by BK Rivers
Chapter 33
Jordan
Jeremy hasn’t been home all weekend, and desperate times call for desperate measures. I text him an S.O.S. message and within twenty minutes he’s barreling through the front door of the condo like a crazed maniac. He braces his hands on the doorframe, his hair is a disaster, and his eyes scan the entire condo. Not quite the normal picture of Jeremy. He’s going to kill me for interrupting his night with Emily.
“Dude, where is it? Give it to me,” he says, almost breathlessly. Finally walking through the door, I can see he is actually out of breath.
“What did you do, man, run all the way from Emily’s place?”
He leans over the back of the couch, his arms resting on the back aiding in his stooped position.
“The elevator was taking too long, so I ran up the stairs.” A sweat droplet drips down the side of his face, and I burst into laughter. “The hell? You texted an S.O.S., Jordan. I got here as fast as I could.”
He’s still glancing around the room, expecting to find my stash of drugs or alcohol at the very least. But he’s not going to find it. After I left Colt’s bar, I called Roger and we met up at a steakhouse and talked about why I almost gave in to the temptation of drinking. Not only did talking with him confirm my decision to abstain from alcohol, but also my suspicions about going anywhere near a bar being a pretty bad idea.
“I didn’t S.O.S. you because I was thinking about using, JD. I texted you because I need to talk to you about Reggie.”
Jeremy’s features visibly relax. He walks around the couch and sits against the opposite arm from me. He props one leg up on the coffee table, raises his brows in question, and lounges like he owns the place.
“If this is because you knocked her up, I’m gonna be pissed,” he says with a chuckle. He shakes his head then leans it against the back cushions.
I lace my fingers behind my neck, blow out a deep breath, and ready myself to unleash the weekend on him. “No, she’s not pregnant. At least, she hasn’t been in a while.”
Jeremy’s eyes bug out as he says, “Okay?”
“She has a kid, man. A boy. He’s probably six or seven years old.”
“Who’s the father? Is he in the picture?” Jeremy asks, now sitting fully upright.
I shrug my shoulders, then rest my chin on my hand. “I have no idea. I’m going to go talk to her later tonight at her place.” I realize I’m being a jerk not asking about how him and Emily are getting along, so I clear my throat and ask, “How’s, uh, Emily doing? Still pregnant?”
A smile filled with pride takes over Jeremy’s face, and I feel a pang of jealousy. Not that I particularly want a kid, but why does Reggie have to have one with someone other than me?
“Yeah, man. She’s doing great. We actually went to her doctor last week and got to hear the heartbeat.”
“So you’re okay with the whole thing? What are you going to do when the baby comes?” What I’m really asking is what’s going to happen to White Shadow?
“I’m out, Jordan. We have our last recording session in a couple weeks and after that, I’m done. I’ve had a good run, but I’m happy with Emily. We’re good together.” He laughs, slapping a hand on his knee. “Actually, better than good. We’re great. I know it’s quick, but I love her. We’re going to drive up to Vegas in April and get hitched.”
Whoa. This is extremely unexpected news to me.
“Wow. That’s really great. I’m happy for you.” Thinking about it, what I’ve just said, I am happy for him. JD is one of the best people I know, and I want nothing but happiness for him. He deserves it.
“What’s your plan with Reggie? The kid?” he asks as he leans back against the couch again.
“Honestly, I haven’t got a clue. I guess I’ll hear her out tonight and sleep on it. I’m not exactly the dad type, but I might try. I love Reggie; think I always have.”
“Dude, you’re the only one who didn’t know it. We all did, and when you two broke up it really messed with you. And then all the partying took its toll.” Jeremy sighs then shakes his head, clearing the memories. “Anyway, that’s over and in the past, and you two are back together. If you really love her, you’ll figure it out.”
***
I’m a nervous wreck. After talking with Jeremy I felt good. Really good. But here I sit in my car outside Reggie’s apartment with sweaty palms and a heart beating wildly out of control. I need to pull myself together before I head up those stairs and back into her life. His life. Jesus. How am I going to do this?
