Where We Belong

by K. L. Grayson

  "That's not how I remember it." My head whips around, where I find Harley standing in the doorway, her hip propped against the frame with a small smile playing on her perfect lips. "If I remember correctly, you started crying that your toes were going to fall off and your mom made us go in. So see, it's all your fault."

  "I have a bike," Max interjects, sitting up. "Wanna see it? It's a Cars bike. It even came with a tool kit for when I have to make a pit stop. It's really cool. I'll let you play with it if you want. My mom said she would get me a bell to put on it. Maybe I'll get one for Christmas and then I can ride my bike outside like you did." Harley's eyes dance with amusement as she watches Max talk my ear off. I can't really get a word in edgewise so I follow behind him, nodding my head and oohing and aahing when I feel it's appropriate.

  Harley watches us in the backyard from the kitchen window. Every time I look up and catch her staring, she quickly ducks her chin, averting her gaze. I'm not sure why, but that makes me happy. If I didn't know better, I'd think that she likes seeing me with Max almost as much as I like being with him.

  I'm not sure how much time passes, but it must be getting late because Harley comes into the backyard, ordering Max to get cleaned up for bed. This of course, elicits an eye roll and loud groan from the feisty four-and-a-half year old. Yup, I figured out how old he was. Well, actually he corrected me when I called him a five-year-old.

  "Don't roll your eyes at me, Max. It isn't nice," Harley scolds, rolling her eyes at me when Max isn't looking. I shoot her a quick wink and she smiles in return.

  I can’t help but feel like things are going way too smoothly. Harley is probably waiting for Max to go to bed so that she can try to kick me out of her life again, which I’ve already decided isn’t even an option. I’m here to stay, and there isn’t a damn thing she can do about it. I just pray that she doesn’t fight it too hard, because I’m not sure how much longer I can wait to make her mine.

  "But mo-om, I don't want to go to bed. I want to play with Tyson." She picks him up, tossing him over her shoulder, and he keeps talking into her back. "We played with my tool set, and he put a baseball card in the wheel of my bike so that it sounds like a motorcycle when it goes around. And then we played soccer. I was the goalie and Tyson didn't score one goal. I'm that good, mom!"

  "You are that good," she croons and then turns back toward me. "You can wait in here while I give him a bath, if you want." She looks nervous and I know it took a lot for her to tell me that. "I mean…unless you have to go. That's okay too."

  "I have nowhere else I'd rather be," I reply, ruffling Max's thick hair as I walk by. She smiles and tells me to make myself at home. I pick up the photo album we left sitting on the floor and start thumbing through it, laughing to myself about how excited Max was to show me each and every picture.

  I learned one very important thing about Max tonight—he loves to talk. The kid does not stop talking. I don't even have to say a word, he just talks for me. But it's awesome. He is awesome. I'm not sure if it's normal to instantly connect with a kid that isn’t even yours like that, but it felt…normal. It felt right.

  After a few minutes, Max emerges from the bathroom in Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle pajamas, which I didn’t even know were still around. Growing up, they were one of my favorites. His wet hair is parted and combed perfectly to the side. It definitely looks like a woman fixed it.

  “Come here, Max." I pat the seat next to me on the couch and he jumps up and looks at me. “Have you ever heard of a faux hawk?" I ask.

  His cute little nose crinkles in confusion and he cocks his head to the side, as if actually trying to remember if he’s ever heard of it. “I know what a hawk is!" he answers proudly, his eyes widening with excitement.

  I laugh at his innocence and pull him to stand in front of me. Running my hands through his hair, I start pushing it around and styling it. When I’m done, his hair is pulled together in the center and he has a full-on mohawk going from his forehead to the back of his neck. Christ, this kid has a ton of hair, almost like—

  “Wow. Cool,” he says, gently running his hand along the top of his spikey hair.

  “It won’t stay. It’ll fall when it dries, but next time I’ll bring some gel and we’ll style it for real. Now go have a look at it in the mirror.”

