by Becky Flade
“Mommy! Mommy! There’s a motorcycle outside, did you see it?”
She squatted and caught her son in her arms. She smiled for her boy, hid the fear quaking her soul. She’d seen the look on his father’s face when their son ran in the house. He knew.
“I didn’t. But I heard it.”
Jordan rushed into the house behind her nephew. Her sister loosed a whistle of indrawn breath. “You want me to stay? It’ll just take me a minute to get the kids out of the van. You want me to take Brady home with me?”
“No, but thanks. I’ll call you later.” She stood and kissed her sister’s cheek.
Jordan shot one last heated look at Jayson and ran out. No way she isn’t already on the phone with Mom. I’ll worry about that later. Her son stared at his father with open curiosity. I’ve enough to worry about right now.
She looked from man to child. I don’t know what to do.
“Is that your motorcycle?”
“Yes, it is. Hi, I’m Jayson.”
“That’s my middle name. My full name is Brady Jayson Parker. Everybody just calls me Brady. But when I get in trouble, Mom uses the whole thing.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
“Does your bike go fast?”
“Yes. It does.” Jayson smiled. “Do you get in trouble a lot?”
“Sometimes.”
He looks so much like his father.
“I’ve heard your grandmother call your mom by her full name.”
“Really?”
“Really.”
How many times did I daydream about this? The three of us together, the two of them smiling up at me with identical grins and matching eyes? I never imagined it would hurt this much. I have to end this. “Go upstairs and play, buddy.”
“Okay. It was nice meeting you.”
Brady turned and ran from the room, his feet drumming a staccato beat on the hardwood floors and stairs. They stood in silence, both staring at the empty space their son had left behind.
“Ky?”
“I asked you to leave. Now leave.”
“I deserve an explanation.”
“You disappeared without a word. Then you have the nerve to show up after six years, telling me what you deserve?” She stepped close to him. “Get out of my house. Now. You are not wanted.”
He flinched as though her words had struck him. I don’t care. He nodded, set the spare key down on the table, and left. She waited, listening to water run in her bathroom sink, needing to hear the sound of the motorcycle’s engine turn over. When the ignition sparked, she sank to the floor and let her tears flow unchecked.
She’d suffered when he left. Like losing a part of myself. But she refused to look for him. She wouldn’t beg him to love her. She’d lived without him before; she’d live without him again. She had one last follow-up before being cleared for active duty. When the radiologist asked her the standard questions before her x-ray, she realized there was a chance she could be pregnant. The doctor had confirmed it.
I looked for him then, pride be damned. She had to tell him. His phone was disconnected. He’d moved out of his place. No one knew where he was, or if they had, no one was talking. She’d feared him dead. But no, he wanted to be gone and just like that—he was.
Why couldn’t he have stayed that way?
She stood and wiped the tears from her face. He’ll be back tonight after he thinks Brady is asleep, wanting answers, offering explanations, making demands. Arrogant bastard.
She grabbed her cell phone.
* * *
The motorcycle turned onto her block. She spent the last few hours thinking, feeling things she had thought long behind her. He’ll have questions. I don’t think I do. I don’t think I care why he left or where he’d been. That was then, this is now. All that mattered to her was Brady. All her questions had to do with now. He knocked for a change, and she opened the door to him with steady hands.
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“No, thank you. I know it’s probably past his bedtime, but can I see him? I won’t wake him; I just want to look.”
“He’s not here. I figured you’d be back, and I wasn’t sure how loud this conversation would get. I didn’t want to scare him.”
He nodded. He prowled the room, appearing to catalog what had stayed the same, what had changed. He stopped before the mantle where she had pictures chronicling Brady’s life framed and displayed. He lifted her favorite—a shot of her holding Brady the day he was born.
“I didn’t know.”
“How could you? You had left before I knew. And not even your mother knew where you were or how to reach you.”
Keep it a matter of fact, don’t let the pain show. He doesn’t deserve your tears.
“My mother? Does she know him?”
“Yes. But at her request, Brady doesn’t know she is his grandmother. She wanted to wait until I had decided how I would handle telling him about his father first.”
He nodded again, still staring at the picture and not at her.
“Your mother is well. She’s happy and healthy; volunteers with abuse survivors. You should go see her while you’re in town.”
“I’m back.” He replaced the photo on the mantel, and looked at her for the first time since he arrived. “For good.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? You’re not going to ask where I went or why I left.” He sounded angry.
Why should he be angry? I didn’t lie to him, use and then abandon him.
“If you had wanted me to know you would’ve told me then. Or sometime over these last six years. I don’t care. All that matters is you’re back, and I have to figure out what that means to my son.”
His eyes flashed. Oh yeah, he’s angry.
“Our son,” he corrected.
“No, Jayson. My son.” She stood and passed him on her way to the kitchen. She got a glass out of the cabinet, tossed in a couple ice cubes, poured a generous amount of rum over the ice and added not nearly as generous a portion of cola. He followed her into the kitchen.
