Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114011 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 570(@200wpm)___ 456(@250wpm)___ 380(@300wpm)
“If whatever his dad said was too bad, call me,” Cole says, smiling. “I have many talents.”
I wish I could hug him. My fingers itch to pull my body into his and let him shield me from some of the shit of my life.
But I don’t.
What I said before is true—my life is often a shit show. I have no one but Val, on occasion, to pull me out of it. And I have a son who needs me right now. Ethan trumps everything, even Cole Beck.
“That’s nice,” I say, walking around him and leading him upstairs. “Way to paint my imagination in a rainbow of colors just as you’re leaving.”
He laughs as we climb the steps and go back to reality.
Damn it, anyway.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
PALMER
Are you hungry?” I watch as Ethan kicks off his shoes and slides them inside the shoe rack by the door. “There’s some pizza downstairs, but I could heat up the chicken-fried steak from last night, if you’d rather have that.”
He hums. It’s not an answer so much as him blowing me off—just like he’s done ever since I picked him up at Val’s.
I haven’t asked him what his dad said, only if he contacted him. A simple nod was really all I needed to know.
If I close my eyes and think too much about it, I’ll step outside and call Jared and let him have it. So I don’t. It wouldn’t help. It wouldn’t change Jared’s behavior, nor would it help Ethan. And that’s all I really want to do.
My chest burns as I watch my little boy war with the emotions building inside him.
“Did you know Dad left?” he asks.
The question catches me off guard, even though I know it’s what he’s thinking. It’s the clarity, the boiled-down, cut-through-the-shit inquiry that knocks me back a couple of steps.
“Yes,” I say.
“Why didn’t you tell me today? Why did you send me to Val’s and not tell me that my dad moved to Cleveland?”
His gaze pierces mine. It’s guarded, with a look of pain mixed with fury, and it breaks my heart to see it so obvious in his sweet green eyes.
My mouth goes dry as I try to formulate the correct response. How do I be honest and protect Ethan at the same time?
I shift my weight from one foot to the other.
“I found out just before I picked you up from school,” I say. “He called me late this afternoon.”
“But why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because, Ethan, I didn’t know how. I don’t want to tell you one thing and then be wrong about it. How many times has that happened? How many times has your father told me, told us, one thing and then turned around and did something else?”
The anger in his eyes softens.
“I figured that if he really did go, then fine. What did it matter?” I ask. “He’ll be back. He always comes back, and he’ll probably return before it was time for him to see you again anyway. Why risk upsetting you if there’s a chance that he shows up here tomorrow?”
His gaze drops to the hardwood floor.
“Look, buddy, I was going to tell you. I promise. I just . . . It’s hard sometimes to know how to handle your dad, and I don’t want you having to figure it out. I want to do the hard stuff and let you just enjoy being a kid.”
His eyes lift to mine. “I told you the other day that I’m not a kid. I understand way more than you think I do.”
“I know—”
“And it felt really bad to have to hear it from Dad when you already knew.”
My chest squeezes. “Ethan, I’m sorry.”
He hangs his head and walks toward the steps but stops. Then he raises his chin and looks at me with the clearest, most vulnerable look that I’ve ever seen him serve.
“I don’t even care that he left, Mom. I mean, I do. It would be nice if he lived here and he remembered that he had a kid, but that’s not going to happen.”
My fingers itch to reach for him, to pull him into my chest and cuddle him like I used to when he was a baby. But that reaction would be for me. I need to be here for him.
“I wish you would’ve told me so I’d know I can trust you,” he says.
He doesn’t waver. He doesn’t blink or smile or soften his words so they won’t puncture my heart. My twelve-year-old son just looks at me like the man he isn’t and makes me feel about two inches tall.
“You can trust me. You know that,” I say. “Don’t say things like that, Ethan.”
“It’s always been me and you. We haven’t needed anyone—not Dad or his mom or even Charlie.”
“That’s right.”
“So don’t let me find out crappy information from Dad when you already know it. It’s not fun to feel like there are secrets going around and I’m the only one that doesn’t know them.”