Perfect Kiss (Mason Creek Book 9)

by Lacey Black

  I nod, understanding what he’s saying. Hell, he’s not telling me anything I didn’t already know, but somehow, hearing it from him, I understand a little clearer. “Thanks, Dad.”

  “Always, son,” he says, standing up. “Oh, and bring them by soon. Your mother is dying to spend time with the boy.”

  “Trace.” I instantly smile at the thought of him.

  “Trace,” Dad repeats. “We want to get to know both of them.”

  “I will. Promise.”

  He stops in the doorway and adds, “The only reason for a person to overreact is fear. Fear of losing something or someone they love, perhaps. Don’t let that happen, son.”

  I nod in understanding before he walks out the door, leaving me alone with my thoughts. I know he’s right, and I just need to talk to Leni. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation as to who the man was and why he was there.

  I just have to cool my heels until we can talk.

  Chapter 22

  Leni

  The bell over the door announces my arrival, and I make a beeline for the front counter. “I need to talk to you.”

  My sister looks up from her computer monitor and smiles. “Does it have anything to do with the hunky man you spent the weekend with and brought to officially meet the family? We all decided he can stay, by the way.”

  I stop in my tracks, too stunned to even finish walking to where she stands. “Really?”

  “Definitely. He was so good with Trace, and even Mom said she hopes things work out between you two.”

  I haven’t had a chance to talk to either my mom or my sister since we went to dinner with them Sunday evening after the softball game, and it’s nice to hear they like Malcolm.

  Especially after the last boyfriend I brought home.

  With reminds me of why I’m here.

  “Are you okay?” Laken asks, her concerned eyes meeting my wide, frantic ones.

  “No.”

  “Jesus, you’re pale. Come sit down,” my sister says, leading me over to one of the chairs meant for reading. “What’s the matter?”

  “Someone came by last night,” I finally whisper when I’m able to find my voice.

  “Who was it?”

  “Greg.”

  My sister blinks rapidly, as if trying to comprehend what I just said. “Greg? As in Greg Greg?”

  “Yes, Greg Greg. How many Gregs do I know?”

  “Well, I don’t know, Leni. What the hell was Greg doing at your apartment?”

  I lean back against the chair and close my eyes. “He showed up last night after I got off work. I opened the door thinking Mom forgot something.”

  She sits beside me. When I don’t continue, she asks, “What did he want?”

  “He wants to see Trace again.”

  She sits up straight, taking a defensive stance, and demands, “Where the hell has he been these last several months? He thinks he can just show up and everything returns to like it was before? Who the hell does he think he is?”

  I crack a smile at the way my little sister instantly jumps to our defense. “Believe me, I asked the same questions.”

  “What did he say?”

  I recall the painful conversation that went deep into the night. “He apologized for not being what Trace or I needed. He said he was a selfish man and felt bad for hurting us.”

  “Where has he been? Why now? He hasn’t seen his kid in months, Leni. Months!”

  “I know, Laken. Believe me, I’m the one answering Trace’s questions and seeing the disappointment in his eyes.” I take a deep breath. “Greg started seeing someone a few months back.” When my sister doesn’t say anything, I keep going. “She’s a single mom, and when she found out he has a kid he doesn’t see, doesn’t even pay child support for, she broke it off with him.”

  “As she should.”

  “Her daughter’s father isn’t around either, and Greg saw how hard it was on Angelica; that’s the girlfriend. He realized he was doing the exact same thing to me that her ex was doing to her.”

  “Well,” my sister starts, a little calmer this time around, “karma is a bitch.”

  I can’t help but laugh. “That it is. When he showed up, he had papers, Lake.”

  She sits up straight once more. “Papers? What kind of papers?”

  “Child support papers. He also had a check for some of the back pay. He’s going to make double payments until the rest is paid off. He also quit drinking. He realized he was on the wrong path.”

  Laken just stares at me with shocked eyes. “Holy shit.”

  “Yeah.” I swallow over the emotions still in my blood from last night. “We had a good talk, really. He was the old Greg again, the one I fell in love with all those years ago.”

  “But you don’t…”

  “God, no. Not at all. Besides sharing my son with him, there are no residual feelings left for him, but as friends, we were able to come together and talk about a plan moving forward.”

  How could I love him when my heart belongs to someone else?

  Laken smiles and squeezes my hand. “I’m glad. What’s the plan?”

  “Well, since Greg’s job is unpredictable at times, he’s going to come to Mason Creek the first weekend of the month to see Trace, starting this weekend. He’ll stay at a hotel nearby, staying two nights and driving back to Washington on Sunday afternoon. When Trace gets older, we’ll talk about the possibility of Trace going and staying with him a little during the summer, but I’m not ready for that yet, and Greg understood.”

  “Wow,” my sister says, flopping back on her chair and sighing. “It sounds like the girlfriend helped him see the light.”

  I nod. “I think she did. They’ve actually gotten back together. He hopes one day to bring her and her daughter with him to meet Trace, but not yet. He needs to get to know his son first.”

  She meets my gaze. “And you’re okay with all this?”