She didn’t want to be angry; she didn’t want to be nervous; she didn’t want to care. Stay cool, be logical. No emotion. “I’ve been doing this on my own, and I see no reason to stop because the wind blew you through my back door. So tell me, Jase, why should I risk my son’s happiness on you?”
He threw his wallet down on the counter. It fell open when it landed. The badge glared at her. As did the Drug Enforcement Agency credentials that sat in the window opposite.
All the oxygen was sucked from the room. Betrayal burned fresh and white-hot in her heart like it had when he’d left her. The pain was back. Just like Jayson. I can’t let him know. She tucked the hurt deep inside before raising her eyes to his and the glass to her lips.
“How long?”
“Twelve years total. More than ten of which was undercover work.”
All that time. It made sense; his dislike for Chic, his refusal to explain, the conflict between the man she knew and the life he led. He knew how hard it was for me to be with him, to love him, and he never told me the truth.
“Was I part of your cover story? Is that what we were?” She had to know and hated herself for asking.
“No, Jesus. No.” He ran a hand through his hair. “Can I have one of those?”
She made one for him and topped off her own.
“I wanted to tell you. You’re a cop, you’d understand, you wouldn’t blow my cover. But we weren’t just after Chic. We were also investigating corruption within the department and suspected the corruption spread into Internal Affairs, possibly the District Attorney’s office. The U.S. Attorney on the case even convinced a District Court judge to give them a limited usage bug for the mayor’s office.”
“Was I being investigated?” Is that why he was with me?
“You were looked at and cleared by other agents without my knowledge. I had nothing to do with it. My assignment was to infiltrate the Checcio organization.
”
He’s a stranger.
“But you read my file.” It wasn’t a question. “When?”
“Does it matter?”
“I guess not.”
He took a sip of rum and cola. “I was going to tell you the truth over dinner the day we played paintball, but you were attacked. Then when you got out of the hospital…”
“The day you disappeared.”
“…after you fell asleep, Chic called. He threatened you, and your family. Your sister. I went to see my supervisor at DEA. Demanded to be pulled out and you be given protection.”
He laughed, but the sound held no mirth. “Stedman refused. Internal Affairs had opened an investigation into you because of our relationship. If I wanted you cleared with IAB and protected from Checcio, I had to walk away and complete my assignment.”
“You did it for me?”
“Yes.”
“Should I thank you?” She set the glass down. She didn’t think she could finish it. Her stomach tied in knots.
“Damn it.” He slammed his hand on the counter. “I love you. I’ve always loved you. I didn’t want to leave you, but I couldn’t destroy your career and risk your life because I wanted…”
“Stop. Just stop. I’m glad you’re not what I thought you were. I am. I wasn’t sure how to explain to Brady his father was a criminal. Can I assume since you’re back, it’s safe now?”
She didn’t wait for an answer. I need him to leave. I need to think. I can’t think with him here, shouting that he loves me, ripping open old hurts and creating new ones with long overdue truths.
“If you can give me some time to figure out how to tell Brady who you are, we’ll figure out some kind of way for you to be a part of his life. His life. Not mine.”
It was never real.
He collected his wallet and walked to the door. With his hand on the knob, he looked back at her. “You’ve changed more than just your hair.”
“I should say thank you for that, as well.” She drained the glass when the door closed.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
A pretty flower bed and well-tended lawn sat where there used to be dirt. He didn’t notice. His mind wasn’t on the yard before him, or the cooling motorcycle under him. He flexed his hand. Torn skin pulled over bruised knuckles. He welcomed the pain.
Weasel didn’t even defend himself. He’d gone to the DEA’s Philadelphia office in Center City and confronted his supervisor. Frank had known about Brady and kept it from him. He snapped, attacked his boss and quit. He’d been driving around all morning. He wanted to go to Kylee’s. He wanted to see his son. But he couldn’t. He gave his word last night—he’d give her some time to think. He hadn’t planned on coming here.
A movement at the window brought him out of his reverie. He became aware of the neat front yard and the painted house. Christ almighty, is that a lawn gnome? The door and the woman who stepped out looked like his mother, but not ever as he remembered her. She wore pressed linen slacks in a pale yellow paired with a white sleeveless blouse. She’d cut her gray hair into a neat bob. She looked healthy. And wary.
I bet this is the first time in years she felt fear. I did this.
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have come.”
Her hand fluttered up to cover her mouth, and she cried as she ran down the walkway to him. He caught her in her arms.
“You’re okay.” She hiccupped on a sob. “I kept telling myself you were because the bills kept getting paid but I wasn’t sure. You were gone so long.”
“It’s okay that I’m here?” He rubbed her back. “You looked…uncertain when you saw me.”
“Of course it’s okay.” She laughed, stepped back and wiped her face with her hands. “Come in the house. I’m making a fool of myself out here.”
“You look wonderful, Mama.” He told her as they walked to the door arm in arm.
“You haven’t called me Mama since you were a boy.”
She was right. He’d stopped following the first beating he’d taken on her behalf. Shaking off the memory, he stepped inside his mother’s living space and stopped. Bright and cheerful, just like the yard. He smelled lemons.
“I’m happy for you. Kylee said you’re doing well.”
