Rebel Desire: A (Surprise) Single Dad Romantic Comedy (Rebel Love Book 3)

by LK Farlow

  “You will. Give it—him—time.” Ashley sounds so sure, so confident in me, that I almost believe her.

  “What if I fuck it all up?” I ask, my voice quivering slightly. I feel vulnerable, like my chest is cracked open and Ashley can see all of my tender insides.

  Before she can answer, Cruz wakes. He looks from Ashley to me and back again before sitting up and wiping the sleep from his eyes.

  “You hungry?” Ashley asks with a soft voice.

  Cruz nods.

  “What sounds tasty?” She grins and rubs her hands together. “Personally, I could go for a big, juicy burger. Do you like burgers?”

  “Yeah,” he whispers in that raspy little voice of his.

  “Okay, then, burgers it is. Let me grab my keys.” I stand and walk to my desk to retrieve my phone, wallet, and keys. On my way back, the sound of Cruz talking to Ashley draws me up short.

  I know I shouldn’t, but I stand and listen.

  “Are you f-friends with…him?” he asks.

  Ashley doesn’t answer right away. “I am,” she says finally.

  “Is he nice?” His small, timid voice, coupled with his question, nearly has me doubling over in grief for him.

  “He is. I can only imagine how scary this is for you. But Colton—your daddy—he’s a really good man, and I can already tell he loves you very much. I know it’s hard, all of this change, but I think you two will be good for each other.”

  “He loves me?” I rub at my breastbone, trying to soothe the ache caused by Cruz’s hopeful uncertainty.

  I don’t know what his life has been like up until now, but going forward, I will make fucking sure that little boy knows love and kindness and safety and happiness. And God help anyone who tries to stop me.

  Over the course of mammoth-sized cheeseburgers, salty fries, and milkshakes, I watch as Ashley makes my son smile over and over again. By the time we finish our lunch, I know what his laugh sounds like, and, hands down, it is the best sound I’ve ever heard.

  “Do you like playing outside?” I ask him as we walk down the sidewalk toward my car.

  He looks my way, his eyes wide. For a split-second, I think he’s going to speak to me, but he doesn’t. He simply nods.

  “There’s a park down the street. We could…play…if you want.”

  Cruz nods again, this time with a half-grin.

  It may not seem like much, but it’s the first smile he’s given me, and I feel like a million bucks.

  “Great, let’s go,” I say, and the three of us set off down toward the park, Cruz and Ashley walking hand-in-hand with me following slightly behind, wishing like hell I could connect to him as easily as she can.

  14

  Ashley

  Cruz’s cherubic little face lights up when the park comes into view. Three platforms of varying heights, connected by an array of bridges, monkey bars, and tunnels, jut up into the sky. There are six different slides, a few sets of swings, and a rock wall. And those are just the things I can name. This is not your basic swings, slide, merry-go-round type of kiddie park. Nope, this is the crème-de-la-crème, with all the bells and whistles—like an all-inclusive, 5-star resort-style playground. The only thing missing is a poker table and free drinks.

  While I don’t know the names of, much less how to use most of the equipment here, my little friend does, and he’s chomping at the bit to explore them all.

  “What do you want to do first?” Colton asks his son.

  Cruz hesitantly points to the massive tire swing, dropping his hand as quickly as he raised it—almost as if he’s expecting to be told no.

  “Let’s do it,” Colton says, offering Cruz his hand to hold.

  I watch with bated breath. For an unending second, the little boy simply stares at his father’s hand, studying it like it’s a complicated equation that’s gone unsolved for eons.

  Right as I see Colton giving up hope of his son taking his hand, Cruz interlaces their fingers. My heart hums happily in my chest as the defeat clouding Colton’s eyes morphs to pure joy.

  I slink away to a shaded bench as the duo head toward the tire swing, content to watch and snap cell phone pics from the sidelines as they get to know one another.

  The sound of Cruz’s laughter as Colton winds up the chains and sends the tire flying is the most magical thing I’ve ever heard. All of the women—and even a few men—notice my two guys playing, because, let’s be honest, it’s not every day you see a six-foot plus man hot enough to walk the runway play with his kid in the dirt and mulch while wearing a suit.