  I think back to our long conversation, about the fear and sadness I saw in his eyes, and how emotional he got when he apologized again. “Yeah, I am. I want Trace to know his father. I wanted that all along, you know? But I wasn’t going to force it either. If Greg didn’t want to be in his life, then so be it.”

  Laken leans forward and squeezes my hand again. “I’m proud of you. I know it would have been so easy to be petty and childish, but you did what was right for Trace. So many parents focus on their own hurt and anger, wanting their ex to feel the same pain they felt, and the only one who suffers are the kids.”

  I nod in agreement. “Oh, believe me, I wanted to be childish and hurt him, but in the end, Trace is still the one to suffer. I told him I was worried he would flake out on us again, not showing up when he says he will, and he swore that wouldn’t happen.”

  “Do you believe him?”

  “Yeah, I do. I saw it in his eyes, Lake. If this would have been a year ago, I would have said no way, zebras don’t change their stripes, but he was different this time. I saw it and felt it.”

  “So what now?”

  “We talked until almost two in the morning. We were both exhausted from emotions and a long day. He asked if he could crash on the couch for a few hours, and while I didn’t really want him to, there’s no place to stay in Mason Creek. I didn’t want Trace to find him there in the morning before I could have a chance to talk to him, so we agreed Greg would leave before Trace got up. He needed to get on the road back home anyway.”

  “That’s it? He slept on the couch?”

  “He did, I swear.”

  “I believe you, but you should probably be prepared for someone else to ask,” she says.

  I know instantly who she’s referring to.

  “Have you talked to him yet?”

  “No, he sent a text message last night, but I didn’t hear my phone when I was talking to Greg. And when I replied this morning, I kept it kinda vague. This isn’t exactly something you talk about through text.”

  “No, definitely not. Face-to-face is bes
t for something like this,” she agrees.

  I don’t disagree, already coming to that conclusion. “Yeah,” I reply. It might be an awkward conversation, telling Malcolm that Greg wants to be in Trace’s life, but I think he’ll ultimately be happy for my son and understand. If I know anything about Malcolm, it’s that he’s usually calm, reasonable, and willing to listen. They’re some of the characteristics that make him an amazing, caring mayor and lawyer.

  And man.

  The man I love.

  “Can I talk to you a bit, buddy?” I ask, tucking my son into bed after reading him a bedtime story. When he nods, I take a deep breath, recalling the phone confirmation I had with Greg just a while ago, and begin. “I talked to your dad recently.”

  Trace’s eyes widen with excitement. “You did? Is he going to visit me?”

  Instantly, I smile. “He is. He’s going to come here this weekend to see you.”

  “Yay!” my son hollers, throwing his arms around my neck. “I’ve missed Daddy.”

  “I know you have,” I reply, my throat thick with emotion. “He’s missed you too. And guess what? Since Daddy doesn’t live here, you can stay at a hotel with him.”

  He looks up at me, his face etched with confusion and worry. “But I want to stay here. With you.”

  “I know, sweetie, but Daddy doesn’t have a bed, so he’s staying at a hotel. You get to visit him there, and then come home to me when he’s ready to leave.”

  Trace starts to cry, and my heart literally breaks wide open. “I don’t want to go there. I want to stay here. With you and Daddy.”

  I pull him into a hug and kiss his forehead. “I’m not going anywhere, buddy, I promise. Daddy doesn’t live here with us, so he’s going to stay at the hotel, but if you don’t want to stay there, you don’t have to. You can spend time with Daddy and then come home if you want. Does that sound okay?”

  He smiles through his tears. “Can Daddy stay here too?”

  “Oh, well, I don’t know about that, buddy. We’ll see.” I reach down and wipe away his tears. “I love you, Trace.”

  “Love you too, Mommy,” he whispers, snuggling back into his bedding and curling onto his side. I push hair off his forehead, place a kiss on his soft skin, and slip off his bed and out of his room.

  When I reach the kitchen, I instantly grab the last bottle of beer, wishing I had something stronger, even though what I really need is a hug and a bed, preferably both with Malcolm. I pop open the top and retrieve my phone, anxious to contact the man I can’t stop thinking about.

  Me: Hey. It’s been a crazy, long day. You around?

  I set my phone down on the counter and start to fill the sink to wash the dishes from dinner. I also make a mental note to text Greg about my conversation with Trace, so he’s prepared to possibly bring his son back here Friday and Saturday night. If Trace doesn’t want to stay with him at a hotel, I won’t force him.

  By the time I finish washing tonight’s dishes, I glance over at my phone and find the screen blank. I tap the text message app, just to make sure I didn’t miss the notification, only to confirm he hasn’t responded. I finish off the beer, wondering if he’s stuck at City Hall or something else came up, but deep in my stomach, it’s like a pit of dread and misery.

  After making sure the door is locked, I return to my apartment, wash my face and brush my teeth, and climb into bed. It’s still early, but after only getting a handful of hours of sleep early this morning, I’m too exhausted to stay up much later.

  With my phone curled in my hand, I close my eyes and slowly drift off to sleep, thoughts of Malcolm and his reckless grin accompanying me.

