Interference (15 page)

Once my breathing slowed and my heart stopped flipping out, I stepped away from the door. Then I turned around and flipped the lock.

Just in case.

It'd been a while since I hung around a three-year-old. My youngest brothers, Calvin and Nate, were eight when my parents adopted them. And most of the kids we'd taken in through the years were a little bit older—usually five and up.

So I totally forgot that a three-year-old might not sit through a movie. Even if it's the hottest new movie that every kid wants to see, and won't stop talking about until they do.

Three-year-olds don't give a fuck.

So instead of watching the movie, I spent the afternoon chasing Holden around the theater lobby, then back into the theater to watch the movie for five minutes, getting popcorn, going to the bathroom, playing the claw arcade game, getting raisins and M&M's, going back into the theater, and stopping him from knocking down a huge cardboard advertisement.

Rinse and repeat.

After an hour and a half of that, I kinda wanted to take a nap. But Holden didn't, so I took him to a park.

“I climb up!” Holden announced, hanging on to the rails and climbing up the stairs of the slide.

The movies had seemed like the best bet on a typically cold and dreary Michigan winter day. Dark clouds loomed above and it looked like it would pour at any moment.

“Sit down,” I called up to him. He didn't. “Holden, sit! On your a—” I stopped myself. “Booty. Sit on your booty to go down the slide.”

“Booty!” He laughed, but thankfully he dropped to his bottom and slid down. When his feet touched the ground, he took off toward the exit.

I ran after him. “Holden! Wait!”

I wasn't really worried about not being able to catch up to him, because, ya know, he's three, how fast can he go?

But just as I closed in, he stopped and squatted down. “Booty drop!”

I tried to stop, but it was too late. To avoid running right into the kid, I leaped up and hurdled him. As awesome as I'm sure the high jump looked to the five other people in the park, I did not stick my landing. Instead, I ate pavement, falling face-first onto the sidewalk path we'd been running on before rolling into a patch of wood chips. Thankfully, I'd thrown out my hands to break my fall, so my face stayed woodchip-free.

I twisted onto my side and sat up. Then I brushed wood chips off my fleece pullover. No harm done. Holden ran up to me and put his tiny hand on my shoulder.

“Okay, Jason? Okay?” he asked, his eyes wide with concern.

“Yeah, buddy.” I smiled. “I'm okay.”

He removed his hand and held it out to me. “I help.”

I took his hand and let him “help” me up, though I did most of the work. The thoughtfulness of the toddler sent a pang through my chest.

“That was really nice, buddy. Thank you.”

And just then, the sky opened up and the rain came down hard and fast, drenching us both within seconds. I scooped Holden up and ran for the shelter of the car.

“It raining! It pouring!” Holden laughed like a maniac as I carried him.

Holden giggled as I unlocked Indie's car and waited in the pouring rain for him to climb in. “I booty drop you!”

“What does that mean? What is booty drop?” I asked as I helped him into his car seat.

But three-year-olds don't answer questions when you try to strap them into a car seat. They just arch their back and thrash around while you stand outside the car getting more drenched.

“Holden. Let me—” I started, but he just wiggled and turned and flipped so his butt faced out instead of in the bucket part of his car seat. “Really, dude?”

“I no sit.”

“How are we going to get home?” I asked. “I can't drive if you aren't strapped in.”

He wiggled his butt in response.

Awesome.

My Scare 'Em Straight training flashed through my head. “Want me to take you to jail? If you don't get buckled, I'll have to take you to jail.”

“No jail!” Holden's voice was muffled, since his face was buried in the back of the car seat, but there was no doubt the kid was laughing at me. And still shaking his butt.

Of course that didn't work, dumb-ass. Toddlers don't understand the concept of jail.

“Dude.” I wiped rain off my face as I racked my brain for a way to get him to listen. Bribery. Bribes work with kids. “Hey, buddy, you wanna stop and get a Slurpee before we go home?”

He stopped shaking his booty and turned in his seat. “We get Slurpee?” he asked with wide eyes, cocking his head slightly as if he didn't believe me.

“Yep.”

And just like that, he settled into his seat and let me buckle him in.

Bribery. Works every time.

True to my word, we stopped at 7-Eleven and got Slurpees before I took Holden home. Between the amount of sugar in the M&M's and soda he'd had at the movie theater, and the bonus sugar in the Slurpee, this kid was sure to crash this afternoon. For Indie's sake, I hope he still took naps.

Jason returned with Holden later that afternoon. When I opened the door, my son burst in with a cup in his hand. The swirl of colors circling his mouth was the telltale sign of a Slurpee stop.

“Wow!” Jason brushed a wet clump of hair out of his eyes and scanned me from top to bottom, then back up again. “You look beautiful.”

I dipped my head and tucked hair behind my ear, embarrassed that I'd gotten myself decked out after my spa day. As if applying makeup and shimmying into dark skinny jeans and a cozy, gray sweater that hung off one shoulder is considered getting decked out by anyone but me.

