Chapter Four
Slade
The old leather of my armchair creaks as I settle deeper into it, feet propped up on the ottoman, the remote forgotten on the side table. It’s just gone five on Monday, and the house has that late-afternoon quiet that usually feels peaceful.
My laptop rests on my thighs while I scroll through listings for correct-period parts, comparing prices and condition photos. The TV is on low in the background, some rerun I’m not really watching.
The front door opens and I assume it’s just Andrew coming home from wherever he disappeared to this morning.
He’s been quiet the last couple of days…
ever since we… well; I can’t even let myself finish the thought.
I’ve been playing it cool, acting like nothing happened, keeping things normal.
What I wasn’t expecting was him cleaning the kitchen without being asked, sitting alone at the table for dinner instead of joining me in the living room, then heading to bed early.
The past two days he’s barely left his room.
I wanted to check on him, but he’s nineteen…
if he wanted to talk, he could’ve come to me.
This morning, he just muttered that he had somewhere to go and slipped out before I could ask.
I don’t look up when he walks into the room. I’m comfortable, focused on the screen, trying to decide between two different sets of original-style wing mirrors.
A girl clears her throat. “You must be Andrew’s dad.”
My eyebrows shoot up.
Andrew chokes on nothing. “Uh… no . He’s not. This is Slade… he was married to my mom.”
I finally lift my head and take in the bizarre new situation standing in my living room.
A young woman with brunette hair cut in a curled bob is smiling way too wide, the expression tipping slightly into creepy territory.
What really registers is the way her arm is looped possessively around Andrew’s waist. He doesn’t look affectionate in return…
just tense, like he’s trying to hold still.
Andrew laughs awkwardly; eyes fixed somewhere on the floor instead of on me. “Slade, this… uh… this is Cici.”
The girl laughs brightly. “It’s Cecelia, but I hate it, so please… call me Cici.”
I nod slowly, waiting.
She beams. “I’m Andrew’s girlfriend.”
I manage a smile that feels more like disbelief than anything else. Girlfriend? “Is this… new?”
Please tell me this is new. Please tell me I didn’t fuck Andrew while his unknowing girlfriend was across town doing whatever girls do.
“Two months,” Andrew supplies quickly, still not meeting my eyes.
I hold back the bitter laugh that wants to escape. “Nice to meet you, Cici.”
She’s still smiling as she makes herself comfortable on the couch across the room, kicking off her shoes and pulling her phone out.
Jesus Christ . I feel like shit now, but how the hell was I supposed to know? Andrew has never once mentioned this girl to me before. Now she suddenly exists, draped all over my living room like she belongs here .
Andrew walks over and perches on the armrest of my chair, which is already weird on its own. “What you looking at?” he asks, voice casual.
Then, with his girlfriend sitting right across the room, he rests his elbow on the back of the armchair and starts playing with the hair at the nape of my neck. His fingers brush lightly through the short strands, casual and intimate in a way that makes my stomach tighten.
I blink, completely thrown. What the fuck is he doing? Does he think the other night meant something deeper? Why the hell is he touching me like this?
I shove his hand off and give him a disgruntled look, eyebrows drawn tight. Andrew looks away, suddenly shy, and holds both hands up in surrender before sliding off the armrest and moving to sit next to Cici on the couch. She immediately drapes her legs across his lap.
I run a hand down my face, the exhaustion and confusion hitting all at once. I can’t sit here and watch this.
Closing the laptop, I push up from the armchair. “I’ll work at the kitchen table,” I mutter, more to myself than to them, and head out of the living room without looking back.
The weight of everything I’m not supposed to be thinking about follows me down the hallway.
…
The rich, dark roast of my coffee hits just right as I take another slow sip, the corners of my mouth lifting into a genuine grin.
I’ve finally found a solid set of wing mirrors for the ’73 Mercedes…
original style, good condition, and the price isn’t completely insane.
I copy the link and fire off a quick email to Larry and Todd, letting them know what I’ve found.
We never pull the trigger on anything without the other two weighing in.
We learned that lesson the hard way years ago when we all spotted what looked like a killer deal on a set of rare wheels and ended up with three identical sets sitting in the garage.
Now we check with each other first, no matter how good the steal looks.
I’m still scrolling through the auction site when Andrew’s voice cuts through the quiet kitchen. “You look happy…”
I glance up from the laptop. Andrew’s standing in the doorway wearing that same soft grey hoodie he’s had for years, and he’s smiling…
actually smiling, a real one. The kind I haven’t seen on his face in years.
It catches me off guard, softens something in my chest I don’t want to examine too closely.
I set the coffee mug down on the table. “Yeah… just working on a new project. You know how I am with classic cars.”
Andrew lets out a small huff of a laugh and nods. “Yeah.”
He crosses the room and pulls out the chair right next to mine, sitting closer than he ever does.
I turn my head to look at him properly, eyebrows drawing together. “What are you doing?”
“I just wanted to… see you,” he says quietly .
“Uh huh…” I focus back on my laptop, dragging the mouse over to another tab, opening up a different potential auction site while trying to keep my tone casual. “And what about Cici?”
