Every Other Weekend

by Jaxson Kidman

  EVERY OTHER WEEKEND

  Jaxson Kidman

  Contents

  Foreword

  Stay social with Jaxson

  Every Other Weekend

  Prologue

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Epilogue I

  Epilogue II

  Hey darlin’

  About the Author

  Foreword

  From the soul of worldwide bestselling author Jaxson Kidman comes the story of a single mother balancing her life and finding a chance at love when she least expects it…

  ‘I’m not sure if it’s the right thing to say right now. I don’t know what we are. Or what we’re doing. Or where this is going. But I can’t help how I feel and I can’t hold it back any longer. I love you. And everything in your life.’

  Written by Jaxson Kidman

  Stay social with Jaxson

  Readers List (part of True Romance Obsession): bit.ly/jk-readerslist

  Jaxson Kidman Facebook fan page: www.bit.ly/JK-facebook

  Jaxson Kidman Official Facebook group: www.bit.ly/jk-group

  True Romance Obsession Facebook book page: www.bit.ly/TRO-facebook

  Instagram @kidmanthejaxson

  Every Other Weekend

  It was only meant to be every other weekend. But now I need him every night.

  As a single mom, a relationship was out of the question. So we had an arrangement.

  The first rule: every other weekend. But that wasn’t enough.

  The second rule: he can’t meet my son. But he did, and they got along.

  The third rule: I won’t fall in love. But I couldn’t help it.

  The final rule: I’ll never let anyone else break my heart.

  And now that rule is about to be broken too.

  Prologue

  One Last Drink

  Ramsey

  The bar was mostly empty, just the way I needed it.

  I settled up on a barstool and waved two fingers at the woman behind the bar. She had white blonde hair, pulled back, with a pretty face, blue eyes, and the kind of clothes that were nothing but trouble for what was going through my head as I ordered a drink.

  Three fingers of cheap whiskey, no ice.

  I stared at the bar as I rubbed my thumb across my upper lip. My eyes were dazed and weary. I made it an hour away before finally pulling over and stopping.

  Everything I was doing was wrong.

  There was no talking my way out of this mess. There was no good excuse either. Just a reason. And the problem with that was that excuses and reasons were too close, hand in hand together. One was an easy grab, to walk away. The other had purpose… even if you still walked away.

  Guess what?

  I walked away.

  “Well, shit, aren’t you dressed up?” a gravelly voice asked me.

  I turned my head and watched as some rough-looking guy in jeans, a matching jacket, black trucker hat and a wild beard climbed up on the barstool two seats away from me.

  I gave a quick nod to acknowledge him and turned back again, making it clear I wasn’t in the mood for small talk. It was fucking just after noon and I was sitting alone in a bar, sipping whiskey, dressed up in a rented tux. Why the fuck would I want to talk to anyone?

  “You look ready for a wedding, my friend,” the old man said to me.

  “Yeah,” I said. I lifted my glass. “Just having a drink.”

  “Ah, so that’s it. You’re the groom.”

  I gritted my teeth.

  The bartender looked at me. She raised an eyebrow.

  Judging me. Rightfully so.

  Wondering what kind of a man I was that on my wedding day, I was in a bar, drinking whiskey, all dressed up. Wondering if my soon-to-be wife was sitting with her mother and bridesmaids, talking, crying and laughing because they kept telling her not to cry because she was going to mess up her makeup.

  Oh, if you only knew the truth…

  I rubbed my jaw and sipped more of the whiskey.

  “It’s okay to get worried about it,” the old man said.

  Now he moved closer to me.

  “Name’s Pete,” he said. “Married twice. Divorced once. Looking for number three, but Layla here won’t accept my proposal.”

  He nodded to the bartender.

  “Ah, Pete, you and I would never work,” she said. “You spend too much time here. We’d get sick of each other.”

  Pete laughed. “See the way she talks to me?”

  “Look, I’m just trying to have a drink before I get going,” I said. “No offense.”

  “None taken,” he said. “The wedding morning is always hectic. She’s getting all dolled up and you get to sit and think.” He tapped the side of his head. “That’s a tough gig for us guys. But remember why you asked her in the first place. This is all for show right now. A big act. What happens before and after is what matters.”

  I quickly stood up. I had the urge to punch Pete in the mouth.

  But he was a stranger.

  I grabbed the whiskey glass and killed off the drink. I dug out a ten from my pocket and threw it to the bar.

  “You look good,” Pete said.

  He didn’t even know my fucking name and here he was smiling at me, complimenting me.

  “He’s right,” Layla said from behind the bar. “You look good.”

  I looked at her and curled my lip.

  They thought I was just some jittery groom on the day of his wedding.

  Wishing me luck. Smiling at the sight of my nerves. All that cliché bullshit that happens on someone’s wedding day.

