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

by LK Farlow

  We start our Target run—officially—in the book section, loading the buggy with a variety of different age-appropriate books, before hitting up the toy section. Then Colton sends Cruz and me to look at clothes while he hits up electronics.

  Three hours and an ungodly sum of money later, Cruz has damn near everything a kid could ask for. You know, aside from a loving, dependable mother—unfortunately, those can’t be bought in stores.

  19

  Colton

  Cloud nine. I’m on cloud nine, all because my son spoke to me. Sure, it was only one word, but it felt like someone hand-delivered me a check for a billion dollars.

  Who knew all it took to feel like the king of the fucking world was one word?

  After Target, I convince Ashley to join us for dinner at my place. Do-gooder that she is, she also helps lug up bag after bag. The furniture we bought was delivered before we got home and waiting in the lobby. By the time we get it all up, my living room looks like the stock room of a big box store.

  “Are we doing takeout?” Ashley asks, claiming the sliver of cushion available next to Cruz, who is conked out on the couch.

  “I planned on cooking.”

  She looks at me in disbelief. “You cook?”

  “I’m not a chef by any means, but I can make a few dishes.”

  “It’s a little early to eat though,” she says, looking at the time on her phone.

  “You wouldn’t happen to want to build some furniture, would you?”

  “Your fancy-ass building doesn’t have a concierge or something that’ll build it?”

  I snort. “They totally do. But I want to build this for him. Plus, we only have to build the bed—thanks to them selling us the floor models.”

  “What about the old furniture?”

  “That I had the concierge take care of.”

  She laughs, and I shrug.

  “Then let’s get to work, Mr. Banks. Show me what those hands of yours can do.”

  We both freeze at her words.

  “Not like that—I mean show me how you handle your tools.”

  She slaps her hand over her mouth. I laugh.

  “Oh my glob! No! That’s also not what I meant.”

  “Pray tell, what did you mean, Miss Murphy?” I know damn well what she meant, but the pink hue of her cheeks is so lovely, I can’t help but to tease her a little, all the while wondering how far down that blush of hers goes.

  “I meant,” she starts, speaking slowly and with intention, “let’s work together to assemble the bed frame you purchased for your son.”

  “Oh, that makes more sense. Because I definitely thought you were coming onto me.” I wag my brows suggestively, hoping like hell my out-of-character goofiness makes her laugh.

  She stares at me for a split-second before the sweetest sounding giggle bursts forth from those plump, highly kissable lips of hers. “Shut up and grab the box.”

  I raise two fingers to my forehead in salute before doing as she says. The guest room—Cruz’s room—looks totally different without furniture. The only thing remaining is the mattress and box spring from the old bed.

  The pale blueish-gray walls match the bedding he selected, which is convenient. Though, if he wants to paint the walls, I won’t deny him. Hell, the kid has me so wrapped around his finger, I’d probably get him a pony if he indicated he wanted one.

  After the bed frame is assembled, I drag the rest of the furniture into the room. At Ashley’s recommendation, I position it against the wall. She says having one side closed off will help him feel more secure—I say anything is worth trying to make my son feel safe and loved.

  I let Ashley dictate the rest of the furniture placement as well; she seems to have an eye for it, which is great seeing as I hired a designer to arrange the rest of my condo.

  “Wanna help me bring the other bags back?” I ask, after breaking down the box from the bed frame.

  “Yup.” She hops up from her place on the floor. It takes us two trips to bring all of the bags back.

  “You wanna break for dinner?”

  “You cook, I’ll decorate—that is, if you’re cool with it.”

  If only she knew. “Knock yourself out.”

  She grins, rubbing her hands together. “Great! Holler when dinner’s ready.”

  Tipping my imaginary hat to her, I happily leave my little purple-haired temptress to her own devices.

  I wasn’t kidding when I said I am only familiar with a few dishes. But the ones I know, I know well. A quick scan of my fridge and I know what I’m making: beef and broccoli lo mein. Both of my mothers love Chinese food, but as a kid we rarely had the money to buy the ingredients, much less eat out.

