“Just get what you can on Tatum and report in as soon as you can.”
I end the call quickly, not wanting to prolong the moment. I pretty much confirmed Missy and I are finally an item, and if I know my brother, he’ll have that news out to the guys in no time. He’s worse than a fucking woman sometimes. Video games and gossip, that’s Max.
*****
“King.” Max opens the door to my office and peeks his head in. He almost looks afraid, ready to duck out and run at a moment’s notice. I look up from my spot on the couch and wave him in.
After beating the shit out of the punching bag when I got into the office, I collapsed onto the couch, exhausted and sweaty. I needed to beat a few things out of my system, but with Max walking in here with a grave look on his face, I know I’ll be at it again before the day is out.
“What did you find?”
“Tatum’s in deep shit, King.” Max crosses the room and hands me the manila folder containing a stack of papers. He sits across from me in one of the matching chairs and kicks out his legs onto the coffee table. My eyes flicker down the length of his right leg, and my chest clenches remembering the prosthetic underneath his black denim pants. You’d never know of his disability the way he struts and acts. But I know. Every single fucking day, I think about it.
“From the stack you have here, it appears so.” I flip through the pages with my thumb, stopping somewhere in the middle. A name catches my eye, Mario Galecki. “Why is Mario Galecki’s name in this report, Max?”
“It’s who she’s been rolling with,” he tells me, and my stomach sinks. Fuck! Max was right, this isn’t good. Not at all. What have you done, Tate?
Mario Galecki is a notorious gangster in Portland. The police have had a hell of a time shutting him and his crew down, only to have him pop up and in full swing days later. I’ve been called in for advice a number of times for one of his cases. How Tatum got wrapped up with him, I can’t imagine.
“The detective working her case says she’s being held without bail and will see the courtroom this afternoon. DA is pushing to keep it that way.” My eyes skim the pages as Max talks. “Probably smart to hold her if you ask me. Keeps her off the street and out of harm’s way.”
“Frankly, I don’t give a fuck what happens to her now. No way in hell I’m letting her around Layla and Oliver again. Already called in a favor with Judge Harper and attained full custody of them. Tatum won’t be seeing either one of them for a long time.”
“I don’t blame you, man, but Layla and Oliver, what do they think of this? It can’t be easy losing their mother.”
“Well, having a fucked-up mother who cares more about whoring herself than caring for them has already done a number on them. Fuck, Max, Oliver wouldn’t even come to me last night.”
“What?”
“He looks at me like a stranger. If Missy hadn’t been there, I don’t know what I would’ve done. He went right to her.”
“He knows a good woman when he sees her.” I pause, letting his words sink it. Oliver has always had a special bond with Missy; it’s one of the reasons why he insisted on getting a copy of the photo he kept hidden in his room.
“You don’t think Tatum—”
“No, Kingston, don’t go there. Tatum might be off her rocker, but I honestly don’t believe she’d let her children fall victim like that.”
“Could be she just wasn’t hiding what was happening when they were around.”
“That sounds more like Tatum to me. What I don’t understand is why they didn’t tell you what was going on. That’s not like them, King.”
“I had them two weeks ago. Everything appeared fine then.”
“Have you tried talking to them?”
“I was planning on it tonight, after work. I wanted to get as much information about Tatum and what’s been going on before doing it.”
“Where are they now?”
“Missy took the SUV and enrolled them in school this morning.” I look down at my watch and groan. I have a couple of conference calls to make before heading out, but school is due out in thirty minutes. “Shit, I’ve got to head out and pick them up.”
“We’ve got that call to Meyers in ten minutes.” He also looks down at his watch.
“Annabelle!” I yell from my spot on the couch. I know she can’t pick the kids up, but she could call Missy for me and arrange for her to do it. Missy called off work today to help get the kids enrolled, but I wanted to pick them up from their first day.
“How many times have I asked you not to yell at me like a wild animal?” Annabelle opens the door and glares at me from behind her dark-rimmed glasses.
