Sway (Landry Family #1) (6 page)

“I made spaghetti, so of course. It’s his favorite. There’s some in the fridge if you’re hungry.” She takes a step back and eyes me carefully in the way only a mother can. “What’s going on with you, Ali?”

Turning my back to her, I run some water from the tap and take a long draw of the cool liquid, hoping it calms my reddened cheeks and stops me from blushing further.

“Nothing,” I say, leaning against the fridge.

She taps her lips with her fingertip, something she’s done my whole life. “You look flushed. Are you feeling well?”

I can’t help but laugh. I’d love to tell her that I’m feeling particularly amazing, that I haven’t felt this good, this woman-like, in years. But I don’t because she’d get all hyped up, wanting details, and I’ve learned my lesson in that department. Besides, this
thing
, whatever it may be, will end with dinner in the best case scenario. And, if so, that’ll be that. Nothing more.

“I’m fine, Mom. Stop.”

“Stop what? Being a mom?” she sighs. “You know I worry about you. You run yourself ragged. Between work at the restaurant, catering, school, taking care of Huxley . . .” She shakes her head and grabs her purse off the chair.

“I have a lot going on. I know. But it’s all a means to an end.”

“I know, sweetheart. But I fear you’re going to burn out.”

“Not happening,” I say, giving her a reassuring smile for the millionth time about this. “I’m not dipping into my savings to pay for school. That money is a rainy day fund, something I can build on for Huxley. Catering has to pay for school and school has to pay for my life someday so I can quit waitressing.”

“I’d rather you use the savings for school and then—”

“I know. I know you would, and I appreciate your concern. But I have a plan. I’m setting myself up like I should’ve when I was younger. I need to do these things on my own so no one can take them away from me.”

Her face sours at the reference to my ex-husband, her lips pressed tightly together. If anyone hates Hayden more than me, it’s my parents. It was hard on them to see me humiliated and broken-hearted, but they helped me pick up the pieces of my broken life.

Not that there were many pieces to reconstruct. We had clothes and personal affects when we left New Mexico and a little money. And most of that was eaten up in attorney’s fees after defending myself in Hayden’s debauchery, finding a new home and new job. I had no nest egg, no safe place, no career or degree to fall back on. Hayden took everything from me. No one will take it from me again.

“Let’s not go there, Mom. What’s done is done.”

“What’s done is done,” she repeats, tossing her purse on her shoulder. “If you’re good, I’m going to head out now. It’s late.”

“Go. Tell Daddy I said hi.”

She kisses my cheek and leaves me standing in the middle of the kitchen.

The house is quiet. I dread this part of the day, the moment I get in from work or school and Huxley is asleep and my mother is waiting on me to get home like I’m a teenager. It’s the time of day when I’m forced to look in the proverbial mirror and see myself and my situation. I’m not happy with what I see but it’s getting better.

My stomach growls, reminding me that it’s empty. Even so, I don’t feel hungry. I’m completely warm and fuzzy from head-to-toe, like I’ve taken a few swigs of cinnamon whiskey. But I haven’t. I’m buzzed on a sexy politician.

Grabbing a pen and signing Huxley’s permission slip, I pad down the hallway to his little bedroom. It’s across the hall from mine and decked out in a baseball theme.

He’s in his bed. The light from the moon shines in the windows, making his blonde hair look like it has a halo. I bend forward and listen to the slow breathing, the precious sound that never ceases to amaze me. I used to stand in his bedroom over his crib at night and just watch him sleep. After we left Hayden, I would sneak into his room late at night and try to convince myself things would be okay. That what he’d gone through at the hands of his own father wasn’t going to ruin him forever.

“Mommy?” Huxley’s tear-filled eyes met mine, both hope and misery swimming together. “Where’s Daddy?” His little voice cracked, the words leaving his mouth on a sob half-repressed, only a moment away from being a wail. “He’s coming back, right?”

I pulled him to me, wrapping my arms protectively around his shoulders. I intentionally buried his face in my stomach so he couldn’t see the river of tears cascading down my cheeks and prayed he couldn’t feel my heart breaking.

“It’ll be okay, Hux,” I whispered.

