by Enders, KC
“Dogs maybe. Kids”—she shrugs her shoulders—“who knows? Eleven-year-old boys don’t seem to use good judgment—ever.
“Thanks for giving my dog a ride all the way home. Can I, um … I feel like I should offer you something in return. Do you have plans for dinner? I was just going to make some tacos.” A cloud of uncertainty passes over her face, and she twists her lush pink lips to the side in an adorable pout. She slides a hand behind her neck, fingers toying with the black curls that have escaped from where she’s got most of it in a pile on her head.
She’s nervous, and I wonder, not for the first time, what her story is. Single mom in a military town is not a big deal. The reasons behind her being alone though, those are vitally important.
“I don’t want to impose,” I tell her. It’s not a no exactly.
“It’s just a couple of tacos and maybe a cold beer to wash them down. I mean, you did drive out of your way just because my dog decided today was his day to be an asshole. Come on,” Chloe says, picking her way through the boxes.
I push a breath out and follow behind her.
As the garage door descends, she turns to me and apologizes, “Sorry for the mess. I really need to find a place for this stuff, but there’s always something else to do that sounds so much better.”
We step into a bright kitchen with white cabinets and a stone countertop, but half-stripped wallpaper marks the space between the two.
“And you’re going to tell me that stripping wallpaper sounds better than getting your vehicle in the garage?” I ask.
This area is safe enough, but it’d be better if she could just pull straight in and close the door, walk right into the house.
Chloe hands me a couple of beers and an opener before pulling what she needs from the fridge. “Yep. Without a doubt. The dirty outside stuff was always the first thing I sloughed off when Dallas got home.”
I cock my head, eyebrows high, and thrust an open beer bottle toward her. She rolls her lips between her teeth and then smiles tightly. As she opens her mouth—hopefully to explain, give me something—Jake skids into the kitchen, wet hair plastered to his head, pulling his T-shirt down.
“Is dinner ready yet? Coach Miles, why are you still here?” Jake screws his face up at me while grabbing a sports drink from the fridge.
Chloe cuts open an avocado and squeezes the guts into a bowl. “He’s having tacos with us since he had to drive your dog home.”
Jake looks from his mom to me and back again and then nods. “ ’Kay.” He paws through the pantry, coming out with a bag of tortilla chips. “Do I have to set the table, or can we eat in front of the TV since it’s special?”
“The table, please. And then go do your homework. I’ll call you when it’s ready,” Chloe tells him.
Jake comes off as a typical moody kid more often than not when I’ve seen him, but tonight, at home with his mom, I get a different picture entirely. He might want to think he’s a little badass, but he knows his manners and respects his mother. That says a lot.
He sets the table and scurries off, feet pounding up the stairs.
The heel of Chloe’s hand smacks down on the side of a knife, smashing a clove of garlic. She busies herself with chopping stuff and dumping it all into the bowl with the avocado. A squeeze of lemon, a pinch of salt, and a big fucking sigh are all that fills the space between us.
“So, Dallas,” I prompt, taking the bowl from Chloe and mixing the contents together.
Silence hangs heavy in the kitchen as she dumps the meat into a skillet. She pushes the ground beef around until it starts to sizzle, filling the air with a delicious scent. “My husband. Jake’s dad,” she says softly.
My heart screeches to a halt.
This is what I needed to know. I set the bowl on the counter and nod. I check her hand, noting not just the absence of a wedding ring, but also no ridge. No tan line. Not one indication that there’s someone else in the picture here.
I seethe. I process. A sardonic laugh huffs its way out of my chest, and as much as I hate what she just said, she said it. It’s out there now, and no matter what happy little possibilities have weaseled their way in, I have to do what’s right. I need to go. I’m not a cheater—not that anything has happened beyond a handful of conversations and some stray spank-bank thoughts—but if I were this guy Dallas, I’d be fucking pissed that some dick was having dinner with my family. How did I get this wrong?