  So, Mama K would whip up some with the things we could get our hands on—twenty-five cent Top Ramen, produce from the bargain bin, eggs, and soy sauce packets they would bring home from work.

  From taste, you’d never know Mama K spent less than seven bucks to make it, because it was full of love. Sounds cheesy, but it’s true.

  Now, I’m lucky enough to use top of the line ingredients, but one thing I haven’t changed in her recipe is the use of the cheap ramen noodles. There’s something about them that just reminds me of…home. Which is the exact feeling I’m hoping to deliver to my sleeping son when he wakes.

  Thirty minutes later, I kill the burner and venture back to Cruz’s room to check on Ashley. “The food’s read—wow!” The amount of work she’s done in half an hour is mind-boggling. His bookcase is full of books. The rug is centered in the room, and the curtains are hung. His new toys are organized and his bed made. She’s somehow managed to take this from a designer guest room to a kid-friendly palace.

  “You think he’ll like it?” she asks, looking around at her hard work.

  “Ash, this is...every little boy’s dream come true. I almost want to show it to him before we eat just to see his face.”

  Her green eyes twinkle. “You called me Ash.”

  “Your point?”

  She does a little shimmy-shrug. “You usually call me Ashley or Miss Murphy. You’ve never called me a nickname!”

  “I’d hardly call Ash a nick—”

  “Nope! It is! Just admit it, I’m adorable and you like me and we’re totally BFFs.”

  “Sure, you’re a client and a friend.” I school my features, not wanting to give away my true feelings—that she’s the kind of friend I wouldn’t mind seeing sweaty and naked beneath me while she claws at my sheets and pants my name.

  Ashley’s smile drops, right along with my stomach. “Right. Let’s, uh, let’s go eat.”

  I’m not sure how I keep messing up the dynamic with her, but I do. Determined to do better, I trudge behind her into the living room, letting her take point on waking Cruz.

  “Hey, bud,” she coos as she kneels down beside the couch. “You wanna wake up and eat?”

  He wipes his eyes and blinks a few times before nodding.

  “Awesome! Your dad cooked; doesn’t it smell yummy?” Cruz sniffs the air like a puppy, and Ashley ruffles his already messy hair. “C’mon, let’s eat. Then your dad has a surprise for you.”

  The word surprise sets him in motion; he jumps and races to the table, making both Ashley and me laugh. “You take a seat, too; I’ll plate everything up and bring it out.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive. Go sit.”

  I dish up three bowls of lo mein and carry them out to the table before returning to pour three drinks—wine for the grownups and milk for Cruz. “All right,” I say as I sit, “dig in!”

  Cruz eyes the contents of the bowl skeptically, scrunching up his nose as he pokes at the noodles with his fork.

  “It’s delicious,” Ashley assures him. “Try a bite.”

  He reaches into his bowl and plucks out a single noodle. I have to fight back a smile as he holds it away from his face, like it’s a wriggling worm. After much hesitation, he pokes out his tongue and licks the noodle.

  After ano
ther two licks, he nods and sucks the entire noodle into his mouth with a loud slurp. “That’s good.”

  “You want to try the beef next?” She spears a piece on her fork and makes a big show of eating and marveling at how tasty it is. I know most of it’s for show, but I still find myself wanting to beat on my chest in a show of masculine pride.

  Cruz forgoes his fork in favor of his fingers again. He pinches the beef between his thumb and index finger, bringing it to his nose to sniff. After deeming the aroma passable, he nibbles off a small bite. His blue eyes brighten as the flavors meet his taste buds. “Yum!” he whispers before popping the rest into his mouth.

  Two-for-two, I’m feeling pretty damn unstoppable right now. That is, until Ashley tries cajoling him into trying the broccoli.

  He shakes his head back and forth in staunch refusal.

  “Why not?” Ashley asks. “It is super yum.”

  Again, he shakes his head. “Green things are yuck.”

  “Have you ever tried broccoli?”