“Yes, ma’am.” I laugh, giving her a wink. “Can you call Missy and see if she can stop by to pick up the kids from school? I have a few conference calls on the books today I forgot about.”
“I can go get them for you,” she offers and turns to leave the room, but I stop her.
“I need you here, Anna.” She looks back at me.” You need to sit in on these calls.”
“I’ll give her a call now. You need anything else?”
I shake my head, my attention on the file in front of me.
Fucking Tatum.
Chapter Twenty-Two
Finally Home
Kingston
I can hear Oliver’s laughter in the other room when I open the door. Layla and Missy’s join in seconds later.
It’s only been a day since the kids have come to live with me, but if I’m honest, I can’t imagine what life was like before that moment. It’s truly eye opening how lonely my life has been; even with our weekend visits, it was lonely.
Missy’s is becoming an incorporated part of our new life. And just as I predicted, both Layla and Oliver have easily accepted the new role she has taken on in my life and in theirs. I think having her here has helped them adjust but will also help them move past what their mother did.
“I told you she would make you laugh, Oliver,” Layla singsongs from the other room.
“Did not,” he cuts in, the sound of laughter gone as quickly as it came.
“I’m home,” I announce, hoping to diffuse the argument mounting between brother and sister. I walk into the living room and find them sitting around the coffee table, art supplies scattered everywhere. “Sorry I’m late. My meetings ran a little longer than I expected.”
“Hi, Daddy,” Layla exclaims with a big smile. She sits in between Missy and her brother, a blue color pencil in her hand. Oliver waves at me with a small smile on his face.
“What’s going on in here?” I ask before setting down my bag and sitting on the couch closest to Missy. She hasn’t looked up at me yet.
“Missy is teaching us how to draw elephants and tigers,” Ollie offers and smiles at me.
“No, she’s teaching us how to draw kittens and—”
“She is not—”
“Is too—”
“Alright, guys, that’s enough.” I lean forward and place a hand gently on Missy’s shoulder. She leans into my touch, and I can’t help the bloom of pride filling my chest.” Let’s get this cleaned up, and we’ll figure something out for dinner.”
“We already ate,” Layla tells me and gathers the various colored pencils around her. Ollie gathers the washable markers.
“You did?” I look down at Missy, who still hasn’t said a word.
“Missy made chicken enchiladas. They were delicious.” Oliver gathers his drawings and looks up at me. “We saved you a plate.”
“Thank you,” I say, and she nods, a hint of a smile on her face. She straightens her drawings, which I’m finally getting a glimpse at, and I note just how good they are. She told me once she liked to draw, but I never knew how talented she is until this moment. “Those are pretty good.”
“Thank you,” she says softly. “They did their homework and finished cleaning up their rooms.”
“That’s great.” I’m a little taken aback, but I don’t know why. Hudson told me about the tigh
t ship she ran at home when he was a kid.
“Your dinner is covered and in the oven to keep warm,” she tells me before shifting her body away. Layla and Oliver take the gathered art supplies to their rooms. “You’ll probably need to heat it up, though. Two or three minutes in the microwave should do it. Make sure you remove the foil before you do that.”
“I know how to heat food up, Queenie, but thank you.” I lift an eyebrow and watch as she stands.
“I’m going to get going,” she says while slipping into her favorite grey sweater. My heart pounds hard in my chest. What the fuck? Not this shit again.
“No, you’re not.” I stand up and move toward her. “We settled this last night. You’re in my bed every night from here on out.”
“Kingston.” She shakes her head, but I pull her toward me, wrapping my arms tightly around her. “I have to work tomorrow.”
“Sleep,” I propose before thinking the thought through, but I’m desperate to wake up to her in the morning. Having her there this morning was something I knew I’d never forget. I liked the feeling and want to experience it daily.” All we’re going to do is sleep.”