I take a step back, ready to make my excuse and leave, when Chloe continues, “He died—was killed—five and a half years ago. The kicker is, it wasn’t a service death. He was on his way home from a deployment.” Now that she’s talking, the information just flows from her in a torrent.
Relief battles with sorrow as I watch her lay herself wide open.
“Dallas was going to surprise Jake at his kindergarten graduation. Had been planning it from the minute he realized it was even a possibility to make it back from the desert in time. His best friend was on a later flight, but when Jack made it to the school and Dallas still hadn’t shown, it never even crossed my mind to worry. I knew his flight had landed. I figured he’d just gotten held up.” She slides the pan to a cool burner. “I just didn’t realize how close to the truth I was.”
A deep, bracing breath lifts her shoulders, and as she releases it, her spine straightens, resolve filling her. “I would love to say that it was completely senseless, but the police report said he saved lives. And that’s not something I will ever take away from him. Not ever.”
Chloe finishes assembling dinner, putting things in bowls and sliding them across the counter to me. When she finally lifts her gaze to mine, a sad smile pulls at her lips.
Waves of wreckage wash over me, cutting off my air. “I’m sorry.” Anything more than that gets stuck in my throat, choking me. I work my jaw and transfer the bowls from the counter to the small table by the window.
Loss is part of life. Sometimes, it just feels like it’s the one thing that can drown me.
Now would probably be a good time for me to share my shit as well. To tell her about Aly and the rest of the story of how I ended up in Virginia. But Jake comes back down to the kitchen looking for his dinner.
So instead of more tragedy, we talk rugby. Chloe asks him about his day, his schoolwork, and plans for the long weekend. He tells me all about his video game, and he seems to really be okay with me being here. I catch him staring at me more than once, but that’s it. Nothing hostile appears to be behind it.
Through it all, it never once leaves my mind that this is someone else’s family. That they’re here because of the love and commitment between two people. Perfect or not, they worked together and found a way to deal with the challenges life had handed them. No one left this union—this thing they had a hand in building, on purpose. Neither of them took what they had and destroyed it. Neither sought to rip a gaping hole in the fabric of their family. Neither intentionally tore this thing apart.
I think I do a pretty solid job of stuffing my shit down and acting like what Chloe just shared with me didn’t impact me the way it did. Like it didn’t rock my foundation. I smile. I joke. But when Jake says his good nights and scampers off upstairs, I’m about done with myself.
I stack the empty dishes and take them to the sink. I probably just need to cut my losses and go because the last thing I want is for my mood to drag anyone down, least of all this strong, beautiful woman who’s already dealt with enough shit.
Chloe sidles up next to me, softly resting her hand on my arm, pinning me in place with a tender touch. The electricity pinging between us doesn’t seem to be affected by the black cloud hanging over my head. And despite my Eeyore moment, her touch is like a balm to my wounded soul.
“I feel like I’ve been slinging one apology after another, but I’m really sorry if that made you uncomfortable.” She takes the plates from me and rinses them before stacking everything into the dishwasher. “I don’t usually make a big deal out of Dallas’s passing, but
with the dog and everything …” Her words trail off on the tail end of a shrug.
“It’s fine, really. I asked; you answered. That’s it. No worries.”
Obviously, I didn’t do that great of a job at hiding my shit. I grab a wet cloth from the edge of the sink and wipe down the table.
Curiosity digs in, and I ask, “But what does the dog have to do with any of this?”
I clean off the counter as Chloe puts the leftovers in the fridge. Her snort of laughter takes me off guard.
She mutters a quiet, “Shit,” and tilts her head back, staring at the ceiling. “Well, Bronson was Dallas’s dog. One hundred percent, no doubt about it. The last time I saw him bolt across a field and dance around someone like he did this afternoon, was the last time Dallas came home.”
Ice crawls up my spine and settles at the base of my skull.
She chuckles as the fridge door whooshes closed. “And I’ve never seen him get into a car or truck like that and then flat-out refuse to move.”
What the hell?
“I don’t know what it means.” She throws her hands out to her sides, palms in the air. “I just … I don’t know. I don’t know why I brought it up. I’m sorry.”