He didn’t believe me. I didn’t believe me, not really. It’s hard to believe things will be okay when you watch everything you’ve worked for, all the things you believed in for so long, go up in flames because the man you pinned all your hopes on ripped them away and doused them with gasoline.

Huxley pulled away, his face stained with wetness. “Why doesn’t Daddy love me?”

Whatever happens in my life, I won’t let that happen to him again.

Huxley’s long lashes flutter and he peers up at me with a sleepy grin. “Hey, Mom. You’re home.”

“Hi, buddy,” I say, brushing a few stray locks of hair off his forehead, pushing away the memories that have my chest aching. “How was your night?”

“Good,” he yawns, struggling to keep his eyes open. “How was work?”

“It was fine. Go back to sleep. I’ll see you in the morning, okay?” Kissing him gently, I tuck his blankets around him and blow him a kiss before leaving. As soon as the door is pulled shut, my phone begins to ring. I scurry to retrieve it before Hux hears.

Swiping it from my purse, I see Lola’s name and my spirits lift, a smile gracing my face.

"Hello?"

"I want the scoop."

I laugh and make my way into the kitchen, the room farthest from Huxley, and settle into a chair at the wooden table. "The scoop? Whatever do you mean, Lola?"

"Cut the crap, Ali. I want to know what you did with the mayor tonight. I want to know every position, every flick of the tongue."

"You will be sad to know that no tongues were flicking."

"That's not just sad. That's depressing."

"Even I have to agree with you there,” I sigh.

I fiddle with the salt shaker on the table, thinking back to the last few hours. It's a little disconcerting that he was able to make me feel so relaxed around him. I knew he had charm, but not like that. How he makes you forget you’re with
him
, until you look up at his face or he touches your arm.

"The entire staff was buzzing about how Jim got put in his place by Landry," Lola recalls. "Isaac overheard most of it, but I want firsthand information. Every word, every look—give it to me."

There’s no way I’m going to be able to avoid discussing this with her, although I want to. I want to keep it my little memory of Barrett, something that feels like my own. Something that makes me feel special in a completely stupid way.

Still, it’s Lola and she’ll pester me until I relent, so I have to throw her some kind of bone to shut her up.

"Isaac must’ve heard Jim telling me not to socialize with the guests after seeing me serving Barrett champagne. But Barrett told him that he had initiated the conversation and it was his party to do what he wanted."

"Barrett?
First name basis?”

"He asked me to call him by his first name. Not a big deal."

"Let’s just say I served the sexy bastard champagne tonight too and I didn’t get the first name treatment. What else happened? And don’t leave out the good stuff."

"There is no good stuff, Lo. Not like you’re thinking,” I laugh. “We just took a walk. We talked about random things and that was it."

"Were any of those random things requests for sexual favors?"

"Nope."

She sighs dramatically and I laugh.

"I'd ask why you didn't offer to deliver sexual favors, but I know the answer," she says.

"And what's that?"

"You're lame,” she says matter-of-factly.

"I am not!"

"Yes, you are. L-A-M-E, lame. You continue to let some dick and his dick antics ruin your life. That, my dear friend, is lame."

"No, it’s not," I fight back. “I can’t do what you do and just go have fun. It’s not that easy for me, even if I wanted it to be.”

I can’t see her do it, but I know Lola rolls her eyes. She just doesn’t get it. To her, life is one big party until she hits it big. To me, life is lying in a bedroom down the hall all snuggled up in his twin bed with baseball sheets. Whatever decisions I make directly affect him, and Huxley is more important to me than anything.

“Why wouldn’t you want it to be?” Lola asks. “You getting off tonight has nothing to do with Huxley. Hell, it might make you relax a little bit. Did you ever think about that?”

“Yes, I’ve thought about that,” I gruff into the phone. “But think about it with your head for a second, will you? You’re the one that goes on and on about Landry. You know how easy it could be to get wound up in him.”

“Did you mean the innuendo you just tossed out there? Because if so, yes. Yes. I do.”

“Damn it, Lo!” I laugh. “Listen to me. Barrett isn’t like Isaac or whatever guy you were with tonight. He’s . . .”

“Perfect?”