She opens her mouth to argue, but Oliver comes down the hallway and stops to stare. She tenses and I release her, not wanting her to feel uncomfortable with the moment any longer.
“Come on, son.” I turn and scoop up my son. He lays his head on my shoulder and takes a deep breath. My heart wrenches a moment, the action something he’s done to me since the day he was born.
Missy
Kingston shoots me a look before picking up Oliver and walking down the hallway toward his son’s bedroom. The little boy taps his father on the back and stops him. He looks between Kingston and me before wiggling down and out of his father’s arms. He runs down the hallway and throws his arms around me, burying his face against my belly.
“I want you to tuck me in,” he whispers so softly I almost don’t hear him. “Please, Missy?”
Kingston has moved back into the room and is now leaning against the wall. I can feel his gaze on us, curiousness in his eyes.
“I would really love that.” Oliver looks up and gives me a dazzling smile. He takes my hand and pulls me anxiously behind him.
“G’night, Dad,” he murmurs over his shoulder. Kingston also gives me a huge smile and a playful wink. His son is proving the point he made weeks ago. I’ve become a part of their lives.
“Night, son.”
For a six-year-old boy, Oliver’s room is uncommonly clean. Much like the room he had with his mother but different, as this one is filled with things little boys should have in their room. He carefully pulls back his dinosaur comforter before climbing into bed, and after pulling the comforter over him, he pats the spot next to him, indicating that he wants me to sit. So, I do, with the same care he took getting into bed, I lean back, and he snuggles into my side. I place a kiss on the top of his head.
“Would you like me to read you a story?”
“No, I don’t want a story.” A quizzical look forms across his face, similar to the look his father gets when the wheels in his head start turning.
“No story? Are you sure?”
He nods, reaches across to me to grab the plush dinosaur on his nightstand. I recognize it as one of the items Kingston bought him last Christmas. He studies the dinosaur, taking his time, concentrating on the words he wants to say to me.
“Are you going to be my new mom?” he asks with a soft voice, but I can hear a twinge of hope buried deep within it. Instantly, my heart aches, because this isn’t a question or a conversation I expected to have with him.
“You have a mom, buddy.”
“She doesn’t care about us anymore.”
“Of course, she does. Why would you think that?” I feel like I’ve just lied to the kid, but I can’t very well say the truth of what I think to him.
“She let the police take us away.” He picks at his dinosaur nervously, looking for any speck of dirt or debris that might cover it. He’s making busy work for himself.
“She didn’t have a choice—”
“Layla says Mommy loves getting high more than she loves us, and she let us go because we got in the way of it. That’s why she hasn’t come to see us or called to talk to us.” He cuts me off as though he isn’t interested in hearing my excuses for her, and I don’t blame him. If I were in his shoes, I wouldn’t want anyone feeding me bullshit, either. There wasn’t much that I had seen in the last few weeks that led me to believe he knows the real reasons behind his mother’s disappearance, and it breaks my heart. She didn’t shield them from the life she’d chosen to live. “Layla said you’re going to marry my dad and become our new mom now. Is that true?”
“Oliver—”
“I called her a liar, because if our real mommy doesn’t love us, how can a new one? Moms don’t want kids like us. We take too much.” The conviction in his words splits my heart in two, straight to my soul. I tuck him closer against me, squeezing him tightly, because it’s all I can do, trying to catch my breath.
“Oliver, your mom is very sick right now,” I tell him, deciding honesty is the best. Even though it kills me to say the words, there is no other way, because he needs to know he’s wrong. That both he and his sister aren’t unworthy of a mother’s love. They’re far from it. Any sane mother would be beyond blessed to have children like them. “The police took you from her, because they’re trying to help her. And they called your dad, because it was what was best for you and your sister. Your mom, she did some very bad things, and it’s keeping her from taking care of you the way she is supposed to. I’m sorry she’s stayed away and she hasn’t called, but because of those bad things she did, she’s not going to be able to for a while.”