  I can’t fault them for drooling over him either; I’m pretty sure I’ve made a puddle big enough to splash in. There’s something about watching him interact with his kid that ignites this deep-seated, primordial part of my brain. It’s as though I have a loincloth-wearing cavewoman inside of me, shaking a bone in the air while yelling “Mate, mate, mate!”

  I trail behind them, careful not to intrude as they transition from one play area to another. They don’t speak with words while they play, instead communicating in hand gestures, nods, and smiles. If Cruz’s shrieking laughter is anything to go by, they’re having plenty of fun.

  After a good forty minutes of playing, my boys—I mean the boys—join me beneath the shade of a massive oak tree. “Are you having fun?” I ask Cruz.

  “Yes,” is his whispered reply. I’m not sure why he deems me worthy of his precious, raspy words, but it’s a blessing I readily accept.

  “Have you played on everything you wanted to?”

  He scans the park a few times, his gaze pausing on the slides every time.

  “You want to slide?” I ask.

  He nods.

  “Go for it, dude!”

  Cruz turns to his father with pleading blue eyes.

  “What’s up, bud?” Colton asks.

  His mini-me tugs on his belt loop, his blond head canting toward the slides.

  “I think he wants you to slide with him.”

  Colton looks to the dirt-dusted slide with the muddy mulch puddle at the bottom and then down at his son. His internal battle plays out in his every feature, from his lowered brow to his thinned lips.

  I don’t fret though; I know he’ll make the right choice—that’ll he slide down that dirty slide, expensive suit be damned, because his son feeling safe, secure, and loved is far more important than any potential dry-cleaning bill.

  “Let’s do it!” Colton takes Cruz’s hand and together they set off for the slides.

  I happily snap picture after picture of my boys as they exit the chutes and tubes, capping the gallery off with a frame-worthy shot of them racing down the side-by-side slide hand-in-hand.

  We cap off our playground adventure with snoballs and glass bottle sodas from a little food cart in front of the park before walking the few blocks back to Colton’s office.

  “Do you have plans for dinner?” Colton asks as we near the purple door marking his building.

  “I do not. Unless you count vegging out with some ramen on the couch while binging Netflix plans.”

  He bites his lips and raises his brows, a boyish combo if there ever was one. “Wanna veg out with ramen at my place instead?” He discreetly tips his head toward Cruz.

  “Sure, sounds good. Text me the address?”

  “Will do.” He leans in as if he’s going to hug me, making my lungs seize and my heart stutter.

  Subconsciously, I sway toward him, anxious to know how his strong arms feel around me. Only, it never happens.

  Instead, he tucks my hair behind my ear and whispers, “Thank you for your help today, with Cruz.”

  You fool! Of course, he wasn’t going to hug you. Get a grip! “Yeah, sure. Anytime.” My tongue darts out to moisten my lips and for a split-second, I swear his eyes dip down and follow the movement. Wishful thinking, my brain taunts.

  Before I can make a total fool of myself, I redirect my attention to Cruz. “I’ll see you in a few minutes, okay?”

  The little
boy fidgets with the hem of his shirt. “Promise?” His voice is barely audible.

  I drop down to my knees so we’re eye level and draw an X over my heart with my index finger. “Cross my heart promise.”

  He cocks his head to the side in question.

  “It’s like a pinky promise, but stronger. Unbreakable.”

  He studies me intently, searching for signs of deception. I don’t know much of anything about this boy’s life, but it’s clear to me he’s been let down time and time again by adults who should have cared for and protected him. I have no intention of joining the list of people who have failed this sweet boy. If anything, I’m going to see to it that he thrives.

  “Okay,” he says eventually, wrapping his lanky arms around my shoulders.

  15

  Colton

  From the minute we arrived back at my place, Cruz has been parked on the couch, watching the door like a hawk as he waits for Ashley to show up.

  “She’ll be here soon, bud,” I tell him after fifteen minutes have come and gone.

