* * *
HE WAS DEFEATED, BUT IT WASN’T IN GRAY TO GIVE UP ON HIS SON. He climbed in his car, started up the engine, and followed. Of course, Rafe was nowhere in sight, so Gray chose option one on the list of places he would have gone: home.
He had to admire the way Lola had gotten her point across. She hadn’t gotten angry; she’d praised Rafe. She hadn’t shouted; she’d simply sounded amazed and appreciative. The result was shaming his son in a way she could never have accomplished with anger. And Rafe deserved shaming without a doubt. He could only hope his son learned something from her method.
The Subaru was in Bettina’s driveway, the hood still warm as he passed his hand across it on the way to the front path.
He knocked. Bettina opened the door. “What on earth did you do to him this time?” Frown lines slashed her forehead.
“I’d like to talk to him,” he said politely. He didn’t want a boxing match with her as well as Rafe.
“Well, he’s up in his room and he doesn’t want to see you.” She barred his way, arms folded, defensive. Her hair was perfect, her blouse ironed, everything about her crisp, even her walking shorts.
He closed his eyes for one second and breathed deeply. “Bettina, I still pay the mortgage on this house, and I don’t need permission to speak with my son.”
Wrong thing to say. She drew her mouth into an ugly purse, lines marring her upper lip. “You don’t have any rights here. You gave them up when you abandoned us.”
He wanted to laugh; she was so good at rewriting history. But he was interested in Rafe, not Bettina’s never-ending grievances. “We have an issue with our son, so I would appreciate coming inside to discuss it.”
Bettina hated it when he got reasonable. “What issue?” she snapped, not opening the door even an inch wider.
“Bettina,” he said calmly, “you don’t want to air our dirty laundry out on the porch, do you?”
She hated his equanimity, but she hated publicly airing her quarrels with her ex-husband even more. She stepped back and let him in, but no farther than the high-ceilinged front entry.
It was a two-story house, living room on the right, dining room on the left, a hall leading back to the kitchen and family room, and the stairs to the second level straight ahead. Rafe’s room was directly across the landing, his door open. Anything said down in the hall could certainly be overheard.
Gray stated things flatly without embellishment or emotion. “Rafe has admitted sending harassing messages to the aunt of two of the boys on our football team.”
She scowled. “He wouldn’t do anything like that.”
“I just told you,” he said evenly, rationally, maintaining composure. “He admitted it.”
“Well, he must have had a good reason.”
Gray put steel into his voice. “There’s never a good reason for harassing anyone. There’s always a better solution for addressing any problem.”
“Well.” She tossed her hair, gave a slight shrug of her shoulders. “I want to hear his side.”
“Fine. By all means”—he thrust a hand out in the direction of the upstairs landing—“call him down.”
Bettina didn’t. “Who was she?”
He’d already told her. “She’s the aunt of two of the boys on my team.”
“So this is the little floozy you’ve been screwing?”
Gray didn’t say anything because if he let one word out, all the rest would come. And getting angry with her wouldn’t help Rafe.
Bettina went on as if he’d spoken. “Rafe told me all about her. All those heated looks”—she rolled her eyes—“you and this woman have been giving each other out on the football field whenever she picks up her brats.”
He glanced to the head of the stairs and Rafe’s open door. Were those his words? Or Bettina’s?
“I’m appalled at the way you’ve exposed our son to your rampant sexual activity.”
This was her usual modus operandi, put him on the defensive, make him start explaining. And the original point was dead, buried, and forgotten.
Not this time. “My private life isn’t the topic of discussion. We need to come to some resolution on Rafe’s behavior.”
Two steps closer, Bettina stuck her finger in the center of his chest. “Your private life is exactly why he did what he did. You leave your cell phone around where he can see whatever filthy texts you’re sending to your paramours.”
“He had to push several keys on my cell phone to get to any messages I might have sent.” Dammit, she was making him explain, diverting him.
“He told me about them. All your filthy language, your degradation of women. I won’t have him exposed to that.” She stabbed his chest for emphasis, and it was all he could do not to shove her.
He had never understood her anger. She didn’t want sex, but she sure as hell didn’t want him to have it with anyone else either.
“Bettina.” He struggled for that equanimity she hated, and his hesitation allowed her another volley.
“I don’t blame him for sending a few nasty texts and emails to the little harlot. I’m sure she must have deserved everything he said in that letter.”
It was still in his pocket. The letter had been the worst, seeing Rafe’s threatening words in black and white.
“I’m not going to punish him for something that’s your fault,” Bettina said. “She should have to pay for putting my son through this. You should both pay.” Another stab for emphasis.
But Gray didn’t feel the hard jab. He was listening to her, hearing her, absorbing her words. “I didn’t mention a letter.”
She dropped her hand down to her side. Opened her mouth, closed it, then finally said, “Of course, you did. You said he was sending this slut of yours messages and letters.”
“I only mentioned messages.”
She shook her head and huffed out an exaggerated breath. “Whatever. You said messages, I thought letter. Who cares?”
“And I never said what was in the messages.”
She pursed her lips, but she was no longer meeting his eyes. “Isn’t it obvious? I just made an assumption.” She backed up a step.