  I looked down at myself.

  The black shoes. The black pants. The white shirt with ruffles. All that fancy crap that I would never ever wear in my life. But I was wearing it. And I had all the plans together. And it went all the way back to offering a ring to someone.

  I didn’t bother saying goodbye because they were just strangers.

  I wanted to sit there for longer than just one drink.

  But I could go and find another bar to do that.

  They thought I was nervous about getting married.

  The truth was that I had no intention of showing up to the wedding at all.

  1

  Missed Breakfast

  Jordyn

  It felt good to wake up to no alarm clock or child jumping on the bed, wanting to get Sunday morning started nice and early. The house was empty. Super quiet. The kind of Sunday morning I dreamed of. But it lasted all of ten seconds before I missed the noise and the chaos that had become my life as a single mother.

  I missed Sam. He’d be home soon enough though. I’d have to hear all the stories about spending the weekend with his father, my heart in my throat, hoping that nothing had happened that would need me to make an uncomfortable call, starting yet another fight in our relationship.

  Even though we’d split up, we were tied together for the rest of our lives thanks to Sam. And never once could I let Sam think for a second that it was a bad thing. He was lucky he had two parents that loved him. Even if I had to carry a lot m
ore of the slack than his father did, I was just happy that Keith didn’t break and make a run for it for good. He kept to his word of taking Sam every other weekend. Now whether that really made Keith a good father or not, I didn’t know.

  Of course these were the thoughts racing through my mind on a Sunday morning. When I had the chance to sleep in some more. When I had the chance to slowly walk downstairs for coffee. Or maybe take a long, hot shower. Even just walk around the house naked, without a worry.

  My only plan for the morning was to meet up with my friend Norah for breakfast. There was this great little place right around the corner that was open for breakfast on the weekends and three nights during the week for themed nights. All-you-can-eat pasta night. Taco night. And a surprise menu night.

  I couldn’t wait to get the most perfect sunny side up eggs of my life, the kind with a gooey, yellow center and amazingly crisp edges that had just enough pepper on them. Add to that a glass of orange juice thick with pulp, and a hot cup of coffee; it was the best breakfast in the world. Plus, meeting up with Norah was always fun. She was still living the single life and had plenty of stories to share. To her, I was suddenly an old woman, some homemaker that never saw the light of day and only watched the news, soap operas, and gameshows, all the while washing laundry, ironing clothes, and cooking dinner.

  There was more to my life than that.

  Not much. But some.

  The world of going out and dating, while mixing in working to survive and raising Sam, mostly on my own, didn’t seem to exist.

  I stayed right there in my bed, staring at the white ceiling, just taking deep breaths. I loved this house and hoped to buy it someday. Everything was so symmetrical that it tamed my sometimes-quiet OCD when it came to certain things. My bed fit right between the windows at the back of the bedroom. I had thick, off-white curtains that blocked some of the sun, but not all of it. I liked waking up to a bright room.

  My wish to buy the house was a distant dream because the guy who owned it - Jack - would sometimes hint at selling, but never truly had an interest in doing it. His sister had bought the house, then when she became too ill to live there, he bought it from her and wanted to keep it in the family. Even though they have no family.

  Plus, I couldn’t buy the house if I wanted to. Half the time I’d hand Jack the rent check with a nervous smile, calculating my bank balance and how fast he and I could get to the bank to make sure I had enough in there for the check to clear. But my track record was perfect so far. No missed payments. No bounced checks.

  Go me.

  It wasn’t the easiest process to go from a small family to suddenly looking for a place to live. Giving up my own business I had worked hard to build from nothing, even if it didn’t fully provide. And needing to take care of a five-year-old who had no idea what was happening. For all Sam knew, Keith wanted to live in a new house by himself. And I let him believe that. Whether it was right or wrong, I didn’t know, but it worked for now.

  After a few peaceful minutes and the wicked urge to pee, I threw the covers off and walked to the bathroom. I sat there, yawning, imagining those crispy edges of the eggs and the smell of the open kitchen.

  I skipped brushing my teeth because I hated the way anything tasted for hours afterward.

  As I walked back into my bedroom, my phone screen was lit up.

  If it was Norah, then this would be a world record. I was usually the one calling her to wake her up. Knowing her, she probably went to bed a few hours ago and was possibly going to have to find her clothes to sneak out of some guy’s apartment and make a run for it.

  That kind of life made me shake my head.

  Then again, who was I to even think about judging someone? Getting tied up with my high school sweetheart and that whole forever is ours thing. Seeing the cracks in the foundation a long time ago but never doing anything about it because everyone thought it was oh so cute that we met in high school and stuck it out throughout the years. Ending up pregnant and having Sam. And now, struggling to pay the bills, keep food on the table and make sure Sam was happy because things finally broke apart for me and Keith.

