He rolls his eyes at me. “You only ever say that when you don’t want to explain it. To adults, complicated just means something you don’t want to tell a kid.”
I can’t help but laugh. “Fair enough. You want the adult version, then?”
“For real?” he asks, his eyes bugging out.
“For real. But I warn you, it is complicated.”
“I’m nine, Mom. I’m not a little kid anymore.”
“Mmmm, I see.” I suppress a smirk. “The thing is, I honestly don’t know what is happening with Ryder and me. We like each other and we’re going to go on dates and stuff, but—”
“Are you gonna marry him? If you do, will that make him my dad? Or no, that’ll make him my stepdad. Do I call him stepdad? That’s a lot to say. Can I just call him Ryder?” He breaks off with a sigh. “That is complicated.”
“Nate, slow down.” I laugh. “But yeah, that’s why it’s complicated. I like him, but getting married again is a big deal. And after what happened with Derek, I’m even more scared of making a mistake that will hurt you.”
He frowns. “Mom, Derek was an asshole. I knew he was an asshole the first time you brought him around me.”
“You’re not supposed to talk like that, mister.” I groan. “Why didn’t you say anything?”
“I didn’t know I could—I didn’t know I was supposed to.”
I play with a loose lock of my hair. “It’s not fair of me to put that on you,” I say. “Listen, buddy—I want you to always be honest with me. Always, about everything. But it’s not your job to tell me when I’m dating a—a butthole. I just…” I take a bite of pizza to buy myself time to figure out what else I need to say to my son. “I know Derek was a mistake. He didn’t treat you right, and that should have been my first clue that he was a jerk. I was being selfish, and I’m sorry.”
“I forgive you, Mama.” He brightens. “I like Ryder, though. And not just because he has a cool car.”
“Why else, then, if not for his cool car?”
Which, admittedly, is seriously cool.
He shrugs. “He talked to me. Like a normal person. I mean, I’m a kid and he’s an adult, but he talked to me like I’m just another person. Like you do.” He glances at me, dipping the crescent of his crust into a cup of ranch. “Dad doesn’t talk to me like that.”
“Baby, no one will ever replace your father. I hope you understand that.”
He shifts. “But Mom, I—what if I want someone to?” He looks at me almost fearfully, as if he’s saying something terrible. “I don’t really like Dad. He’s my dad and I love him, but I don’t always…like him. I guess I don’t want someone to replace him, like I’d never see him again, I just…I don’t know.” He sighs deeply. “You’re right—this is really complicated.”
“Nate…my point about Ryder is that I don’t want you to get super attached to Ryder being around and then him and I stop seeing each other and you get hurt.” I take his hand. “I get what you’re saying about your father, though. He can be…difficult, sometimes. There are reasons he and I got divorced, none of which have anything to do with you.”
“Is it because Dad is a slimy poophead?”
I groan. “Nate, you can’t say that about your father. It’s not okay.”
“Fine. But I think I like Ryder better.”
I laugh at that. “Are you trying to barter with me?”
“I don’t know what barter means.”
“It means—never mind what it means.”
“So you’ll talk to Ryder about going paintballing?”
I lean across the table and ruffle his hair. “We’ll see. I’ll talk to him, and that’s all I can promise.”
He grins at me. “We’re totally going paintballing.”
I sigh, because he knows he has me. “Like I said—I’ll talk to him and we’ll see what happens.”
I give up trying to go to sleep a few minutes before midnight. I’ve tossed and turned and counted sheep and my blessings, but blessings end up meaning the number of orgasms I had with Ryder over the weekend, which leaves me worked up and flushed and missing him. I pull my cell phone out of the bedside table drawer, turn off the “do not disturb” mode, and send Ryder a text.
Me: I really had a great time this weekend. Thank you. :-)
Ryder: I’m really glad you came to Billy Bar and called me on my shit. Because thanks to that, I had the most epic and incredible weekend of my life. I’m looking forward to a lot more of them with you.
Me: I’m glad I did, too.