  My son looks at me with big, pleading eyes as he worries his lip.

  The hopeful devastation on Cruz’s face hits me like an uppercut to my kidneys. Ashley promised him she’d be here and is nowhere to be found. I grab a seat beside him and shoot her a text. No answer.

  Another five minutes pass and his blue eyes resemble glassy pools. Credit where it’s due, the kid doesn’t let a single tear fall.

  Which only serves to knock me down a little more, because how much disappointment does a five-year-old have to have faced in his life to not cry when someone breaks a promise?

  Then again, he didn’t cry when Kelsey abandoned him here either. Fuck. That’s probably not normal.

  Furious and unbelieving, I call Ashley, but it goes straight to voice mail.

  Once we hit twenty-five minutes, I decide to call it. “I’m sorry, Cruz. Maybe we can watch a movie and—”

  The sound of knocking cuts me off.

  Cruz and I both bolt up from the couch and race to the door. Sure enough, my purple-haired menace is on the other side, both arms laden down with grocery bags.

  “So sorry! I had an idea we could make homemade pizzas and some cupcakes. I went to text you when I got to the store, but my phone was dead.” She turns to Cruz. “Do you forgive me?”

  He replies with a question of his own. “What kind?”

  “Oh, the cupcakes?”

  My son nods—seems like he has my sweet tooth.

  “I was thinking we could do dirt cupcakes.”

  Cruz’s button nose crinkles in disgust.

  “Not real dirt, silly boy. We’ll crush Oreo cookies!”

  His eyes go wide as he nods frantically. Definitely has my sweet tooth.

  In the kitchen, Ashley rolls out the pizza dough before helping Cruz spread the sauce. We each have a third of the pizza and top it accordingly—pepperoni, mushrooms, and peppers for me, spinach, tomatoes, bacon, and hot sauce for Ashley, and plain pepperoni for Cruz.

  While it bakes, they work on the cupcake batter and icing mixture.

  “You wanna help?” Ashley asks, whisking quickly.

  I lean back against the edge of the counter, smirking. “For as much as I love sweets, a baker I am not.”

  “Taste tester, then,” she chirps back, nudging Cruz with her elbow.

  “Fine by me. I’m going to look over a few emails. Let me know when my services are needed.”

  At the island, I scroll through all of the documents Ashley sent me in regard to the bride who has been terrorizing her. The contract between the two of them clearly states the terms, and the screenshots of the emails between them clearly show Ashley tried rescheduling the portrait session. It’s fairly cut and dry—to me, at least—that this bride is nothing more than a spoiled little dolt out to score something for nothing, not caring a single iota who she hurts along the way.

  A shadow falls over my laptop keyboard. “Taste this, please?”

  I take the icing-filled spoon and wrap my lips around it, groaning in delight as the deep chocolatey flavor coats my mouth. “Delicious.”

  Cruz grins and bounces on his toes.

  “Told ya,” she tells him, ruffling his hair. “He did all the mixing, and I said it was perfect, but he wanted taste-tester-dad’s opinion.”

  I smile warmly at my son. “Best icing I’ve ever had.”

  His grin morphs to a cheek-splitting smile that I feel soul deep.

  “How long until the—” A timer goes off, both interrupting me and answering my question.

  Ashley makes quick work of pulling out the bubbling, cheesy pizza and popping the cupcake pan in.

  We eat our pizza at the island with lemonade she bought at the store, alternating between asking Cruz questions. He answers Ashley with softly spoken words, but only gives me head shakes and nods.

  But in just a day, his smiles come easier and his eyes look lighter, so I’ll count it as a win all the same.

  I go back to working—this time relegated to the living room—while the two of them decorate the cupcakes. I’ve made it through my third look-through of everything Ashley emailed over when they call me back.

  “These look great!” I rub my hands together in anticipation of digging into one of the gummy-worm topped dirt cupcakes.

  Ashley plates us up one each, along with a glass of milk, and we dig in. “Oh, shit, that’s good.”

  Cruz snickers.