A text chimes on my phone, making me even more jumpy.
Jeremy: Good luck, bro.
I’m so nervous I can’t respond to his text, so instead I shove my phone into the center console and step out into the cool evening air. It’s now or never. My feet drag like I’m walking through chilled molasses as I cross the parking lot. Each step to Reggie’s door is torture as gravity attempts to pull me back down. By the time I raise my hand to knock on her door, my chest is tight and I’m practically panting from the effort it took to get here.
The kid—Micah—he’s six or seven, maybe older. I recall the way his eyes radiated pleasure when I handed him the Neapolitan ice cream at Whole Foods and how they caught me off guard. Brown eyes are common; they come in a variety of shades.
I knock. Three times.
There was fear written all over Reggie’s face when she hugged her son. The way her eyes immediately glossed over with unshed tears. Shit.
The door swings open, and I’m greeted by a pair of big, light brown eyes and a mop of dark brown hair. He blinks, opens the door all the way, and then disappears down a hallway. I knock again, step inside, and close the door.
“Reggie?” I call, turning toward a rustling sound on my left.
“In here,” she answers. I find her in the kitchen, pulling a pan out of the oven. She’s wearing a pair of dark blue skinny jeans and a slouchy black top that accentuates the curves she has underneath. Her hair is tied back in a low ponytail that I wish I could twirl around my fingers. “Hey,” she says casually. Her lips quirk into an uneasy smile, though it fades quickly.
“Can I help you?” I ask, noticing the small table is set for three. She shakes her head, places the pan in the center of her table, and finally looks at me. Her kitchen is small, just two rows of light oak cabinets with a fridge, sink, dishwasher, and stove that lead to an eat-in nook.
“Dinner’s ready, if you want to sit down. I’ll go get Micah.” She ducks around me, leaving me alone in the kitchen and wondering where she wants me to sit. I don’t want to screw anything up, so I decide to stand in front of the sink until she comes back.
Reggie and Micah round the corner, and the air literally catches in my chest. She scoots her son in front, places her hands lovingly on his shoulders, and gazes up at me.
“Jordan, this is Micah.” She pauses, swallows slowly, and takes a deep breath.
Do I say hi? Shake his hand? Shit, I have no freaking clue what to do. My heart feels like a caged animal desperate to escape; it’s roaring and tearing at the walls keeping it locked inside. Before I have time to react, Micah tugs on the hem of Reggie’s black shirt. She kneels down wearing a hesitant smile. He leans in close and whispers loud enough for me to hear. “That’s my dad?”
My heart stutters in my chest while I move toward him to introduce myself. Wait…what?
Reggie’s eyes flare wide in surprise, her gaze travels from Micah to me, and I fall back against the counter. I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped breathing. I feel like a fragile leaf shaking in the wind, my entire body hanging onto the counter like it’s the only lifeline available. My son? I need to sit down. I glance over to the kitchen table and make myself stumble to a chair. No one has said anything since that bomb was dropped, and both Reggie and Micah are looking at me like they’re waiting for some kind of reaction. What did Reggie expect? A joyful greeting, hugs all around? Jesus.
I lean over, rake my hands through my hair, and tug on i
t in order to feel grounded. I need to say something. I should say something. But what? What do I say to Reggie? How could she keep something like this from me? How in the world did I end up with a son?
“Micah, honey,” she begins softly. “Can you give me and Jordan a few minutes to talk?”
“Can I play on your iPad?” Micah asks eagerly. I glance to him and feel a tug deep inside my chest. How did the Universe decide I deserved a kid? Not that I can claim he’s completely mine, considering I’ve not been around to help raise him.
“Go ahead and take it to your room, buddy. I’ll come get you in a few minutes.”
“Okay, Mom.”
Reggie pulls a chair from the table and sits down in front of me so our knees are almost touching. I can feel the heat from her body; it’s rolling off her like worried waves, crashing into my legs like unstable, sandy beaches.