Ryder: I wish I could text you all night, but I have to get up early.
Me: Same. Talk in the morning?
Ryder: For sure. Sleep well.
Me: You too.
Ryder: Don’t text me back, this time! If we’re both trying to get the last word in we’ll never stop texting.
I’m tempted to text him a winking emoji or something just to troll him, but I don’t, simply in the interest of actually getting some sleep tonight.
And so, thus ends the text conversation. I plug my phone back in, put it on “do not disturb,” and drift off, smiling to myself.
Only to be woken what feels like a few minutes later to a soft but insistent knocking on my front door. I moan in annoyance, but squirm out of bed and tug on my robe.
Wondering if it’s Ryder standing on the other side of the door—and hoping it is—I leave the robe untied over my T-shirt and underwear, loosely grasping the edges closed.
“Just couldn’t help yourself, could you?” I say, opening the door.
“No, I couldn’t,” Paul says, as he takes a good look at me. “But it looks as if you were expecting someone else.”
Chapter 9
I yank my robe closed, tie it hurriedly, and close the door to a thin crack. “What the hell are you doing here at this hour, Paul?” I hiss.
“I had to talk to you.”
“It’s one o’clock in the fucking morning, and I told you we’d talk next time I dropped Nate off.”
“That’s in two weeks, and I can’t wait that long.”
I close my eyes and work furiously to batten down my temper. “Well, regardless of what it is you so desperately need to talk to me about, please understand this: you absolutely cannot ever show up at my house unannounced, especially at one o’clock in the goddamn morning.”
“It’s important, Laurel.”
“Are you dying or something?”
He frowns, rearing back as if struck. “What? No!”
“Then it’s not important enough to show up at my front door at one in the morning. Or at my front door ever, regardless of the time.”
He grinds his molars together, a sure sign of his burgeoning temper. “I have every right to insist we talk, Laurel.”
“No, you don’t. I owe you nothing. You owe me, in fact—because you don’t pay me shit for child support or alimony, and instead of reporting that to the court I let it slide because I don’t want or need your money, but have you ever stopped to think about your son and what he needs? God knows you’ve never been able to hold down a job for more than six months...” I realize my voice is rising, and I force my voice back to a whisper. “Go home, Paul. We’ll talk next time I drop Nate off for his visitation.”
“Why are you being so cruel, Laurel?”
I flinch. “Cruel? I’m being cruel? I put up with your unpredictability and jealousy for years, Paul. I did everything I could to take care of you, but it was never enough. Nothing I could ever do would ever be enough for you, and I eventually realized that. We…are…DIVORCED! I am the mother of your child, and that’s it! I am not your friend; I do not owe you anything—and certainly not explanations of where I go, or what I do or with whom. My life is my business, not yours. I don’t know what you do with your life, and frankly, I don’t care, as long you treat our son with love, and protect him when you’re with him.” I sigh, rubbing my face. “I’m not doing this with you right now, Paul. I’m tired, I was just about to fall asleep, a
nd you’re pissing me off. And if you wake Nate up, I swear to god you’ll regret it forever.”
He breathes out slowly. “Just…give me five minutes, Laurel. What I have to say I can say in five minutes.”
“Now? At one a.m.?”
“Yes.”
I tug my robe closed tighter, retie the knot, make sure the front door is unlocked, and step out onto the porch. I put my back to the door and cross my arms. “Okay. I’m listening.”
Paul closes his eyes and lets out a slow breath, relief on his features. “I know I wasn’t always the best husband to you.” He pauses, and I have to stifle the urge to make a nasty retort. “And I don’t think I’ve ever truly apologized for that. So…I’m sorry, Laurel.”
“Apology accepted.” I make to open the door, but he keeps speaking.
“The thing is, us divorcing was, in a weird way, the thing I needed most. It showed me that I…that I was a disaster. That I had problems I’d never resolved, issues I was ignoring.”
I again stifle the urge to snap at him. “I’m glad you’re coming to these realizations, Paul.”
“I’ve actually been seeing someone.”