  Ashley’s patience with him is a beautiful thing. She’s like the kid-whisperer.

  “No.” He pushes his bowl away, a stubborn look settling on his face. “Mom never made me.”

  Bitterness overtakes me. Fucking Kelsey.

  “Let’s make a deal,” Ashley says after a moment, “why don’t you taste a tiny bite? You won’t know if you like it unless you try it. If you like it, cool beans, and if not, you don’t have to eat it. Okay?”

  He thinks over her proposition before countering with one of his own. “If I taste it, can I have a cupcake?” My boy’s a little lawyer in the making.

  Ashley looks to me, and I nod. “Sure thing, bud. Give it a taste and you can have a cupcake for dessert—I have one more condition, though.”

  His shoulders slump, but I press on, because I know he’ll like my offer.

  “If you don’t like the broccoli, you can pick it out, but you have to eat the noodles and beef no matter what. Does that sound fair?”

  “Yeah,” he says softly, speaking to me directly for the second time. I replay the single word again and again in my mind, treasuring the way his voice sounds directed at me.

  He stabs a piece of the offending vegetable with his fork. This time it gets the sniff and lick test before he takes a minuscule bite. He chews and chews before going back for a second taste.

  Ashley and I wait with bated breath as he makes his deliberation. Finally, he nods, giving it his seal of approval before devouring the rest.

  Once we’ve sufficiently gorged ourselves on lo mein and dirt cupcakes, Ashley and Cruz clear the table and load the dishwasher, claiming it’s their turn since I cleaned up last night. The whole ordeal is incredibly domestic—like we’re one big, happy family.

  The craziest part…I really fucking like how it feels.

  20

  Cruz

  I think I like it here. Everything is bright and shiny and new.

  The man…Colton…my dad, like most of Mom’s boyfriends, is so tall. But he’s different than her boyfriends, too; he’s nice and he never yells at me or hits me.

  And he took me to the store today and said I could get anything I wanted. Anything! I thought he was lying. Mom used to pinch me whenever I asked for stuff. Sometimes it left bruises. Other times, her pointy nails would make me bleed.

  She pinched me anytime I said anything, really—so, I just stopped talking. I thought she would like me more if I was quiet, since my voice made her so mad. It didn’t work though.

  She used to say it wasn’t me she was mad at—just our circumstances. But I don’t know what that means.

  What I do know is the pretty purple lady is soft. She’s soft and smells nice and has short nails and never rushes me or yells. I like her. She makes me feel…normal.

  I’m not, though. Mom’s last boyfriend called me a freak. I heard him say it once. I was supposed to stay in the laundry room, but I sneaked out because I needed to potty, and I heard him tell my mom he wanted to be with her, not play stepdaddy to a little freak. That was a few days before she left me here.

  Colt—my dad—wasn’t lying, though. He even let me get Ollie—my new red octopus. He’s so squishy and cuddly, I want to keep him forever.

  Daddy gives me a lot of food, too, even if some of it is weird looking. The green trees—broccoli?— wasn’t my favorite, but they really wanted me to taste it, and I didn’t want to make them angry after all of the nice things they did for me. And I got a cupcake. I think I’d do anything for a cupcake.

  “Do you want to go see your new bedroom?”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. New bedroom—which means the one I slept in last night with the big window isn’t mine. The idea of a new room makes me sad, but I won’t cry. Grownups hate it when kids cry. I look over to the big man who looks just like me and nod.

  No matter what, it’ll be better than my room at Mom’s house. There, I slept on the sour-smelling couch with a towel for a blanket and no pillow.

  I look to Ashley, and she nods. So, I do, too.

  I’m confused when we go to the room I slept in last night. How can my old room be my new one, too?

  Daddy opens the door, and Ashley guides me inside. All of the stuff we bought is in here! I don’t know what to look at first, so I look at it all. The bed we picked out is in the corner with the soft, pretty blankets and sheets—and Ollie, too! My bookcase is full of books and my new toys are here, too.