  My phone chimes, waking me from a heavy sleep. It takes me a few seconds to get my bearings, but when I do, I glance down at my phone. It’s still clutched in my hand, so I tap on the screen to bring it to life. I have a message, but it’s not from the person I had hoped.

  Laken: You awake?

  Me: I am now. What’s up?

  Laken: Have you talked to Malcolm? Tell me you talked to him, Leni!!!!!!

  Me: Damn, why so many exclamation points? I sent him a message last night to talk, but he didn’t reply.

  Laken: OMG OMG OMG!

  Me: What? You’re kinda freaking me out.

  I glance at the clock and notice it’s five thirty.

  Laken: Ok, so I couldn’t sleep this morning and got up. I went online and was browsing social media when I saw a new blog post on the MC Scoop.

  I groan aloud and switch screens, pulling up the internet. I go to the site my sister was referring to and find a blog entry dated for late last night. When I click on it, my heart drops into my stomach, my lungs refusing to move oxygen.

  Well, I do admit I was a little shocked tonight by what happened at Pony Up. The place was pretty empty, but that didn’t stop a certain man in the top political position to share a drink with a much older widow/divorcee he’s been known to hang out with from time to time. Not shocking their drinks lasted until way late. What was shocking was the fact they left together and were not very discreet about it. All I can hope is that the relationship status of the other woman he spent last weekend with is done and over with, because if not, someone has some explaining to do.

  I sit, completely stunned, and stare down at my screen. I reread and then reread again, only to find the post exactly as it was the first time around.

  My phone continues to chime in my hand, so I quickly switch over to text.

  Laken: WTF?!

  Laken: Are you there? Did you read it?

  Laken: Leni? My God, I’m so sorry! What a fucking asshole!!!!

  Me: Wow, OK. Wasn’t expecting that.

  My heart hammers so hard in my chest, I’m terrified it’ll wake up Trace.

  Laken: I’m so sorry, Leni. So damn sorry.

  Me: It’s OK. Not your fault. Listen, I gotta go, K?

  Laken: I feel terrible, but I couldn’t let you not know. Besides, it’s the MC Scoop. It might not even be true anyway! You know how rumors are in this town.

  Me: You’re probably right. They’re terrible.

  Laken: Sorry to wake you with this, Len. I hope it’s not true. Love you.

  Me: Me too. Love you more.

  I set my phone down just as the device indicates I have a low battery. I don’t even bother plugging it in. My mind is racing, my heart hammering and maybe even breaking a little in my chest. All I can think about is Jessa on Monday, firing me because she knew he’d come back to her. Was it a complete coincidence they had drinks last night or was she warning me it was coming much sooner than I anticipated?

  Either way, the pain in my chest is excruciating. It consumes me with the agony of a thousand knives stabbing through my skin.

  I jump out of bed and head for the shower. There’s no way sleep will return anytime soon. As I lather my hair, I tell myself not to get too far ahead of myself. I’m sure this could all be easily explained. It’s the MC Scoop. Half of the posts are exaggerated or made up, right?

  Right.

  Then why does it feel like someone just cut out my heart with a dull butterknife?

  Chapter 23

  Malcolm

  My head is pounding. So. Fucking. Loud.

  I open my eyes, but the thumping continues. It takes me a few seconds to realize it’s not coming from my head, but from the door.

  I jump up, thankful to be wearing at least a pair of shorts, and stumble out of my bedroom. My legs are slow to keep up, thanks to the extensive workout I endured late last night, and then again early this morning.

  Just as I hit the stairs to go down, I find a figure standing there, hands on her hips and tapping her foot on the hardwood. I feel like a scolded child all over again. “Took you long enough to answer the door. I ended up letting myself in.”

  “I see that,” I mumble, walking down the stairs, past my mom, and straight to the kitchen for coffee. The timer was automatically set, so I grab two cups from the cabinet. “Want some?”

 
; “Please,” Mom says, taking a seat at the table and waiting on me to join her.

  “So, what do I owe this early morning visit?” I ask, setting her cup in front of her and grabbing the sugar.

  “Early?” she asks, arching a perfectly manicured eyebrow heavenward.

  I glance at the clock on the oven and wince. When was the last time I slept until almost eight o’clock? On a Wednesday? Never. “I had a late night, and since no client appointments until later, I decided to take it easy this morning.”

  She sips her coffee delicately, but never averts her gaze from mine. I feel like a high schooler again, about to be interrogated by the great Alexandra Wright for something she probably already knows I did. She continues to just watch me, waiting.

  “Why don’t you save us both the time and just tell me what I owe this spontaneous visit for?”

  She grins. “Am I not welcome to drop by and say hello to my favorite son?”

  “Your only son,” I start, taking a healthy sip of coffee and scalding my tongue, and grabbing a seat. “Considering you rarely stop by unannounced, I figured there was a reason.”

  “Oh, there is.”

  I glance up and meet her gaze, not liking the intensity and scrutiny reflecting back at me. “Well, let me have it,” I state, sitting up straight and preparing to take my licks.

  After the world’s longest ten seconds, she finally asks, “Are you hungover?”

  Her question surprises me. “No. Why?”