I blink. “Wow, um. Okay. Good for you.”
He pales, stammers. “NO! Not—I don’t—I didn’t mean like that. I meant as in a therapist. A psychologist.” He searches my face. “It’s been life changing, to be honest.”
I sigh—I can’t stifle that one. “I’m really happy for you, Paul. For real.”
He shakes his head. “Laurel, I don’t think you’re hearing what I’m saying.”
I frown. “You’re finally getting the help you’ve always needed—I’m hearing you, Paul.”
He shakes his head again. “I’m on medication—staying level. I know it’s something I need, and that it’s not something I’ll ever fix, that I’ll always need it.” His eyes turn to mine, sincere, pleading, and my heart thumps, pounds with the realization of where he’s going with this.
“Paul…”
“I’m not—I’m not saying I’m fixed, but…I’m better.”
I count to ten, eyes closed, breath held tight in my lungs. Then, as calmly as I can manage: “Paul…don’t. Please don’t.”
“Don’t what, Laurel?”
I flick a finger between him and myself. “This. What you’re about to do. What you’re doing.”
He hesitates. “Laurel, I…”
“I’m going inside now, Paul,” I say, turning to the door.
“I’m still in love with you.”
I whirl, eyes blazing. “You were never in love with me, Paul! You needed me, but you never gave a shit about what I wanted, or what I needed! You used me every single day of our marriage.” I stab a finger in his direction. “And if you weren’t using me, you were flat-out ignoring me. So, no—sorry, Paul. Not buying it.”
He looks genuinely hurt. “Laurel, come on—”
“No, not another word.” I shake my head. “That has to be the saddest expression of jealousy yet.”
“It’s not jealousy—”
“Go home, Paul.”
“Laurel—”
I hold up a hand. “Go—home. This doesn’t happen again, okay? I’ll get a restraining order, if I have to.”
“Now come on—that’s a little extreme, don’t you think?”
“You’re one to talk about extremes?” I groan in aggravation. “Go home.”
He backs away. “Fine. But I’ll prove it to you. Just wait.”
I rub my palms over my face. “Don’t. Please don’t.”
“Why not? Is it this other guy? You’re in love with him?”
I stare at him balefully, doing my utter damnedest to stay calm. “This is the last time I’m going to say this kindly and calmly, Paul—go home. Leave me alone. Don’t prove anything to me—there’s nothing to prove. Stay out of my life, okay? You’re Nate’s father, and that’s all you will be to me ever again, no matter what you say, no matter what you do, no matter how healthy you become. Anything that was ever between us is long since gone, Paul, and there’s nothing there to revive. So just…don’t. For yourself, if nothing else.”
He just blinks at me. Backs away another step. “You’ll see. I’ll show you.”
“It’s one in the morning and you’re standing on my doorstep professing your love for me—and you expect me to believe you when you say you’re better, that you’re medicating? Don’t you see how this makes that a little hard to believe, even if I wanted to, even if I cared?” I stomp my foot, anger finally slipping through the cracks of my control. “Go…home, Paul. Please.”
He turns away and climbs into his car, drives away, forgetting to turn his headlights on for at least a block. Typical—he’s so lost in his own head that he forgets basic things like buckling up, turning on headlights, all sorts of things, other reasons I worry about leaving Nate with him.
I wait, watching, until he’s out of sight and actually gone before I go back inside. I deadbolt the door and then, in a panic, rush around the house making sure the rest of the doors are locked. And then, finally, I sink down into one of my kitchen chairs, shaking.
A hiccup slips out of me.
Another.
And then the hiccups turn into a sob, and a second. A third.
He’s in love with me? He’s still in love with me? I laugh, and it turns into a sob, too.
He’s going to prove it to me? That sounds…scary. Worrisome. He’s never frightened me before, but…
I can’t breathe. I’m fighting the tears and the anxiety, but it’s a crushing pressure on my chest, in my head.
I stumble into my bedroom, struggling to breathe.