My mind races as the past rushes over me, yet my feet seem to be cemented to the floor.
“Miles?”
Hearing my name or maybe the way it spilled from her lips helps to pull my head out of my ass. “This has been a strange-as-hell day for me, Chloe. I’m not gonna lie.” Well, maybe I’m lying a little. I don’t know.
Other than going silent there for a bit, I’m sure it doesn’t look like anything all that strange has gone down. Honest to God, this would be a really good time for me to open up, but I fucking can’t. Sure, she shared, but she’s obviously had some time to make peace with her loss. Or maybe she just has her shit more together than I do on the emotional front.
She chuckles, a little bit husky, completely real. “Yeah. You’re not wrong.”
“I’m sorry for your loss, really sorry. But I think that needs to be it for apologies. Jesus, I think we’ve worn them the fuck out. Most overused phrase between us already.” I pull my keys from my pocket, and at the metallic jangling, Bronson trots to the front door and wags not just his tail, but also his whole body.
“I’m so—”
“Don’t say it. Seriously, don’t say it.” The lingering tension dissipates minutely with a sigh as we both laugh at the absurdity of the dog. Of the day. All of it. “Thanks for dinner. It was great.” I move toward the door, hoping I can get past Bronson without letting him out.
“Might be a good idea to go through the garage,” Chloe says under her breath because we’re truly at the point where we’re dancing around each other, trying to sneak me out without the dog catching on.
I change directions, moving back through the kitchen to the garage, and slip through the door. My arm brushes across her breasts as I do. My lungs squeeze as I weave through the space, holding in a groan.
At the threshold, I turn to take in the clutter. “When you’re ready to tackle this, let me know. I’d be happy to help,” I offer before my brain catches up to what’s coming out of my mouth.
Chloe stands on the step and nods, arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes sweep over the space between us, but she doesn’t say a word. Her lips screw up into a sneer, like she would literally rather do anything else than dig into the mess. “Nah. I’ll get to it eventually, but it’s fine for now.” Her sneer turns to a sweet smile as she leans onto the doorframe. “Thank you, though. And thanks for having dinner with us.”
I nod my thank-you and fold myself into my truck, the headlights illuminating her. This might have been an absolute mindfuck of a day for me, but the sight of her standing there as I back out of the drive is gorgeous. After she finally hits the button and the garage door lowers with her safely tucked away inside, I shove Maggie into gear and drive all four blocks to my apartment.
Chapter Seven
Chloe
I run my hand through Jake’s wild sandy-brown curls, twirling the silky locks around my fingers.
“I wonder if Grandpa would take you to the barber before you guys take off tomorrow,” I say absently.
Jake’s hair has gotten out of control. It’s one hundred percent the color of his dad’s, but that curl is all mine.
“Nah, I think I want to grow it out,” he says, scooting down on the couch so his head is on my lap.
This is such a weird stage he’s in. Tap-dancing back and forth over the line of wanting to grow up but still being a little kid.
“You do, huh?”
“Yeah.”
I wind and unwind a curl and tell him, “Grandpa’s going to give you a hard time this weekend. You know that, right?”
“Yeah. That’s okay. Nonna will shush him and swat at his hand. She’s good at that,” Jake says. “You’re gonna meet us at Uncle Brent’s after dinner, right?” He rolls onto his back, so his big brown eyes, wide and sweet, are looking up at me.
The fights over not taking a shower and the ones over taking too long of a shower seem like they belong to someone else. And for a moment, his hormonal attitude forgotten, he looks like my baby boy.
“That’s the plan. I have some meetings I have to go to at school, but then I’ll drive up to meet you guys. Why don’t you hop into bed, sweets?” A big part of me hates to disturb this precious scene, but the side of me that has to get up early and drag this kiddo out of bed is far more practical.
“Yes, ma’am,” he mumbles. Crunching his little body up off my lap, he grimaces and pulls his elbows in tight. The noise that flies out of him belongs more to a man than a boy and sends him off to bed in a fit of giggles. Because let’s face it; farts are funny.