Andrew shrugs, eyes dropping to the table. “She’s put a film on she likes. Some Disney thing she’s watched a hundred times.”
I nod slowly. “How old is she?”
“Twenty. She’s a few months older than me. We went to high school together.”
“Oh right…” I keep my voice even. “Well, she seems nice.”
Andrew rests his arms on the table and starts fidgeting with the sleeves of his hoodie, rolling the fabric between his fingers. “Does it bother you?”
“What?”
He hesitates, then says it anyway. “That I have a girlfriend?”
A low laugh escapes me before I can stop it. I drop my voice to a rough whisper, so it doesn’t carry into the living room. “ Of course it bothers me. She seems so innocent and… God … after we…”
I can’t bring myself to say the words out loud. What we did. The memory is still too raw, too close, sitting heavy between us. But Andrew knows exactly what I mean.
“Yeah… I know,” he murmurs .
He pauses, then looks up at me with that shy, uncertain expression that makes my stomach twist. “Do you want me to… break up with her?”
“That’s not up to me, kid,” I answer carefully. “But I know what being cheated on feels like, and it’s not great finding out at all, never mind down the line.”
Andrew nods, taking it in, but then his hand slides over and lands on my thigh, warm and deliberate through my jeans. “But do you want me to break up with her?”
My brain short-circuits for a second. I stare down at his hand, then back up at his face, pulse kicking hard. “Kid, what the fuck are you doing?”
He pulls his hand away quickly and clears his throat, cheeks flushing.
“Drew…” I sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “Please don’t look into what we did. It didn’t mean anything. I was pissed at you and it just… happened. Go spend time with Cici.”
Andrew lets out a quiet sigh, shoulders slumping, then nods once before pushing his chair back and slouching out of the kitchen without another word.
Andrew didn’t really just do that, did he?
Surely , he isn’t expecting anything to come of what happened between us.
People have sex all the time and it doesn’t mean shit…
hookups at clubs, one-night stands, bodies doing what bodies do when the heat gets too high.
But another part of me feels guilty as hell.
The rejection might have hurt him, and I know how Andrew gets with rejection, especially after Lorna walked out.
The last thing I want is for him to feel unwanted or like a waste of space again.
I run both hands down my face, exhaling sharply. Fucking hell.
On one side, the “punishment” actually seemed to work.
These past couple of days Andrew has been behaving…
helping with dinner, keeping the house clean, actually putting his dirty clothes in the laundry basket instead of leaving them scattered everywhere, and not blasting music at disrespectful levels.
On the other hand, I don’t want him spiralling the way he did after his mom left.
I don’t want him feeling like he’s disposable.
But how the hell do I tell him that without giving him the wrong idea?
Because we can never… I can’t believe I’m even thinking it, but we can never be anything.
Imagine the rumours in this small town. Everyone knows he’s my stepson and that Lorna left five years ago.
If word got out that we were involved in any kind of relationship, the gossip mill would tear us both apart. No, absolutely not.
I’ve got my cars. And Andrew, apparently, has Cici.
I stare at the laptop screen without really seeing it, the weight of everything sitting heavy in my chest.
…
The hot water from the shower still clings to my skin as I step out into the hallway, a thick towel wrapped low around my waist and a smaller one draped over my shoulders.
I scrub the towel roughly through my damp hair, water droplets sliding down my chest and back while I head toward my bedroom.
The house is quiet now, the kind of late-evening hush that usually settles in after nine.
I’m just reaching for my bedroom door when Andrew’s door swings open a few feet away. Before I can step inside and close it behind me, his hand shoots out, palm pressing firmly against the wood to stop it from shutting.
I sigh, low and tired. I haven’t spoken to him since that awkward conversation at the kitchen table hours ago, and the silence between us has felt heavier than usual.
Andrew shifts his weight, looking somewhere between nervous and determined. “Can… uh … Cici wants to know if she can stay the night?”
I don’t miss the way his eyes flick down, lingering on my bare, still-wet chest before darting back up to my face. The kid is checking me out while asking if his girlfriend can sleep over. How the fuck…?
“Yeah, I don’t care,” I mutter, keeping my voice even. “Just don’t let me hear any noises .”
I emphasise the word, so he knows exactly what I mean without me having to spell it out… I don’t want to hear him having sex with his girlfriend in the next room.
Andrew’s face goes bright red instantly. He shakes his head quickly, eyes wide. “ No … no, you won’t.”
“Good,” I say flatly.
I shove the door closed with my shoulder, forcing it shut despite his hand still pressed against the wood. The latch clicks firmly into place .
To be honest, I’m not thrilled about Cici staying the night.
I like being able to wake up in the morning, shuffle downstairs in my old robe with my hair sticking up and bare feet on the cold floor, coffee in hand before I have to look presentable for the day.
Having a young woman in the house means I’ll have to act like a civilized adult from the moment I open my eyes.
No scruffy hair, no half-dressed wandering, no grumbling at the toaster.
I toss the towels onto the chair in the corner, pull on a clean pair of boxers, and climb into bed; the sheets are cool against my skin. I switch off the lamp, plunging the room into darkness, and stare up at the ceiling for a long moment. Hopefully I can just sleep.