  “Alright! Mom, look!” he yells, running out of the living room. They round the corner at the same time and Max plows right into Harley. He scowls at her and reaches up to make sure his hair is still intact. “Careful, Mom!” he scolds. “Don’t mess up my hawk!”

  “Oh gosh, I would never want to mess up your very manly mohawk,” she says, squatting down to his level, just as he barrels past her to find a mirror. Harley shakes her head and laughs, walking toward the couch. She sits down on the opposite end, and I want nothing more than to pull her down here by me.

  She’s watching me, her face expressionless. Is this that look they say that mothers give? I keep watching her and she keeps watching me. Yup, this must be that look.

  “You gave my son a mohawk." Her face is stone cold, but as I watch her for a few moments, I can see her fighting a grin that is pulling at the side of her mouth.

  “Hell yes, I did! Did you see his hair?” I ask, leaning back against the couch and pointing down the hall at Max. “He looked like a choir boy.”

  She throws her head back and laughs, exposing the length of her neck. Fuck me, everything about her is perfect. All I can think about right now is what I wouldn’t give to feel that silky skin against my lips.

  “There is nothing wrong with a choir boy,” she gasps, trying to stop from laughing. Her eyes smile at me and it’s an incredible feeling. I don’t ever want to go back to the place we were two nights ago.

  “No, there isn’t. But your son has an amazing personality and he needs an amazing hair style to go with it!”

  “Okay. Okay. He can keep the mohawk,” she says as Max comes barreling back into the room. Holy crap, does that kid ever slow down? He’s go, go, go all the time.

  “I love it! Did you see my hair, mom?” he asks, and she nods. “Do you like it? It’s so cool. Andy is going to be so mad that he doesn’t have a hawk! Tyson said he was going to bring gel over next time and do it for real. Can I read you a book before I go to bed?" he asks, looking directly at me. I love how he so easily goes from talking about hair to asking to read a book in the same breath.

  I point a finger at myself in question and he nods. “Do you mean, can I read you a book before bed?"

  “No,” Max replies, staring at me like I’m crazy. Both he and Harley are watching me, and I swear my whole body warms under their gazes. I’ve had such a great time tonight; I really don’t want it to end. “I’m going to read you a book. How about Goodnight, Goodnight, Construction Site?" Max whips around on his heel and takes off for his room, obviously expecting me to follow behind.

  “Really?” I ask, raising my eyebrows in question. “He can read already?" Is that normal?

  “No." She laughs, shaking her head. “I’ve read him that book so many times that he has the words memorized. He knows exactly which words are on which pages and it looks like he’s reading.”

  “Your kid is too smart for his own good,” I say, pointing a finger at her. “He’s going to give you a run for your money. You know that, right?"

  “I know,” she says dramatically, tossing her head back on the couch as I make my way back to Max’s room—which is totally awesome, by the way.

  The far wall from where I walk in is painted with red seams to make it look like a baseball and there is a mural on the south wall, painted to look like a stadium full of people. There is a large St. Louis Cardinal baseball rug in the middle of the room. Surprise, surprise. A small bookshelf sits in the corner and it’s overflowing with sleeved baseball cards, bobble heads, a few signed baseballs, and a replica of a World Series ring…at least I think it’s a replica. I’m going to be shocked if this kid doesn’t end up becoming a baseball player himself so
meday.

  Like Harley said he would, Max ‘reads’ me the entire book from start to finish without missing a word. Whenever he’s done, he shuts the book, tosses it on the floor, and crosses his legs. “Did you like it? It’s my favorite book. My mom bought it for me. She’s my favorite mom, but she’s not very good at playing freeze tag. She told me that you’re her best friend. Are you still her best friend?" This kid can rapid-fire questions quicker than anyone I know. Forget the baseball player, maybe he’ll be a lawyer.