“I thought you were going to a movie?” I asked, stepping aside so Jason could come in.

“It raining! It pouring!” Holden sang as he stripped off his coat.

Instead of coming inside, he stayed on the porch dripping like a dog with no shelter from a rainstorm. “I'm all wet,” Jason said, stating the obvious.

“So, what happened?” I asked. When I heard the refrigerator open, I spun around. “Holden, what do you need? Mom will get it for you.”

“Milk.”

I stared at my son without moving a muscle.

“Milk pease.” He amended his request. I grabbed the milk out of the fridge and a freshly washed sippy cup off the counter.

“We went to a movie. Sort of. Does he usually sit for entire movies?” Jason asked from the doorway.

“I didn't want to say anything because I never know how he's going to act for other people,” I said as I poured milk into the sippy cup and twisted it shut. “You can come in, ya know.”

“I don't want to drip all over your floor,” he explained.

“It's okay,” I assured him. What did I care? It was Damien's week to wash the floors.

Jason took a tentative step through the door. “He was good at the movie, for about thirty minutes. Then he wanted to get up and walk around. So we did. We ran around the lobby, played in the game section.”

“I'm so sorry I didn't warn you.” I glanced at Jason as I handed Holden his milk.

“It's okay. Seriously. I should've realized he's a little young for a movie,” Jason said. “We went to a park afterward. That's how we got drenched.”

“I booty drop Jason.” Holden giggled.

I froze. “What?”

“Yeah, he squatted down while I was running after him. I tripped over the poor kid. Landed on my a—” Jason caught himself. “Booty. Is that why he calls it a booty drop? When someone falls on their booty?”

My hands flew up to cover my mouth. But I couldn't hold in my laugh. “Ummm, not really. Sort of.”

“Well, that clears it up,” Jason said.

“Holden, do you want to show Jason what a booty drop is?”

“Yay!” Holden set his milk on the kitchen table and waited for me to run, as was part of the “booty drop” game.

I dashed away with Holden following close behind.

“Let me see yo' booty drop!” I yelled. Then I stopped and squatted down. Holden, who never stopped running, bounced right off my butt and dropped to the floor in hysterics.

“Really?” Jason asked.

“He loves it!” I said, defensively. And he did. Holden thought it was the funniest thing in the world. And so did I, because there's no better sound than a toddler's laughter. “It's a song from a workout class.”

Holden dashed out of the room.

“So what are you up to now?” I asked, trying to figure out if Jason's night was free or if he had to work.

Though still listening for his response, I followed Holden to the doorway leading to the hall. What kind of trouble was brewing in my kid's head? I knew him well enough to know he didn't leave the room abruptly for no reason.

“Heading home to dry off,” Jason answered.

“Do you work tonight?”

Even after two months of dating, my confidence wavered enough for me to be timid when asking him to hang out for dinner.

“I have a midnight shift.” He tried to put his hands in his pockets, but his jeans were tight and must've molded to his body in the rain.

“Do you want to have dinner with us?” I asked. “And maybe play a game or something?”

Jason glanced down at his wet shirt and pants. And at that moment I knew he wouldn't stay. He'd barely crossed the threshold.

Our eyes met and he smiled. “That would be awesome.”

“I get you clothes,” Holden yelled, running back into the room with his arms full. One leg from a pair of navy-blue sweatpants dragged behind him.

I bent down and took the garments from him. He'd brought a pair of navy-blue Bridgeland High School sweatpants and a black-and-orange-striped tank top.

“Did you get these from Uncle Damien's room?” I asked. One of those “mom” questions I already knew the answer to, but I had to make sure. Mr. Kelso could've left them in Mom's room, for all I knew.

Shudder.

Thankfully, Holden nodded to confirm he'd taken the clothes from Damien's room.

“Smell these. Make sure they're clean.” I held the pants out to Jason.

He dropped his outstretched arms and reared back. “Smell them? I'm not gonna smell them. You smell them!”

“I'm kidding, copper.” I took the shirt out of Holden's hand. “Be right back.”

Chances are Holden opened a few drawers and took the first pair of pants and shirt he found, but there was a good possibility that he went straight to the bottom of Damien's closet, or sifted through dirty clothes on the floor.

True to my expectations, two drawers had been pulled open and a third—the very bottom drawer—was on the floor. I walked in and closed the two open drawers, then knelt down and tried to fix the other one. I shoved it into the opening. Off the track. I tried again. Still off.

I growled as I tried to shove it in again, but it bounced back at me. Ugh! I'd let Damien deal with it later.

“Need help?” Jason asked.

Startled by his voice, the drawer slipped from my grasp. The corner caught my thigh, puncturing my jeans and scratching the skin underneath.

“Crap!” I jumped back.

Jason was at my side in an instant. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I'm fine.” I skimmed my fingers across the hole as if I could rub the fabric back together.
My first new pair of jeans in three years. Awesome.

