “Tell me here.”

  He appeared slightly taken aback, but he’d created the situation we were in, so why should he be comfortable? “Of course. First, let me say, I’ve spoken to Noah’s doctor and have been assured he’s going to be all right. Your son fell and broke his arm. They’re keeping him here overnight to monitor him.”

  “For a broken arm?”

  “No, for a concussion. He hit his head on the ground. And because Noah was complaining of pain and soreness in the upper left part of his belly, the doctors are worried he might have bruised his spleen.”

  This kept getting worse and worse, like he was starting with the least horrifying injury and working his way up.

  “His spleen? I don’t…I don’t even know what that is.”

  “No one does,” the camp director said, and as if responding to a joke, the corner end of a smile threatened to break free. If it made landfall, I’d punch him.

  No doubt catching my murderous expression, the man cleared his throat. “Anyway, they don’t think it’s ruptured because his blood pressure is normal and there is no sign of bleeding.”

  “Okay. That’s good, right?”

  “Yes. Very good.”

  I let out the painful breath I’d been holding. And now that I had some assurance my little boy would be okay, the focus shifted to placing blame.

  “How could this have happened? Wasn’t anyone watching him?”

  “Oh, I assure you, your son was being watched,” the man said with the slightest inflection of amusement in his tone. “But as you know, Noah has a mischievous streak and can be quite the showman. He broke away from the pack during rope-making class, climbed the equipment shed, and told the other boys he could fly…”

  My eyes widened. “He didn’t…”

  The director nodded. “I’m afraid he did.”

  Noah had done this—to himself. Embarrassment spread all the way up through my cheeks.

  “I’m…I don’t know what to say.” I slumped my shoulders in defeat. “He knows better.”

  But did he really? All sympathy for my poor, innocent son evaporated. He’d freakin’ jumped off the shed—of his own free will! There was nothing I could do or say to defend his actions. I couldn’t even claim this to be out of his character, because it wasn’t. Not even close. The truth was, I’d been to the hospital before. Once when Noah dropped off a rope swing that wasn’t even over water. Another when he’d attempted to jump over my car with his trick bike. And yet another when he’d decided the neighbor’s guard dog needed to roam free, and he got bitten on the butt for his efforts. I wasn’t sure if Noah lacked sound decision-making skills, if he was Evel Knievel reincarnated, or if my relaxed mothering style allowed for such moments of recklessness from my son. I suspected it was a combo of all three.

  “Miss Bello,” the director said, taking pity on me.

  “Jess,” I corrected.

  “Jess. Noah’s a good kid—a crack-up, actually. He loves attention like Putin loves poison. And he’s been thriving with the staff. This isn’t a reflection on him or you. Sometimes accidents just happen… on purpose.”

  I tossed that astounding piece of wisdom around in my head before repeating it back for clarity.

  “Accidents that happen on purpose?” I smiled. “How diplomatic of you.”

  “That didn’t come out right, did it?”

  “No,” I agreed.

  “You know. I was once a lot like Noah.”

  “Oh, really? You jumped off storage sheds too?”

  “Well, no.” He grinned. “But I did once fall out a second-story window.”

  “Oh, god. Please don’t tell my son that story.”

  “We can keep it our little secret. Anyway, I grew up and went on to bigger and better things, and with the right guidance, so will Noah.”

  There it was. The subtle dig—the universal belief that a child born to a high school senior and raised by a single mom could not possibly get all the guidance he needed from her—from me. I hadn’t put him at this sleepaway spring break camp for low-income kids because I thought he needed guidance. I’d enrolled him there because he’d received a scholarship to attend and I needed a break.

  “Look, I know how hard it is to raise a son as a single mother without a man around. My mother did it on her own too, and look how I turned out.”

  The director opened his arms to showcase his awesomeness.

  Was he…? I glanced at the man who was staring back with a wide toothy grin. Nah. No way would he be hitting on me so soon after my son was accidentally injured on purpose under his watch, would he?

  “Very impressive,” I smiled politely. “And thank you for making me feel better.”

  He kept ahold of my eye, nodding more times than seemed necessary. Oh god. Please no.

  I stood up, putting some distance between me and a guy who didn’t understand social cues. So much for being raised by a single mother.

  “I’m going to go see Noah now, Mr.…?”

  “Craig,” he said.

  “Mr. Craig.”

  “No—Mr. Connor.”

  Wait, what? Was he Craig or Connor? I took my best guess. “Connor?”

  �
��Yes.” He chuckled. “I mean, no.”