Gray reclaimed the step. “I have the letter in my pocket. And Rafe says he didn’t send it.”
“What does that matter?” she snapped, her voice rising. “What matters is that you have reduced your son to harassing your little whores and sluts because he’s dying for your attention. And all you’ve ever done is ignore him. I find that to be a perfectly reasonable explanation, and I won’t punish him for standing up for me.”
“For you?” he asked very softly.
“For himself,” she stressed.
“Mom.” Rafe stood at the top of the stairs.
They both glanced up, then Bettina dashed to the bottom of the stairs. “I’m not mad at you, sweetie. I understand completely.”
“I didn’t send that letter.”
“It doesn’t matter,” she said, hanging on to the banister.
“Yes, it does.” Rafe covered three stairs and stopped. “Dad’s right. What I did was wrong. I shouldn’t have told you about Lola Cook or looked at Dad’s cell phone.”
Gray watched the exchange, then he asked, “Did your mother ask you to check out my phone?”
Rafe didn’t answer. He wouldn’t take that final step and desert his mother for his father. He wouldn’t blame her. He’d stood by her, loved her, and protected her for five years, all the things he believed she needed. But Gray knew it was true in the way Bettina bit her lip waiting for Rafe’s next word. And in the way Rafe looked at her, a sadness in his eyes that was far too deep for a boy his age.
“I know I didn’t send that letter, Mom,” he said gently, just a slight change in the wording but such a big shift in the meaning.
Bettina couldn’t seem to open her mouth, her knuckles white with her grip on the banister.
Gray answered for her. “I know you didn’t, Rafe. And your mother knows it, too. Do you think you and I can go
somewhere and talk about this, son? Clear the air. Decide between us where we go from here?”
Rafe swallowed, his gaze on Bettina. Then his son gave Gray the words he’d been waiting more than five years to hear. “Yeah, Dad. Let’s go somewhere and talk.”
Out on the porch, he put his arm around Rafe’s shoulder for a brief moment before they headed down the path, leaving Bettina standing in the open door.
She hadn’t admitted a thing. She would never admit she’d sent that letter. She would never own up to manipulating Rafe. It was a fine line to walk now. Gray had to resolve his relationship with his son, try to undo the damage Bettina had done, give him guidance, divert his path from the one his mother had started him down. Gray couldn’t do all that by bashing her in front of him. But there was one more thing that needed to be said, without their son listening.
“Why don’t you get in the car, Rafe? I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Dad—” Rafe started.
“Don’t worry. I won’t be long.”
Rafe nodded, accepting, and jogged the last few steps to the driveway.
Gray returned to the front porch and his ex-wife.
“Don’t you start in on me,” Bettina said.
He didn’t give her a chance to say more. “Don’t butt into my life again, Bettina. And don’t use Rafe to get to me.”
“Is that a threat?” She glared at him, but he detected a tremor in her hands that she tried to cover by crossing her arms beneath her breasts.
“All I’m telling you is that he’s figured out you manipulated him, and if you keep it up, you’ll lose him.”
“And I’m sure that’s exactly what you want,” she snapped. “For him to hate me.”
“That’s where you’re wrong. I want what’s best for our son. He loves you. I don’t want to see him have to choose. But if that’s what you want, just keep on doing exactly what you’ve been doing.”
That was all he’d come back to say. Maybe it was a threat. Maybe it was just a warning. He didn’t know if Bettina would listen. He only cared for Rafe’s sake, because the boy still loved his mom. Having said his piece, Gray ended the discussion by turning away from her, his stride eating up the walkway back to his car.
Now it was time to fix his own issues with Rafe. In a very big way, it was Lola who had given him this chance. He wasn’t going to blow it.
27
GRAY HADN’T CALLED. HE HADN’T TEXTED. LOLA REALIZED HE wasn’t going to. She’d told him this morning that she shouldn’t be in the middle, essentially that she didn’t want to be. He’d taken her at her word.
The computer screen was a blur, the words swimming in front of her eyes. She’d been sitting here all afternoon, and honestly, she couldn’t remember changing a single word. She was close to being done, almost there. The only thing left was the troubleshooting section, which she’d take care of on Monday. The goal was within her reach, but somehow she just didn’t care.
An instant message popped up on the screen. George. Working on a Sunday. A dedicated guy. What had he said to her in the cafeteria? That he didn’t care what other people thought, he was happy with who he was.
She liked her career, she was proud of her work, but somehow she couldn’t say those same words. She didn’t want to have to change to make a man happy, but she wasn’t so sure she wanted to be alone anymore either. Gray had changed her.
Configuration, section B, George wrote. Big boo-boo, Lola.
A week ago, even yesterday, her stomach would have dropped as low as it could go. Now, the big boo-boo was just another thing to deal with. She scanned the cited section and couldn’t find the error. About to type back a more specific question, she suddenly saw it. She’d typed do instead of don’t, but the eye saw what it expected to see and she’d glossed over the mistake. One little word was a big error in the scheme of things, but just a tap-tap on the keyboard, and it was fixed.
She thanked George for saving her butt. Then she stared at the computer screen. For a long time. Until the monitor went dark. Her reflected face stared back at her. The lips moved.