“This sucks,” Jason mumbled.

“I know,” I agreed. I cast my eyes down and picked at the hole in my jeans. “First pair of post-pregnancy jeans I've bought myself.”

“I wanted—what?” Jason asked.

I looked up. “I've been wearing clothes from before I got pregnant. Had to spend money on Holden and clothes for work. Figured I could wear the old stuff until I had a reason to look nice in my spare time.”

“You haven't bought a pair of jeans in three years?” Jason asked. He sounded dumbfounded.

“I haven't bought a lot of things in three years. Kids are expensive.”

Jason was silent for a moment, but it looked like he wanted to say something, so I stayed quiet, too.

“I know how hard your life must have been over the last few years, Indie.” He touched the tiny hole in my jeans. “I wanted to do something nice for you. And I wanted to apologize for how I acted the other day.”

“You don't have to apologize.” I shook my head.

“Stop. We're not going to play games. You don't deserve games and you shouldn't accept games.” He tilted my chin up until I met his eyes. “I messed up when I freaked out about the future. I'm not opposed to it, Indie. I just wasn't prepared, ya know? When I moved here I had a definite five-year career plan. Falling for you has messed with my head. But I like what we have.” Jason leaned closer to me. He slid his fingers across my face and held his palm against my cheek. “I like you.”

“Falling for me?” I asked. My heart pressed against my ribcage, thumping to get out and jump into Jason's pocket. He had me hook, line, and sinker.

“Like a fucking dog at your feet.”

I lifted my hand to his cheek. “That was so romantic,” I quipped.

Jason laughed. “I wanted to take Holden off your hands and give you a break today to prove that I want to be part of your life. Part of both of your lives. I wanted you to have a relaxing day where you didn't have to worry. You should have more days like that.”

“I like the way you think.”

The memory of Tim's anger from hours ago popped into my mind. What Jason thought I deserved didn't matter. I'd dug my own ditch with Tim and now I was stuck scratching and clawing my way out.

“What do you say we eat, play a few games, and snuggle up on the couch and watch a movie together?” Jason asked.

“Sounds wonderful.” I smiled. “And Mom just brought home this awesome Pinot Noir. We should—”

“Indie,” Jason said, interrupting me. “You're not old enough to drink wine.”

“Are you serious?”

“Are you gonna continue to break the law right in front of my face?”

“Like you never had a drink before you were twenty-one.”

“I never had a drink before I was twenty-one in front of a police officer.”

“Oh, don't pull the authority card with me, copper.”

Jason pulled me into his arms. “I knew you were gonna be trouble from the minute I met you.”

“You seem like the kind of guy who likes trouble.” I licked my lips before I leaned in to kiss him.

Jason lifted a finger and pressed it against my mouth, stopping my advance. “I can't do this here. This place is a shit hole. And it smells like rotten milk.”

His comment brought me back to the moment—sitting on the floor in my brother's room. I took a breath in and noticed the weird spoiled-something smell Jason mentioned, and it made me want to hurl. Funny how I'd been immune before. I didn't want to think about what secrets the stains in the carpet of Damien's room held.

I shuddered at the thought as I jumped to my feet. “I'm a great date, eh?”

Jason stood up, took my hand, and led me into the hallway, closing the door with his free hand. He leaned over and gave me a quick, sweet kiss. “We should probably find our third wheel, shouldn't we?”

“Third wheel?” I asked. Then it dawned on me. Holden. “Oh! Oh yeah!”

I don't know how long we were gone. Couldn't have been more than five minutes. But even thirty seconds is enough for a toddler to make a mess.

Take my word for it.

When Jason and I returned to the kitchen, we found Holden carrying two cups to the table. His shaky hands wobbled with each step, and water splashed out, leaving a trail that could be followed all the way to the fridge. He set the cups on the table and pushed them into place next to two of the three overflowing bowls of cereal.

“What'cha doing, buddy?” I asked.

He turned around. His face lit up with pride. “I make dinner!” he announced.

“Looks awesome,” Jason said, jumping right in. “I'll get the milk.”

As Jason poured milk into the bowls and helped Holden onto his seat, I couldn't stop the fluttering in my stomach, nor keep the smile off my face.

In the last three years, I'd barely let myself take a break or relax my guard. In the last three years, Mom, Damien, and I had gotten our routine down pat—a familial assembly line that would make Ransom Olds proud. In the last three years, we'd all sacrificed and scrimped to give Holden everything he needed, because Tim and his parents refused to help provide.

Maybe karma was real.

Damien would graduate in the spring and had academic scholarships to three schools, based on his test scores alone.

Mom had never been happier—working as a manager at the casino and having a blast with Dale Kelso.

Before I met Jason, I'd envisioned the future as an exhausting struggle, much like the last three years. And I knew there were still many years of struggle and exhaustion ahead, but it also felt like a huge weight had lifted. I finally had someone I could count on and trust.