“Reggie, I’ve got to say that I’m, well, I don’t know what I am. Angry? Scared shitless? Petrified?” I’m not a crier. But right now my eyes are burning fiercely, and my breath is coming in ragged pants, so much so I can only whisper. “Why would you keep something like this from me?” And tears fall hard and fast down my cheeks.
Down…down…down…
Years of pent up grief and bitterness have collected beneath my stony exterior, making me really good at locking away emotion. Tears. They burn as they slip down my cheeks, each one slicing like hot knives through my flesh, cutting a path straight to my heart.
I thought I had myself under control. That I was ready to hear it all, know it all. But now, things have changed—again, and I don’t know anything anymore. My tears are met with Reggie’s quiet sobs, and that hurts so much more. Knowing I’m the cause of her tears guts me. What am I going to do with this? Us?
“I’m so sorry, Jordan,” Reggie sobs, covering her face with her hands. “I’m sorry I never told you, but I didn’t want to hold you back. You were so talented and deserved the life you always dreamed of.”
“You can’t make that decision for someone else, Reggie. It wasn’t fair.”
“You would’ve stayed.” She sniffs then wipes her damp cheeks with the palms of her hands. “I could never have lived with myself for holding you back.”
“Still, it wasn’t your decision to make. I’ve missed so much, Reggie. I don’t know anything about him, how old he is, when his birthday is. His favorite color, anything.”
Reggie laughs lightly as her entire body trembles. Her jaw shakes as though she’s shivering. My girl is so nervous she’s shaking like a leaf. I push off the chair, fall to my knees, kneeling in front of her. I fit perfectly here, and even on my knees we’re almost eye-to-eye. My arms wrap around her waist as I pull her into my chest. Another sob escapes her rosy lips as her arms tighten around my neck.
“His birthday is on Saturday.” She sniffs against the collar of my shirt, and my heart thuds harder. That’s in five days. “He’s going to be eight.”
I have an eight-year-old son. My fingers glide through my hair and tug. Holy shit. What does an eight-year-old boy like to play with?
“You’re going to have to help me out a bit when it comes to picking out a birthday gift, Reggie-bug,” I say, tilting her chin up to look me in the eye. Yeah, I’m angry, hurt, and also guilty, but no kid deserves to feel unloved like my father made me feel when I was growing up. And when I love his mother like I do, there isn’t going to be much standing in the way of me loving that little boy either.
Chapter 34
Reggie
Jordan’s hand on my chin is warm and comforting, like a hug from someone you’ve missed for a very long time. I don’t know why he’s not screaming at me, or at the very least why he hasn’t stormed out of my apartment. But then he rises a little, pulls my face to his, and his lips are on mine, crushing the guilt and fear. The kiss is his offering of slow and tender forgiveness, and I think I might just crumble to pieces for him to collect and keep in his pocket.
I’m not sure I deserve this kiss, but I’m not going to refuse it either. When he pulls away, I mourn the loss of the warmth. He pulls me to my feet, squeezes my hand, and says, “Let’s go get our boy.”
With his kiss, his touch, and those words, I’m returning to the gelatinous puddle of goo at Jordan’s feet. He’s so much more than I deserve, has so much heart he’s willing to share, and I love him so stinking much.
The mood at dinner is light, relaxed even, so much so I almost forget Jordan’s only known he’s a father for a little over an hour. He’s amazing as he talks with and teases Micah like he’s one of the guys. I can only sit back and smile as they get to know each other, but before long they pull me into a game of “Did You Know?”.
Jordan glances my way, a sexy smirk on his face that turns into a chuckle. “Did you know your momma has the most ticklish feet of anyone I know?” My heart melts even more at his use of the name momma.
“Yeah, even under her arms she’s super ticklish,” Micah answers with a giant grin.
We all go back and forth for another hour before I stand up abruptly and announce it’s time for Micah to get ready for bed. Both Jordan and Micah put on mock pouty faces as I guide my boy out of the kitchen and down the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, I kneel down to talk to him.
“How are you doing, honey?” I ask, brushing the hair off his forehead. He smiles, and then hugs me fiercely around my neck.
“I like him,” Micah says when he releases me from his hug. “Is he really my dad?”