Do you really want to be alone, Lola? Are you sure you want to let this one walk away?
Of course it was her imagination.
You reject men before they can reject you. Charlotte’s words of wisdom.
But this time it wasn’t her choice, not really. She’d had to do what was right.
Aren’t you just protecting yourself like you always have?
She was really starting to hate that reflection.
He’s not like Mike. He’s not trying to make you into someone acceptable to his code. He thinks you’re perfect the way you are.
Thank God, she was saved from answering her reflected self as the walls began to shake and the monitor wobbled with a magnitude seven on the Richter scale, which could only mean two teenage boys were headed her way. Ghost shot down behind the desk to hide. A moment later, Harry and William crashed through her office door, fighting for who would be first.
Harry won. “Aunt Lola, can we go to the mall?”
It was four o’clock in the afternoon. She generally prepared dinner between five-thirty and six. That wasn’t much time at the mall. “Fine,” she said. “Whatever.”
“Will you drive us?” William asked.
“And we’ll have dinner in the food court so you don’t have to fix anything,” Harry sweetened the pot.
“It’s a win-win,” William declared.
“You can have the whole evening to do whatever you want without us bugging you.” Harry beamed at her.
They’d been good all afternoon, taken a walk to get some much-needed fresh air and exercise. They’d powered through their online driving lessons. They’d even made her a sandwich for lunch. And cleaned up afterward. They were really trying to make it up to her. Maybe she could give them this one little thing.
“All right,” she said, slapping her hands on her knees.
They hooted and did little dances around the room.
She narrowed her eyes on them. They were laying it on too thick again, a dead giveaway. “What have you two got planned?”
“Nothing,” Harry said with singular innocence.
William nodded agreement. “We were just bored.”
“We’ll probably see a movie,” Harry explained.
She could be suspicious until they were old and gray and had gone home to their mother. Or she could take them at their word when they said their devious ways were over.
Lola gave them the benefit of the doubt, and fifteen minutes later they were tumbling out of her car at the mall. “What time is the movie?” she called.
They raced to the ticket window, jostling each other to read the schedule, then dashed back. “It’s a seven-thirty showing and lets out about nine-thirty.”
“Then I’ll be right here at nine-thirty.”
“We could call you.”
“No, I’ll be here.” She wanted a time limit so she didn’t have to hang out all night.
“Okay,” Harry agreed, and a broad smile darn near split his face in half. “Have a good time, Aunt Lola.” Then they were off again, this time heading to the mall entrance, playing with their phones, texting or something. Kids always had fingers to the phones. In a few years, everyone would start complaining about carpal tunnel thumbs.
She turned down a parking aisle, intending to circle back around and out to the traffic light. The cell phone chirped with a text message. Her heart skipped a beat and her skin was suddenly warm.
Pulling into a vacant spot, she grabbed the phone. Gray’s number flashed like a neon sign. She hit the button to view his message.
U need punishment. U walked out without explanation. B here in 5 mins or U won’t sit down 4 a week instead of a day.
She couldn’t breathe. They weren’t done yet. He wasn’t done. She’d have more time with him. Enough time to find the courage to tell him that she didn’t want to be alone anymore.
She drove very slowly and made
sure she was at least fifteen minutes instead of the five he’d dictated. She would definitely deserve a nice long punishment for that.
* * *
LOLA RANG HIS DOORBELL, HER NERVES JITTERING. WHAT HAD happened with his son after she left? Did they talk, work it all out? Or were they still at odds, even further apart than when she’d first opened her mouth?
The door opened with a jerk, and her heart did a somersault in her chest. He looked good enough to make a girl cry, the shadow of beard on his jaw, compelling deep brown eyes mesmerizing her, black jeans and black shirt hugging all that perfect masculinity. Or maybe she was just biased.
Nah. He was perfect in every way.
But she knew from that dark look in his eyes that she wasn’t getting any of her questions answered.
“You’re already ten minutes late. Are you going to make it worse by standing out there on the doorstep?” His voice was low and mildly harsh.
“No, Coach. I’m coming in.” Yes, please, she wanted in. She didn’t want to be alone.
The door closed behind her with a loud click. And he was glaring.
Through the living room archway she saw her naughty chair in her very naughty corner. And Lola got wet. “Where do you want me, Coach?” He could have her anywhere.
“When do you have to pick the boys up?”
How did he know she’d taken them somewhere? Best not to question him in his present mood. “Nine-thirty at the mall theater.”
He looked pointedly at the chair. Then down the hall. And finally back at her. “That gives us five hours.”
Yes, it most certainly did. She was wet, and her blood was rushing through her veins, her skin jumping. Her mouth watered for a taste of him. “Five hours for what?” she ventured.
“For what I have planned.” He pointed down the hall. “That way.” Then he smacked her bottom when she didn’t move fast enough.
Lola squealed and skipped ahead, stopping at the end of the hall.
“My bedroom.”
She’d only peeked but had never been invited into his inner sanctum. It was a master suite, with opaque glass double doors, hardwood floor, manly mahogany furniture, and that massive king-size bed.
The Naughty Corner Page 24