  Well, it wasn’t Norah calling.

  It was Keith.

  With a text.

  Out front. Trying to call you. WTF Jordyn?

  I leaned toward the window and peeled opened the blinds.

  There was Keith’s car, parked right in the middle of the street with his four-way lights flashing. I could see Sam sitting in the back seat, looking out the window. It broke my heart because I never really knew if he was happy or not with everything.

  I stepped back and texted Keith back.

  Thought you were bringing him home later…

  It was an unusual text to send. I was picking a fight with him. I regretted sending the message, but I was pissed off. He was going to drop Sam off and then be free until his next Friday when he’d pick him up for his weekend again. Nothing during the week though. Because Keith lived forty minutes away and worked twelve-hour shifts, four days on, three days off.

  I juggled working as the office rhymes with witch for a real estate company, and taking catering jobs when I had the time and a babysitter for Sam.

  My phone buzzed with a return message from Keith.

  I’m out front. If you want to do this the hard way, Sam could walk to the front porch. I know you’re home.

  “Dick,” I whispered.

  I held back my response, knowing that the only person who would truly get hurt here was Sam.

  I walked down the stairs as I sent Norah a good morning wake-up text to let her know that it was indeed morning and that I wasn’t going to make our breakfast date. She’d still go to breakfast though, and why not? I couldn’t fault her for it.

  I opened the front door to the house and felt a cold nip in the air. Another sign that summer was officially on its way out and fall was on its way in.

  I stepped out onto the old porch and gave a wave to Sam.

  The second he saw me, his eyes lit up and he smiled big.

  He opened the back door to Keith’s car in a hurry, throwing his bag over his back and hugging his body pillow as he ran toward me. His left shoe was untied. He was in the same pants he left in on Friday. His hair was a mess, reminding me to schedule a haircut.

  “Mom!” he cried out as he tore up the porch.

  I crouched and shut my eyes, waiting for the hug.

  There was nothing like it.

  I took a deep breath, and everything felt right.

  Sam was the only good thing in my life.

  Some weeks went by really slowly. Where the days themselves felt like weeks. Managing a two-person schedule shouldn’t have been as hard as it was, but in reality, it wasn’t just managing myself and Sam. It was managing our lives and the lives of those I counted on to help out. Which meant having a backup plan to the backup plan or else Sam would end up at work with me. And depending on which boss was there that day, it was either okay to have him there, or a sliver of hell would be waiting for me the next day.

  Then there were other weeks when it went by so fast, that once that second Friday hit, and Sam started to pack up his bag with clothes and toys, I’d stand in the doorway to his bedroom and feel my heart aching for him.

  He was mature for his age, thanks to his innocence already being chipped away. That was my fault. Keith’s too, but I refused to speak for him or defend him. All I could do was blame myself.

  I watched Sam zip up the bag then give it a pat.

  “You good?” I asked.

  He looked back and nodded.

  “You got your pillow?”

  “Yeah,” he said and pointed to it.

  “Mind if I come in and talk?”

  “Sure,” he said.

  I stepped into the small bedroom. I hated myself for calling the bedroom small. To me, Sam deserved the biggest bedroom a kid could ever have. With all the toys he ever wanted. His own TV. Those glow in the dark stars and planets that you’d stick t
o the ceiling. A giant telescope in the corner so he could look out to the stars at night instead of sleeping.

  That was just the guilty Mom deep inside me talking.

  I sat on the edge of the bed. “What are you and Dad going to do this weekend?”

  “I dunno,” he said.

  I taught myself a long time ago to not refer to Keith as your father around Sam. I didn’t want him to think that Keith and I were enemies. Even if Keith hadn’t seen Sam since he dropped him off early a couple of Sundays ago.

  “I hope you have a good time,” I said.

  “I will.”

  “If you need anything, you know my phone number, right?”

  “Yes,” Sam said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “I’ll miss you, Sammy.”

  “Don’t call me that,” he said, curling his eyebrows down. “I don’t like that.”

  “Why not? I always call you Sammy.”

  “Sammy is a girl’s name.”

  I laughed. “Who told you that?”

  “Dad,” Sam said. “He said Sammy is for Samantha. My name is Samuel.”

  I sucked in a breath and counted to four. “Okay. Well, there are plenty of names that can be for both boys and girls. Look at my name. Jordyn. That could be a boy's name.”

  “Did you get picked on for it?”

  Great. So now my son feels picked on by his father.

  “Sam, listen to me,” I said. “Sometimes there is nothing that someone won’t pick on you for. Does that make sense?”

  “No,” he said.

  I opened my mouth but stopped. I didn’t want to put any other ideas in his head of what he could be picked on for.

  “Don’t worry about it. Your name is Samuel. We’ve always called you Sam. I call you Sammy because you’re my baby.”

  “Mom…”