“He is,” I say while I nod and help him with the toothpaste. “Do you really like him?”
“Yeah.” He brushes his teeth quickly, spits out the bubbles, and rinses his mouth. “Can he live with us, Mom?”
My heart swells at his innocence. He’s so quick to accept Jordan; I have to wonder what it will do to him when he learns Jordan won’t be around as a permanent fixture in his life. How do I explain how his daddy is a musician who travels the world performing night after night? Did I do the right thing in bringing them together?
“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves, okay?” I say with a laugh. The last thing we need to do is put any unnecessary pressure on Jordan right now. Micah rushes to his bedroom, changes into pajamas, and then gives me a quick kiss when we return to the kitchen to say goodnight.
“I want Jordan to tuck me in, okay, Mom?” I glance to Jordan and my cheeks burn with embarrassment. He appears to be about as shell-shocked as one would imagine him to be.
“Honey, I don’t know if he—” I say, but Jordan cuts me off.
“I’d love to tuck you in, buddy.” He smiles and shoots me a quick wink. “Show me the way.”
“Night, Mommy,” Micah says, kissing me one more time before he bounds down the hallway to his room.
“I’m sorry,” I say as Jordan snakes his arm over my shoulder and presses his lips to mine. The kiss is quick but firm, and the swipe of his tongue across my bottom lip lights a fire in my belly.
“I figure I’ve got about eight years to make up for,” he whispers against my mouth.
If I wasn’t already in love with Jordan Capshaw, I would have fallen right there. Even though I’d love to watch their exchange while Jordan tucks Micah into bed, I let them have this one moment alone. I don’t know how many opportunities he’ll have to do this after tonight, when he realizes who he is and what his life is like outside his break from touring.
There is no use worrying myself over what’s to come. His leaving is inevitable, so instead of working myself into more tears, I tidy up the kitchen. No matter the outcome tonight, there can’t be any more tears.
“So, you gonna fill me in on how I have an eight-year-old son?” Jordan says from behind me, making me jump against the counter. His tone isn’t sharp or angry, but flat, as though he’s resolved not to show any emotion whatsoever, and that almost hurts more than if he blew up at me for keeping him away from Micah. “Am I really as bad as my father always said I was?” A muscle in his jaw ticks, and I swear it’s at
tached to my chest because just that little bit of worried emotion is enough to crush me. He’s tried so hard his whole life to prove his father wrong, and for him to believe he’s anything like that man is painful to hear.
“Jordan,” I whisper while taking two steps across the kitchen floor to him. He won’t look at me; in fact, he’s staring at a black scuffmark on the tile floor. My hands move of their own accord, settling on his scruffy cheeks, finding strength in the fact that this man in front of me is so much stronger and better than he believes he is.
“You are nothing like your father,” I whisper, urging him to look at me. When he refuses, I pull his face up. “You’re a good man, Jordan Capshaw. You love with your whole heart, and even though I don’t deserve it, you’re offering me forgiveness when you should be screaming at me.”
Finally. Finally his light brown eyes are gazing into mine, and I feel the heat of his stare all the way down to my toes. His arms wrap around me, encapsulating me in a warm embrace. I know I shouldn’t invite him to stay with me tonight, but there’s nothing I want more than to feel him over me, loving me. We still have so much to talk about, but it can wait. Right now, I need to feel his love and show him all he means to me.
“You’ve always held my heart, Jordan.” My hands travel from his cheeks to the back of his neck as I pull him closer. “When I said it had been a long time for me, I meant it. I’ve never been with another man. It’s always been you.” My cheeks burn from my admission, and when his lips meet mine, a moan travels from his mouth at the touch. His hands move from my back down to my butt as he picks me up off the floor and carries me through the apartment to my bedroom. Our lips never part as he opens the door, steps inside, and locks it behind us.
***
Over the next five days, when I’m not working, my focus is on preparing for Micah’s party. Jordan has been a real help in running errands and picking up the gifts I wanted to buy for him. He even picked up something for Micah and won’t tell me what it is. He says he wants it truly to be a surprise.