  His face is full of innocence as his oversized chocolate eyes bore into mine, waiting for me to respond. “Yes, your mom and I are still friends," I answer, wondering to myself how much you should tell a four-and-a-half-year-old. He seems to be incredibly perceptive, so I want to be very careful about how I answer him.

  “Why did I never meet you before?” he asks openly.

  “Well…” I stop, trying to come up with the most appropriate answer. I decide to go with the truth. “Did your mom tell you that I’m a doctor?”

  He smiles, nodding enthusiastically. “I want to be a doctor someday, but don’t tell my papa,” he whispers, leaning in to me. “I think he wants me to play baseball.”

  I scoot off his bed and onto the floor, propping my elbow on his bed so that I’m closer to being at his level. “Well, when I was going to school to be a doctor, I decided to go to school in New York. Do you know where New York is?" He nods his head and I continue. “My classes were really tough and New York is so far away that I didn’t come back home as much as I should have.”

  “Why not?”

  Because I was an idiot. I was scared. I was mad. I could literally give a million reasons.

  “I don’t know. A lot of reasons, I guess. But I’m back now and I’m not leaving." I don’t know why I felt the need to tell him that. It’s not like he cares, it just sort of slipped out. “But yes, your mom and I are still friends and I really, really wish I would have come back home sooner so that I could have met you. Because you, my man," I say, reaching out and ruffling his hair as he snuggles down under his blanket, “are a really awesome kid, and I had a blast playing with you tonight.”

  He doesn’t say anything to that, but when I stand up and move toward the door he says, “Good night, Tyson. I’ll see you soon, okay?”

  “Goodnight, Max." I flip off the light and watch in amazement at how fast his eyes start to drift shut.

  It’s mind-blowing. I came here tonight in hopes of talking to Harley and hopefully getting to meet Max. Never in a million years did I think I would end up playing with the kid for two hours and then tucking him into bed.

  I take a deep breath, steeling myself for the conversation that is yet to come. Walking down the hall, I head toward the kitchen where I find Harley standing at the sink, washing dishes. She’s staring mindlessly out an open window and a light breeze flows through, tossing strands of her hair up around her face. She’s an angel, pure and simple.

  A pair of pink cotton shorts showcases her mile-long legs and her bare feet are tapping out a light rhythm on the floor. I know from seeing them earlier that she has her toenails painted hot pink and I find it sexy as hell.

  And there goes my vagina again…it must be getting bigger! Who the hell notices the color of a woman’s toes?

  She’s wearing an oversized t-shirt, and I can’t help but wonder who it belongs to because it’s obviously too big to be a woman’s shirt. The neck of the shirt has fallen down on one side, exposing the length of her neck and the top of her right shoulder.

  She’s perfect. How in the hell did I walk away from this woman? I loved everything about her five years ago, but now…now I appreciate all of those things that I loved. She’s funny and tenacious, but at the same time she can be incredibly quiet and shy. She’s graceful and charming in a classic sort of way, and it’s utterly impossible for anyone who meets her to not fall in love with her.

  And good God, let’s not forget her body. Harley has the kind of curves that are meant to be worshipped for hours on end, which is exactly what I plan to do when she finally gives me a second chance at more than friendship

  I watch quietly as her shoulders rise and fall on a deep breath. She’s such an incredible woman, and the fact that she has raised such a wonderful little boy makes me admire her that much more. My head knows that Harley and I need to talk, but my heart…my heart is screaming at me to go get my girl. Well, five years ago I listened to my head; tonight I'm going to listen to my heart.

  I wait until she's rinsing the soap off of the dishes before I make my way across the kitchen. She doesn't hear me approach, but when I step up behind her, placing my hands on the counter on either side of her, her back stiffens. I stand there for several seconds and then decide that there's no better time than the present.

  I lower my head alongside hers, my front pressed lightly to her back. My cheek is resting next to hers, and even though they aren't touching, I can feel the warmth radiating off of her body. I hate that she's so rigid, but I'm hoping that if I can manage to get out a few things I have to say, she might relax just a little bit.