I check the locks and turn off the lights as I make my way up the stairs. I peer into Jake’s room, and in the few short minutes since he blasted off the couch, he’s already slack-faced and lightly snoring.
The dog watches from the guest bed across the hall as I pull Jake’s door most of the way closed. I wipe toothpaste from the counter in the hall bathroom, impressed that he at least did a quick brush without being told, and douse the light.
In my bedroom, I softly close the door, leaning my back against it, and sigh. For a short school week, this one has wiped me out. Presidents’ Day weekend is a welcome little break. Life has definitely been a lot simpler since moving to Virginia. There’s definitely less upkeep on this house than there was on the farm in New York, but this solo-parenting thing is still not for the faint of heart.
It’s a crapshoot whether Jake will bounce out of bed since he doesn’t have to actually go to school or if he’ll go full-on teenager and want to sleep until noon. The probability of my preferred outcome is not one I’m willing to gamble on, so I pack my bag for the weekend at my brother’s house. That’s one less thing to worry about in the morning.
On that note, I turn the water on, letting the shower heat up while I grab an old T-shirt to sleep in. One that’s so worn that the cotton is paper-thin and the unit logo from Dallas’s very first assignment is faded to just a ghost of an image.
I peel off my clothes, dropping them on the floor, and step into the steamy bliss. Warmth beats down on my shoulders, the showerhead pulsing water jets into the tight muscles across my back.
The heavy scent of lavender fills the enclosed space as I pour gel onto my shower pouf and let the suds wash over me. I’m not a huge fan of the scent, but one of the other teachers in my department mentioned that it helps her sleep, so I’m willing to try. As I stand under the water, rinsing the bubbles away, I pull the handheld spray from the wall and direct the water down my body.
My thoughts wander to broad shoulders and dirt-smudged thighs as the pulse hits my clit. The image of water sliding over hard-packed muscles, turning dark brown hair almost black, dances through my mind. Heat races through me, and I shudder from a stolen orgasm, hoping and praying that the combination will send me off to dreamla
nd.
The pipes squeal when I turn off the water and reach for my towel. Realization hits me that Dallas wasn’t in my mind for the big moment. It was someone new. I dry off, pulling on panties and my shirt. Stuffing my bucket full of guilt down, I turn the bathroom fan on full blast to clear away the steam. Then, I brush my teeth and crawl into bed.
With the hum of the fan providing the perfect white noise, I will myself to relax, to let the soothing scent pull me under. Intentionally focusing on each body part—from my feet to my knees, hips, back, shoulders—I imagine melting into the mattress. I feel that delicious victory of sleep within reach.
The bathroom fan sputters and goes silent. Bronson drops to the floor and pads across the hall to Jake’s room. And just like that, every tiny and insignificant noise in the house, all the creaks and groans, amplifies, chasing away all hope of a full night of sleep. I drag myself from bed and flip off the switch for the useless fan, grab my tablet, and sink into an e-book. It might lull me to sleep, or it might keep me up all night for just one more chapter. Who knows?
* * *
The blare of my alarm rips me from my dreams, and from the feel of things, I’m pretty sure I have the edge of my tablet imprinted on my cheek from where I fell asleep on it. In the distance, the fridge rattles closed, and the sound of the TV drifts up the stairs. At least I won’t have to fight to get Jake out of bed.
Since I have a full day of meetings and seminars, I dress in skinny jeans and a light sweater. I grab Jake’s bag on my way downstairs. Coffee for me, kibble for Bronson, and without much fuss, we are out the door.
I pull into the parking lot of the high school, sliding into the spot next to my mom’s car. I’m pretty sure I get the better end of the deal when I trade Jake, his overnight bag and backpack for a bag of doughnuts and another coffee. I’m going to be counting on the caffeine and sugar to get me through the morning.
Team-building exercises follow department meetings, causing the day to drag on endlessly. I swear this is the longest Friday ever, and when the clock finally ticks down to three o’clock, it feels like years have passed. Seasons have come and gone. Continents have shifted.