  I blinked, unsure where to go from here. The dude couldn’t even get his name straight, and he’d been put in charge of my child?

  “Connor’s my last name. Craig is my first. So it’s Craig Connor.”

  Whoa, yeah. So, I didn’t trust anyone who actually had to explain their name. I reached my hand out and shook his. “Thank you for getting my son to the hospital, Craig Connor. I’ll stay in touch with the camp and update you on his condition.”

  “Yes.” He nodded, not letting go of my hand. “Jess, I know this is random, but if you aren’t doing anything next week, I have a day off, and…”

  “I’ll be with my son,” I cut him off. It wasn’t like me to be so clipped, but I was in no mood. Not only had my son been injured on his watch, but I had no patience for any man who wasn’t named Quinn McKallister. “Sorry, I’m just overwhelmed.”

  And without a backward glance, I turned and walked away.

  I pushed the door open and spotted a sleeping Noah across the room. My heart clenched. It didn’t matter that he was directly responsible for his own misery; he was still my son and had suffered injuries that needed his mom. There was only one thing I’d promised myself the first time I’d held Noah in my arms, and that was I’d never abandon him like my parents had me. And I always kept my word.

  Approaching quietly so as to not wake him, I looked over my sleeping angel. His shaggy head of hair had been forced into compliance by an alarming number of cords and tubes attached to his body, and his slight frame was dwarfed by a bed intended for a person twice his size. Noah looked so small and helpless. It was moments like this I was overwhelmed by my love for him. Yes, my boy was a handful, but he was also wickedly funny and a sweet soul who loved his mamma above all else.

  Noah’s eyes flew open. “Boo!”

  I jumped back, slamming into a tray and knocking everything to the ground with a colossal ruckus. And just like that, any goodwill my son had banked was grievously spent.

  “Dammit, Noah,” I swore, slapping a hand to my chest. “Don’t scare me like that.”

  “Sorry,” he replied. “But you should’ve seen your face.”

  “Did it look something like this?” I asked, contorting mine into something worthy of a slasher flick.

  “Worse.” He giggled.

  “Worse?” I teased, palming his face with my hand. “Don’t you be dissing my looks, stinker.”

  I couldn’t describe the relief I felt to hear him laugh, even at my expense. I’d pay any cost to keep him safe and by my side. At least I still had the opportunity to teach him the difference between right and wrong, although in this particular situation, it should have been quite obvious.

  Playtime over. I needed answers. “What were you thinking, Noah?”

  “It was windy.” He shrugged. “I thought the gusts would carry my weight.”

  “Why?”

  “’Cuz I saw it in a cartoon.”

  “Hmm… and you understand that cartoon characters don’t have spleens that splatter on impact, right?”

  “Yeah. But the nurse said it didn’t splatter.”

  “Not for lack of trying. Honestly, Noah. I worry about you. What would you say if someone asked you to jump off a bridge?”

  “I’d ask how high.”

  I flashed him the evil eye.

  “Fine. I’d say, ‘No, it’s a bridge and my mom says I can’t.’”

  I shook my head, pulling the sheet down to assess the damage. “Does it hurt?”

  “Not anymore.”

  “Did they give you pain medication?”

  Noah dropped his voice to a whisper, checking for spies. “No, they gave me drugs. I told the nurse I wasn’t old enough to take them yet, but he said it was a good drug. So I said sure.”

  “You said ‘sure’?” I chuckled. “How agreeable of you.”

  “Can I still go to baseball practice tomorrow?”

  “No, Noah. You jumped off a shed. That rules out sliding to home plate for at least a few weeks.”

  “Uugghh.” He threw his arm over his face and groaned. “I have to practice.”

  “You don’t even like baseball.”

  “Yes, I do.” His eyes flared.

  “Okay. Fine. You like baseball,” I conceded. We’d had this discussion before. Noah only liked baseball because his father liked baseball. “Sorry.”

  The nurse walked in to check Noah’s vitals, effectively saving me from a conversation about Nick and his absentee parenting.

  “How’s my favorite patient?” he asked.

  “I’m fine. Can I have some ice cream?”

  “Let me check first to see if it’s allowed on your diet, okay?”

  “I’m not on a diet,” Noah replied.

  “I meant your hospital diet.” He laughed and then turned to me. “I love this kid.”

  “Me too,” I agreed, taking Noah’s hand in mine as the nurse finished his duties and left.

  “You hear that?” I beamed. “He loves you.”