  He meant it when he said this stuff was mine! He meant it!

  I try my best not to cry, but I can’t stop myself. I’ve never seen a room like this, except for on the TV, and now I have my own!

  “You okay, Cruz?” my purple lady asks.

  I wipe my tears, trying to hide them so she doesn’t get mad.

  She squats down next to me. “Are you crying because you’re sad or because you’re happy?” Her voice is like a hug instead of a punch.

  She’s not mad.

  “Happy,” I say. My voice sounds kind of like a frog, but they don’t laugh at how funny it sounds.

  Daddy drops to his knees, too. “This is your room, bud. These are your things, your toys. This is your special place. But I have something else for you, too.”

  He pulls a small box from his pocket and hands it to me. The wrapping paper is thick but I tear it away. I’ve never gotten a shiny, wrapped-up present before, and I want to see what’s inside more than I want my next breath.

  Under all the paper is a box. I shake it and something rattles around inside of it. I look to my purple lady, unsure, and she nods. I pop it open, and inside is a watch.

  “This is a special spy watch,” my dad says as he takes it from the box. “If you ever get lost, there’s a special button you can push, and it will tell me how to find you.”

  A spy watch! That’s awesome! I stick my hand out for him to help me put it on.

  “Do you like it?” Daddy’s voice sounds…nervous. Like he thinks I might not. But I really, really do.

  “Does it make me a secret agent?”

  The two grownups give each other a funny look.

  “I saw a show about it once. The spy drove a fancy car like yours.”

  They look at each other again, and I worry they don’t like me talking either. I zip my lips and drop my eyes to my shoes. I don’t want Dad to take me back to my mom’s.

  “You mean James Bond?” he asks.

  I nod.

  “Yeah, except you’re Agent 005.”

  “Because I’m five?” I slap my hand over my mouth—I didn’t mean to talk!

  “That’s right, bud. And I can be…Agent C. What do you think?”

  Another nod.

  “Can you tell me with your words?”

  I turn my head. Does he for really real want me to talk? “Yeah. C-can she be Agent Purple?”

  My purple lady laughs her pretty laugh; it sounds like flowers and bumblebees and makes my tummy feel like Jell-O. “I’d be honored, dude!”

  “C-co
uld we watch it? Before bed?” I ask, feeling braver now that I’m a secret agent.

  “I don’t think James Bond is age-appropriate,” Dad says with a doubtful look.

  I frown.

  “Oh! I know! Come on,” Ashley says, leading us out to the couch.

  She turns on a show with a girl agent who goes on missions with her friend who is a boy. My purple lady says it’s called “Kim Possible.” I love it—especially Rufus the naked mole rat.

  My eyes keep closing, but I don’t want to sleep. Today was the best day ever, and I don’t want it to end. My dad puts his arm around me and snuggles me close. His big arms make me feel safe…he makes me feel safe.

  I try my hardest to stay awake, but I can’t keep my eyes open. The last thing I remember before falling asleep is hearing my daddy whisper that he loves me and is so glad I’m here.

  21

  Colton

  In between emails, I scroll through the pictures Ashley sent me over the weekend. Even with a cell phone, she’s a photography whiz. Looking at these images, you’d never know Cruz and I had just met; she somehow managed to capture us perfectly.

  The amount of love I have for my boy is almost shocking. In such a short amount of time, he’s become my everything, which is why today better be the big day.

  Bright and early on Monday morning, Cruz and I submitted our DNA at the lab to confirm paternity. That’s right—confirm, not test, because he is absolutely mine.

  They said the results would take two to three days. And it’s been five. Five days. To say I’m crawling out of my skin would be putting it lightly. I desperately want—no, need—to hear the words. To know heart, mind, body, and soul that he’s mine.

  If I don’t get the results today, that means waiting through the weekend. Which is fucking unacceptable. I want to be able to sit my son down and tell him he is irrevocably mine. I want to see my name on his birth certificate. Cruz sharing my last name—which thankfully, Kelsey had the good sense to give him—isn’t enough.