“You’ve seen her?”
“And Brady. Was he the reason you hesitated when you saw me?”
“I didn’t want to be the one to tell you, and I didn’t want to keep it from you either.” She smiled. They sat at the kitchen table, and she spent a few minutes telling him about her job at Jordan’s nursery and the volunteer work she did at the shelter. She was dating.
“What about Amy?”
“She pled guilty, and the judge gave her eighteen months, expected release in less than twelve which meant she stayed local. But she assaulted and injured a guard. She got heavy time, and they sent her upstate. She was released on probation about six months ago, give or take. She showed up here not long after.”
Emily Donovan had changed over the years. Gone was the scared, simpering woman. She looked him in the eye when she spoke to him. Life had continued without him. It looked like the people he loved had thrived in his absence.
“I wouldn’t let her in the front door. She wanted money. I didn’t give her any. I haven’t heard from her since.”
“I’m sorry we’ve caused you so much pain.” He took her hand.
“You haven’t. Your sister causes her own pain. Just as I caused mine. I’ve had a lot of counseling. I can’t help her until she’s ready to help herself.” She waved her hand. “Enough with that. Tell me about you. Where have you been?”
He told her. She listened, asking questions occasionally, but mostly just absorbing everything he said with a quiet intensity. When done, they sat in silence.
“Now what?”
“Get a job. Get to know my son. I don’t know what else. Can’t see beyond that.”
“And Kylee?”
“Wants nothing to do with me. She was clear on that point.”
“You’re still in love with her.” She sighed. “I told you years ago that was a hurt that wouldn’t heal.”
“I don’t know how not to be in love with her. But I have to respect her wishes.”
“My sweet boy, she’ll forgive you. Give her time, she’s good people. Focus instead on forgiving yourself. And getting to know your son.”
* * *
Monday evening a small package waited on the front step. The envelope had a notecard inside bearing a phone number and the simple message: When you’re ready. Inside was a toy motorcycle. He wooed me with potted plants and gourmet coffee. Brady sat in a patch of sunlight in the yard playing with the motorcycle. Jayson knows his audience.
Time had simultaneously slowed to a crawl and sped by. She used work to escape her thoughts but at night, while Brady slept, she warred. She had no reason to keep him from their son except her own broken heart. That wasn’t good enough. She couldn’t avoid the inevitable. Or hide from the truth.
“Yo, Parks? You back there?”
Matt and his wife Sylvia were struggling through a separation. He often swung past on Saturdays when he had his two boys, Nicholas and James. The boys scrambled to join Brady in digging a system of roads in the dirt. Brady claimed the motorcycle.
“That iced tea wouldn’t happen to have made its way here via the Long Island Expressway, would it?”
“I wish. Can I get you a glass anyway?”
“I’ll just get myself a beer the first time someone hollers they’re thirsty or needs to pee.” He ran his hand through thinning hair. “Sylvie has a date tonight.”
“I’m sorry. Counseling isn’t helping?”
“Not so much.” He looked at her with his cop’s eyes. “What’s the matter?”
“Did you tell Internal Affairs about my relationship with Jayson?” A few phone calls confirmed that much.
“Ah hell, this day just keeps getting better. It wasn’t me. But I was questioned by IA the day you were attacked outside the pai
ntball place in Fairless Hills. I told them the truth. You were a solid cop.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“You were fighting for your life. Then Donovan took off. It didn’t seem to matter anymore. How did you find out?”
“He’s back.”
Matt swore under his breath, his eyes darting over to where the boys played.
“Oh, yeah. He saw Brady before I could stop it. And that’s not all. He’s the one told me about Internal Affairs. Guess how he knew? You’ll love this—he’s a cop.”
“What?”
“Jayson Donovan is an undercover agent for the drug enforcement administration.” She breathed. “No longer on assignment and wanting a relationship with the son he didn’t know he fathered.”
“He’s a fed.”
“Law enforcement is law enforcement.”
“He had the guys who jumped you beat to within an inch of their lives,” he reminded her.
“That’s probably what forced his supervisor’s hand.” At his blank look, she explained, “The IA investigation against me was used as leverage by his supervisor to get Jayson to tow the company line. In order to protect me, he walked away.”
“What now?”
“I haven’t figured that out yet.”
An argument over whose turn it was with the fire engine interrupted their conversation. Tears and accusations took precedence over adult matters.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Damp from his bath and smelling like baby shampoo, she combed Brady’s hair. This was her favorite time of day, the few minutes that were just for them as the day unwound. He chatted, as he tended to do, jumping from one topic to the next. She stroked a hand down his back. “All done.”
He flicked a smile over his shoulder, and it took her breath away as it always did, how much her baby resembled Jayson. His brown hair was soft and thick and so dark it looked almost black in most light. It tended to curl around his ears and at his nape when it was time for a trip to the barber. His cerulean blue eyes were fringed with lashes so long they rested on his still pudgy cheeks as he slept. He even had the upside-down Cupid’s bow mouth. He wasn’t afraid to use that built-in pout with the one-two punch of his baby-blues to get his way. Just like his father.