“Is she going to go to jail?”
“Maybe,” I respond, my voice thick in my throat.” It depends on what the judge decides. If he thinks the things your mom did are unforgivable, then yes, she will likely go to jail.”
“Oh,” he whispers. “Do you think she loves me?”
“Yes, Oliver, I believe she loves you. She’s always loved you.”
“Then why did she do those bad things? Didn’t she know they would take us away if she did them?” His question sinks like rocks into the bottom of my stomach. I know the right answer, but an honest answer would hurt him and is an unnecessary truth.
“I don’t know. Sometimes people do bad things without knowing they’re doing them.” Although I don’t believe this for a moment when it comes to his mother, I want him to have some hope left for her and ultimately for his relationship with her. She knew what she was doing was wrong, but I believe with every fiber of my being she never thought she’d get caught doing it.
“Are you going to marry my dad?”
“I don’t know, maybe one day.” As I say the words, I’m catapulted into a whole different wave of emotions. His question isn’t something I’ve allowed myself to contemplate when it comes to Kingston. This thing between us is still new, and it frightens me to think about a future with him. But answering Oliver, right here, right now, it feels right. “Would it be okay if I did?”
“Yeah, you make him happy.” He looks up at me with a large grin across his face. “And it would be nice to have a real mom again.” I open my mouth to correct him, but he slides down in between the blankets, his head resting on his pillow.” I know you said I have a mom, but she isn’t like you. You would be the best mom ever, because you love us, and you’re not even married to my dad yet.”
“I do love you, Oliver, both you and Layla so much,” I say as my throat tightens from the emotion building in my chest. This child, giving me everything sweet tonight, puts me at a loss for words. All I want to do is scoop him up in a protective bubble and keep him safe inside. “I’m always here for you, any time you need to talk, okay?”
He nods his head and yawns, “I’m tired.”
I slip off the bed and tuck the comforter in tighter around him. Leaning down to kiss h
is forehead, I breathe in the scent of him, memorizing the warmth of this moment with him. I find myself hoping for more of them. I reach over and turn the lamp off next to his bed, but his soft voice stops me.
“I know because he told me so. My dad loves you. Do you love him?”
“Yes.” Again, I respond without pausing to think.
“Good, because you make us happy, too.” He smiles up at me and tucks his dinosaur next his cheek, his eyes heavy with sleepiness.
I don’t know how I make it back to the living room, but I stand in the dark room reeling from our conversation. It amazes me how candidly I spoke with Oliver. The lack of judgment or expectations helped me admit things I haven’t been able to in a long time.
Loving Kingston is second nature, it’s like a second skin, and while I didn’t think I was wearing it, I realize I’ve been wearing it all along. From the moment we met until this moment standing dumbstruck in the middle of his living room, I never stopped. Even when he broke my heart, I still loved him. I loved him even more the day I found him sitting in my brother’s dining room, regret written in his eyes. I loved him every day, every night, with every word we’ve spoken to one another. I even loved him in the moments we didn’t communicate. I shiver, feeling frightened for the first time in a long time. What’s happening between us is real and there’s no escaping it anymore.
The air catches in my lungs as I feel Kingston’s steely arms wrap around me from behind.
“Is everything okay?” he asks gruffly, and I nod my head yes, afraid I might say something I’m not ready to say to say out loud yet. Admitting to myself the feelings I have for him is one thing, admitting them to him out loud is completely different. Kingston might have laid claim to me, but that didn’t prove what he feels about me, despite what Oliver said. “Did he fall asleep?”
I turn to face him, and for a moment, I contemplate telling him about what Oliver said regarding his mother but decide to hold off. Kingston isn’t her biggest fan and it’s clear Oliver doesn’t feel comfortable talking to him about it. I’ll eventually tell him, but the wounds are too fresh for everyone, and sometimes you just have to find peace for the ones you love.
Lost Without You (The Lost Series Book 2) Page 13