I have no thoughts except one: to seek comfort. And there’s only one place in my life right now that I know where to find it.
I dial the number and hold the phone to my ear, trembling all over.
“H…h’lo? Laurel? Z’at you?” Ryder sounds so sleepy, so disoriented. I feel terrible, now.
“God, Ryder, I’m sorry. I—I didn’t want to call you. I just…”
He’s instantly more awake. “Hey, no. No. It’s fine. I’m here. What’s going on? You sound upset.”
“He—I heard a knock on my door and I—I thought it was you. And it wasn’t—it was Paul. And he was talking crazy, and I just wanted him to leave, and I was worried he’d wake up Nate, and—and then he told me he was still in love with me and how he was going to prove it to me, and I—I—”
“I’ll be there in five minutes.”
“You don’t have to, Ryder. You have to be up early, and it’s so late.”
“Five minutes. Don’t open the door unless you know it’s me.”
“Ryder…” I have to force my lungs to suck in air. “I’m sorry. I just—I can’t breathe.”
“It’s okay—it’s going to be okay. I’ll be there in five minutes.” I hear a motor start. “I’m coming, Laurel. Just breathe.”
“Don’t hang up, Ryder. Please. I’m sorry.”
I hear the motor sound grow fainter as he backs out, and then tires squeal and the motor roars. “I’m not hanging up, Laurel. I’m here. Talk to me.”
“I—I can’t breathe. Paul, he just…he just showed up. He’s never done that before.” I try to breathe, but now that Paul is gone I’m experiencing a delayed reaction. I’m terrified. “I’m sorry I woke you up, I…I didn’t know what else to do.”
I hear his motor roar again, more squealing tires, a downshift and the change in the tone of the engine. “Don’t apologize, Laurel. That’s what I’m here for.” He laughs. “That, and as many orgasms as you can physically tolerate, plus one extra.”
I’m shaking with fear and anxiety, but a small laugh escapes through the tears. “Not tonight, though. Tonight I just need—”
“To be held,” he cuts in. “I know. Tonight, I’ll hold you until you fall asleep.”
I hear him pull into the driveway and shut off his engine, and then the quiet thunk of his door closing. I go to the front door,
and this time I peer out of the peephole to make sure it’s him.
I open the door and before he’s even halfway to it, I throw myself into his arms. “Ryder.”
He wraps me in his arms, easily scooping me up off my feet. I curl my legs around his waist and inhale him, shuddering and shaking. He carries me inside, pausing to deadbolt my front door. My bedroom door is the only one in the short hallway that’s open, so he carries me in there and around to my side of the bed. He sits down, kicks off his shoes, and rotates his legs onto the bed, all without letting go of me. Sliding downward, he props a pillow up behind his head, tucks me against his chest, and cradles me in his big, strong arms.
Immediately, I can breathe again, and he hasn’t said a single word since arriving.
“Ryder,” I breathe again.
“I’m here. I’ve got you. It’s okay.” He’s shirtless, clad in a pair of gym shorts and nothing else.
I snuggle against his warm, bare skin. “You didn’t even put a shirt on?”
He chuckles. “You were upset. I took off without stopping to think about anything. I’m not sure I even grabbed my wallet.” He smooths my hair back. “My only thought was to get here.”
I inhale deeply, hold it, and let it out slowly. “Thank you, Ryder.”
“Hey, what are boyfriends for?”
I tense. I twist my head on his chest to look up at him. “Boyfriend?”
He just grins. “Yep. I figure ‘beau’ is too old-fashioned, ‘lover’ is a little…dramatic, and I’m hoping I’m a lot more than a fuck-buddy.”
I tangle my fingers in his beard. “A lot more.” I touch my lips to his. “Boyfriend. I like that.”
“Me too.”
“And, you know what? I’m not upset anymore.”
“No?”
“Nope. The second you got here and put your arms around me, I was fine.”
“Makes me feel like I have a superpower or something.” He laughs, deepening his voice. “I am…comfort-man!”
I giggle. “You’re such a dork.”
“You know it.”
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