  "Max is asleep." My words are soft and spoken over her shoulder. "What are the chances that he'll get up?"

  She shakes her head slowly. "He won't." Good. That's what I was hoping for.

  "Well, it appears I was wrong." When my breath fans across her face, I notice her neck break out in goose bumps and I smile to myself, loving the way her body is reacting to me. "It turns out Max isn't your boyfriend."

  A soft laugh slips from her lips and she shakes her head, lowering it. I'm not sure if she's looking down to see the dishes in front of her, or if she's dropping her head at the memory of us fighting the other night at Blue. Either way, at least I made her laugh and I really want to do that some more.

  "I was wrong and I'm sorry." She lifts her head and angles her face slightly to the right. Her eyes flit to mine and she nods, a sad look on her face.

  "I'm sorry too. I should have told you about Max sooner. I was going to, it ju—"

  "Don't. It's okay. You have nothing to apologize for. This was all me. And now it's my turn to talk, okay?" She nods, turning her gaze back to the window.

  "Do you have a boyfriend?"

  She hesitates, making me fear the worst and then answers, putting me out of misery. "No."

  "Do you have any sort of relationship with Max's father?"

  "No," she answers, quieter than before. Thank God!

  "Is Max's father in the picture?" She squeezes her eyes shut and quickly shakes her head. Damnit. I hate to hear that. That stupid prick has no idea what he's missing out on. I make a note to spend some extra time with Max doing 'guy' stuff. And I’m going to circle back around to discuss Max’s father, but right now there are more important things we need to talk about.

  "I'm really sorry to hear that. You've done an amazing job raising him. He's an incredible little boy," I say with as much conviction as I can.

  Harley releases a quick breath and some of the tension drains from her shoulders. I can feel her back soften against my front and I'm thankful that I'm making some progress. This is good.

  "Avery and I are not together." Harley doesn't say a word. I can feel her back rise and fall against my front, her breathing steady and even, but other than that, she doesn't move an inch. I can tell she wants to believe me, but she's not convinced.

  "I can't look at anyone else, because all I see is you." Her eyes close and I can feel her relax into me. "I've thought about you every day, Harley, and I should have never walked away from you five years ago. I don't want Avery; I don't want any other woman. I just want you. I. Want. You," I whisper, my words spoken directly into her ear. When I see a single tear slide out of the corner of her eye, I lower my head a little more, lightly brushing my nose against the side of her cheek.

  "I made the biggest mistake of my life when I walked away from you that night. I may be an idiot, but I learn from my mistakes and if you give me another chance, I swear to
you…I swear, I will never walk away from you again." Tears are now streaming down her face—I just pray that they’re happy tears.

  "You need to know that I was not rejecting you the other night. I thought you had a boyfriend and I was trying to do the right thing, but I need you to know that pulling away from you was so fucking hard, Harley." She's breathing faster and her hands are gripping the counter so tightly that her knuckles are turning white. "Do you believe me?" I whisper, gently prying her hands off the counter. I hate asking her that, but I need to know if my words are getting through to her.

  "Yes," she whispers, her voice cracking. She wipes the tears from her eyes and turns in front of me. I don't move. I like having her close, caged in my arms.

  She stares at my chest, and I can tell by the expression on her face that she's trying to figure out what she wants to say. I keep quiet because I really want us to be on the same page…but I need her to get there on her own.

  She lifts her face and the softness in her eyes cracks my heart wide open."You're sorry?" she asks timidly, her eyes wide with hope.

  "More than I could ever tell you."

  "And you aren't with Avery?"

  "Never. Avery who?" I answer, pulling a small smile from her lips.

  She looks at my chest again, trying to find her words. Releasing my grip on the counter, I wrap my hands around her neck, my thumbs caressing the sides of her jaw. At first she looks startled, but then her body relaxes and she catches me off-guard when she grips the bottom of my shirt, fisting it in her hands.