  “Yep.” Noah nodded with such confidence. “Lots of people love me. You. Dad. Grandma Ledger. Grandpa Ledger. Dylan.”

  I blinked. Had I just heard him correctly?

  “Dylan? Babe, me and Dylan broke up seven months ago.”

  “So? He loves me. He told me so himself.”

  I almost fell back onto the tray for a second time. Dylan and I had dated a grand total of two months. “When?”

  “That day we went to the lake to fish. He took me to the pier while you were waiting on the beach. I asked him if he loved you, and he said yes, and then I asked him if he loved me too, and he said yes.”

  I could only imagine the sheer horror in Dylan’s eyes when he’d gotten that doozy of a question from his brand spankin’ new girlfriend’s kid. “Oh, honey… that’s just… uh.”

  “Call him, Mom,” Noah said with such confidence. “He’ll want to come see me.”

  This conversation had only one way to go and it was down.

  “No, Noah. Dylan won’t come see you.”

  “Yes. He. Will.”

  I could hear his frustration. Noah had easily bonded with the few boyfriends I’d had over the years and had been devastated with each and every breakup. But he’d never verbalized his disillusion until today. “Just because he doesn’t love you anymore doesn’t mean he doesn’t still love me.”

  I looked away, not wanting Noah to see the sadness in my eyes. I wasn’t sad about Dylan. We weren’t right for each other. No, I was sad that he’d given my son hope that a man might stay.

  “Noah, listen. Dylan has a new girlfriend. He’s moved on. I’m sure he was really fond of you—who wouldn’t be—but he’s not coming to see you.”

  “Because you won’t call,” he blurted out. “You told him to go like you tell everyone to go. Marc loved me too. And so did Elijah. But you made them leave. Not everything’s about you, Mom.”

  Tears burst from his eyes. I grabbed hold and held him until he’d had his cry, but I couldn’t stop thinking about Noah’s accusation. What damage was I inflicting on my son by introducing him to men who would fill that empty hole in his heart only to rip them out of his life when it ended?

  “I’m sorry,” I said. “I didn’t know he meant that much to you.”

  Noah didn’t respond. His normal jovial self didn’t laugh or even smile. “I want my dad.”

  Oh boy. I should have known that one was coming. The demand for his father typically followed a discussion about my shortcomings as a mother.

  “Honey, you know your dad is hard to track down.”

  “Call Grandma, then,” Noah insisted, jutting out his jaw in a move strangely reminiscent of the man he sought. “She’ll know where he is. Once she tells him I’m hurt, my dad will want to come see me.”

  I died a little inside. This boy never gave up his faith that his father would one day put him first. Nick rarely, if ever, showed any interest in Noah. His apathy toward his son had begun a few
months after conception, when I’d first told him I was pregnant. First came the denial, followed by the slut-shaming, followed by the demand to end the pregnancy. He’d vowed to me back then that if I went through with it, he’d never be a part of Noah’s life. And he hadn’t lied. Nick had only ever spent a handful of days with his son since his birth nearly nine years ago… not to mention that the child support checks were few and far between.

  Most of our dealings went through his parents, who’d gotten involved only after the court-ordered test had proved their son’s paternity. Still, they always set aside a portion of each conversation to accuse me of ruining their son’s baseball prospects. As if. Nick had done a fine job of ruining them himself when a frat party went horribly wrong and Nick not only lost his baseball scholarship but was kicked out of college.

  Still, in his parents’ eyes, all that blame fell on me… and the little boy who had done nothing but idolize his deadbeat dad his entire life. I tried hard not to crush Noah’s faith in his father, thinking of Nick as a bit like Santa Claus. I wanted my son to believe in him as long as feasibly possible.

  “I can’t promise anything, but I’ll contact Grandma Ledger and ask her to let your dad know.”

  Noah lit up. “Okay. Maybe he can sign my cast.”

  Maybe he could sign a few checks while he’s at it, too, I thought to myself.

  “Just don’t get too excited. You know your dad isn’t always easy to find.”

  “He’ll come this time,” Noah said, but even I could hear the cracks in his faith. He knew as well as I did—his dad wasn’t coming.

  9

  Quinn: Trending

  A strangled scream caught in my throat as I shot up in bed, confused and winded. I covered my ears to block out the wail of sirens whizzing by my window. Normally, I slept right through police chases, but a night of drinking had delivered a morning of nausea and a head-splitting migraine. Possibly the only positive to waking up with a massive hangover was that I couldn’t focus on the end of my very short career.