“Yes,” I breathe. “So far he seems to be. But that’s the thing,” I say, fueled by the point I’m ready to make. “He’s not. He’s just like the other men in his position. He’s powerful, used to getting his way. Women are toys to men like him. And—” I say, cutting her off, “—I’m not saying I’m opposed to being with him. But if that happens, it has to be under a certain set of guidelines. I have to keep some control over it because he’ll win this election and jet off to Atlanta and I’ll never hear from him again.”

She snorts. “That’s not true.”

“It is true. I’ve seen it. Hell, I’ve lived it. What happened in my marriage? With the man that promised to cherish me forever?” I pause for effect. “Oh, yeah, that’s right—he got some power and forgot about me.
His wife
. He swapped Huxley for a prostitute and our life for some back room deals that got him indicted and me investigated with an assault charge.”

“That didn’t stick,” she points out. “No one believed you assaulted that reporter.”

“No, but my face was in the papers, my name was ripped to shreds for nothing,” I groan. “Don’t you see what I’m saying? To men like Hayden and Barrett, I’m sure people are just instruments for entertainment while they scale the ladder.”

She doesn’t respond. Her breathing sounds through the phone, so I know she’s still there.

“Lo?”

“I just hate that you went through that,” she says softly. “I do. And I hate it for my buddy Huxley too. But Ali, it’s time to spread your wings farther than being a mom and figuring out your career. It’s time to do something for you.”

“So you think doing Landry is the answer?” I smirk.

“Absolutely,” she laughs.

“I can’t afford to let my heart get all tied up in a man like that again.”

"Well, my friend, your heart and your vagina are two different things. You want to close off your heart—go for it. But keep your legs open."

"You are insane."

"No, I'm perfectly rational. You can have sex just for the sake of orgasms, you know. You don't have to tie yourself all up. You aren't sixteen."

I laugh and stand, walking to the back door and looking across the backyard. It, like the house, is small but has enough space to toss around a ball and catch lightning bugs in the summertime.

"I have plenty of meaningless sex,” I counter.

"No, you don't. You've slept with two guys, each a handful of times, in the handful of years I’ve known you. That's not ‘plenty.’ That's grossly underwhelming."

I sigh, knowing she's right. "Maybe I'm over
meaningless
sex. Maybe I'm . . .” I look at my reflection and contemplate saying the one thing I've been toying with in my head aloud. Once I spew it into the universe, it's out there for good. And maybe that makes it true. "Maybe I'm ready to have
meaningful
sex."

"Why would you go and do something like that?"

"I've been through all the emotions of a divorce. I've been sad. Angry. I’ve grieved and had meaningless sex. But maybe that's not enough now. Maybe I know down deep I'm looking for something more real than a quickie, so I'm playing it smart so I don't get gobsmacked by a man just like the one that burned me. So I don’t end up right back where I started. Maybe I'm trying to find someone that I'll be able to trust and that will be respectable enough to bring into Huxley’s life. Maybe I'm working on that." The line is silent for a long while. "Lola?"

"Oh, I'm here. Just trying to figure out how that means you can't fuck Barrett."

I laugh and do a check of the house, making sure everything’s locked tight. “You have a one-track mind.”

“This is true. And on that note, I have to go. I'm meeting a guy I met last week for a round two. Because separate hearts and vaginas and all."

"Does he even have a name?" I yawn.

"Who cares? His cock is massive."

"Nice," I say, shaking my head. "I'll talk to you soon."

"Bye, love."

I walk into the bathroom and set the phone on the counter. Looking into the mirror, my long blonde hair is wild, as it usually is after a long shift. It's coming out of the tie I'd tried to use to tame it, so I pull it out and let it cascade over my shoulders.

My eyes are dark blue, but there's a sparkle in them I haven't seen in a long time.

"What if I promised you we could do it at a place no one would see us? Just you and I. No agenda. No media. No expectations.”

I place my hands on the counter and bow my head.

Just thinking about him makes me feel tingly. The thought of his smile makes
me
smile, the recollection of his words making me crave the chance to hear more.

I wish I was Lola and could have just offered myself to him, no strings attached. But I'm not Lola with her confidence for days. I'm a divorcee with more self-doubt than I’d like to admit. I can't play off my feelings or shake off rejection, and if I’m smart, I know I certainly can't afford to tie up any part of myself, heart or vagina, with a man like Barrett Landry.