  “Language!” Ashley reprimands, causing me to blush and my son to full-on belly laugh. Who knew the way to a kid’s heart was sweets and a good scolding?

  After we devour our sweet treats, we retreat to the couch. Cruz sits between us, snuggled into Ashley’s side while we watch a show of his choosing—some cartoon about the crazy antics of two genius brothers and how they spend their 101 days of summer vacation.

  Two episodes in and Cruz is out like a light, softly snoring, with his head in Ashley’s lap.

  “Let me move him to his bed,” I say as I stand.

  “Sure.”

  I gently lift him and carry him down the hall to the guest room—well, his room now. He looks so small in the middle of the queen-sized bed. One thing’s for sure, though: this room, while nicely decorated in soothing grays and whites, is in no way suited to a kid.

  Back in the living room, Ashley is packing her stuff up. “Wait!” I whisper-shout, panicking at the thought of her leaving, at the thought of being solely in charge of Cruz’s safety and well-being overnight. “Stay.”

  “Stay?” she parrots back. “Why?”

  Sweat beads my brow as I search for a reason that will entice her to stick around. “We need to talk about your problem bride.”

  “Shouldn’t that happen during…like…office hours?”

  I smirk, downplaying my sudden nerves. “That’s cute.”

  Somehow, she sees through my act. “Colton, what’s this really about?”

  I deflate and drop down onto the couch, hanging my head. “What if Cruz has a bad dream or something? What if he gets scared or cries for Kelsey? You’re the only person he speaks to. So, please, stay?”

  16

  Ashley

  The butterflies in my belly flap their wings, telling me that agreeing to stay is a mistake, but the thought of that sweet little boy waking up scared and confused has me agreeing anyway. “Okay. For Cruz.”

  “For Cruz.” His easy agreement feels like a cop-out, but I don’t say anything. “But we can talk about your business situation, too.”

  “Okay, lawyer man, let’s talk.”

  “Take a seat.” He nods to the couch. “I’ll grab my laptop.”

  I balance myself on the edge of the left cushion, yawning as I wait. He returns moments later, claiming the right cushion for himself, leaving the center open.

  “I’ve read your contract, multiple times, and the terms were clear. You also made several attempts to reschedule due to the weather.” He looks over to me, and the warmth in his blue ey
es makes my breaths come a little faster. “Simply put, she doesn’t have a leg to stand on.”

  I nibble the side of my lower lip. “What do we do?”

  “Hopefully a cease and desist is all you’ll need.”

  “What if it doesn’t work?”

  “We sue.”

  I fidget in my seat, anxiety rippling through me.

  “You okay?” Colton asks, taking note of my discomfort.

  “I, uh, I hope it doesn’t come to that.” I scooch a little closer to him. “We couldn’t just send a second letter?”

  “I mean, we could, but if she ignores the first, what’s stopping her from ignoring subsequent letters? I’m good at my job, Ashley—let me do it.”

  “Yeah, okay.” I don’t fight him on it—he’s right, after all. He’s a professional, a well-respected one at that. Arguing with him about this would be like him telling me the best way to retouch photos.

  “Let me type something up to get us going.”

  He opens a Word document and begins clacking away. His fingers fly over the keys like lightning, and his face is set in a mask of concentration. While he’s distracted, I study him unabashedly. Colton Banks truly is a work of art—and one day, he’ll be all mine.

  “Okay,” he says, bringing me back to earth. “Come take a look.”

  I slide over until we’re thigh to thigh and read over what he’s typed out. The tone is stern, the intent clear, and the language precise. I know if I was ever the recipient of a letter like this, I’d knock off whatever antics caused it, that’s for sure.

  Without thinking, I place my hand on his leg. “Thank you.”

  Colton’s eyes drop down to where my palm is pressed into his firm, muscular thigh. “Ashley.” He says my name like a warning and a prayer all wrapped up in one.

  “Yeah?” My voice is a breathy whisper as I lean in a little more, close enough to smell the mouthwatering fragrance of his cologne. It’s a woodsy scent with a hint of citrus, sensual and fresh and so very Colton.