CHAPTER THREE
HONEY
“You boys are in big trouble.” I maneuver my wayward sons towards the front door. I don’t know what these hooligans were thinking. They know better.
Tommy looks over his shoulder and frowns. “What for?”
I arch a scolding brow. “What are the rules, Tommy?”
His little shoulders deflate, and he says in a defeated voice, “We’re not supposed to talk to strangers.”
“He’s not a stranger, mommy. He lives next door, and his name is Dread,” Jackson quickly adds, jumping in to defend his big brother. I swear on all that’s holy, sometimes I feel like I’m wasting my breath telling my fearless boys how scary the world can be.
I shake my head. “Next door or not, he’s still a stranger.
And you can’t just wander into someone’s garage without letting me know first,” I explain, herding them inside.
The door creaks loudly on its hinges as I close it behind us.
Sighing, I add a mental note to the laundry list of things that need fixing around this place.
Jackson scrunches his nose. “But he has a motorcycle!” He acts like that explains everything. “A super cool one!”
“And he let me help him,” Tommy adds, a hint of pride breaking through his usual serious demeanor. “With a real wrench.”
I lift my eyes to the heavens, a smile tugging at my lips. Lord, give me strength.
Looking back at my boys, I try to maintain my stern mom face because, seriously, stranger danger and alla’ that. “That doesn’t mean you can disappear without telling me where you’re going. I was worried sick.”
Tommy scuffs his sneaker against the worn floorboards. “Sorry, Mom.”
“Yeah, sorry, Mommy,” Jackson echoes, though I see right through him. He’s not sorry in the slightest. He’s probably thinking about the neighbor and how cool his motorcycle is.
I sigh. Being a boy mom is a tough job. Being a woman who hasn’t been with a man in over six years is even harder.
My mind does its own wandering back to the hottie next door. Those green eyes, the tattoos covering his muscular arms, the way his t-shirt stretched across his broad chest...
Stop it, Honey.
The last thing I need to do is start fantasizing about a biker who probably has women lining up around the block.
“I’ve got half the boxes inside, but the rest will have to wait until tomorrow.” I run a hand through my hair, exhaustion settling deep in my bones. “Tommy, head to the shower. There’s a towel in there for you already.”
Tommy nods and shuffles off toward the bathroom.
“Come on, Jackson. Let’s get your bed ready.” I take my youngest’s hand and lead him to what will be the boys’ bedroom.
It’s a small space with the same beige walls as the rest of the house, but at least it has a window with a view of the backyard. A few boxes labeled BOYS’ ROOM are stacked in the corner.
I pull the air mattress from one of the boxes and start unfolding it in the middle of the floor. “We’ll get real beds soon, I promise.”
“I don’t mind,” Jackson says, watching as I plug in the electric pump. “It’s like camping!”
His ability to find joy in even the most difficult situations never fails to warm my heart. “You’re right. It is like camping.”
The pump whirs to life, slowly inflating the mattress. Jackson bounces on his toes beside me, still buzzing with excitement from meeting our neighbor.
“Is Dread a real name?” he asks, his head tilted curiously.
“I don’t think so, sweetie. It’s probably a nickname.”
“Why would someone want to be called Dread? Isn’t dread bad?”
I chuckle. “I think it’s supposed to sound tough.”
“He looked tough,” Jackson agrees, his eyes big. “But he was nice.”
My phone rings in my pocket, cutting off Jackson’s chatter. I pull it out and feel my stomach drop when I see the name on the caller ID.
Erik.
Just great.
Taking a deep breath, I answer. “Hello?”
“Hey, babe.” I grit my teeth, an immediate wave of irritation rushing through me.
God! I freaking hate when he calls me that.
“What do you want, Erik?” I keep my voice even, fully aware that Jackson is watching me.
“Just checking in to make sure we’re still on for tomorrow. I’m picking up my boys at ten.”
My boys. As if. He’s been absent most of their life. He’s like a revolving door. Only comes around when it’s convenient for him.
I glance at Jackson, who’s poking at the air mattress. “Actually, I was wondering if that’s such a good idea. You haven’t seen them in over a year.”
There’s a pause, and I can feel him gearing up for a fight.
“They’re my kids too, Honey,” he growls. “Or did you forget that part?”
My hands curl into fists. He certainly seems to forget it most of the time.
“I haven’t forgotten anything,” I reply calmly for my son’s sake. “I just think maybe we should ease into it. Maybe start with lunch or something.”
“There’s a court order, remember?” The threat in his voice is clear. “I get them one weekend a month.”
A lot of good that court order did in enforcing the child support he’s supposed to pay. It’s been years since he’s given me a single penny, despite the judge’s orders.
“I know what the order says,” I breathe through my annoyance. “But Jackson’s diabetes requires—”
“Jesus Christ, Honey,” he cuts me off. “I know how to take care of my own son.”
“No, Erik!” I finally snap. “You don’t.” He doesn’t know the first thing about managing Jackson’s blood sugar or what to do if he has an episode.
“You don’t want to piss me off, Honey.”
I swallow all the things I want to hurl back at him.
“Fine,” I concede. “But I really don’t think an overnight is a good idea yet. Not until Jackson is comfortable with—”
“Have my kids ready by ten tomorrow,” he interrupts again. “I’ll have them back Sunday evening.”
“Erik—”
The line goes dead. I pull the phone away from my ear and stare down at the blank screen.
That asshole hung up on me.
I stare at my phone, fury bubbling inside me. Eight years, and he still knows exactly how to push my freaking buttons.
“Why do you look mad, Mommy?”
I glance up at Jackson. His little face is scrunched with concern.
Forcing a smile, I reach out and ruffle his hair. “I’m not mad, sweetie. Just tired from all the moving.”
“Was that Daddy?” he asks, eyes bright with hope.
My heart squeezes. “Yes. Actually, he’s coming to pick you and Tommy up tomorrow for the weekend.”
Jackson’s eyes widen. “Really? Daddy’s coming here?”
I nod, trying to match his enthusiasm. “Yep. So we need to pack a bag for you and your brother.”
Tommy appears in the doorway, hair wet from his shower, wearing his favorite Spider-Man pajamas. “Who’s coming here?”
“Dad,” Jackson blurts out. “We get to go for the whole weekend!”
Tommy frowns, not sharing the same excitement as his little brother. At eight, he remembers more about his father’s broken promises than his little brother does.
“He won’t come, Jackson.” Tommy sighs. “He never does.
I drop the fake smile. “I think he’s coming this time, baby.”
Tommy doesn’t look convinced, but he doesn’t argue. “Whatever.”
God, I hate Erik for being so damn unreliable. After years of being let down, Tommy doesn’t trust him anymore.
No eight-year-old should be this jaded.
“Jackson, it’s your turn for a shower, mister.” I give his shoulder a little push towards the door.
“Aww!” he groans dramatically, flopping backwards onto the half-inflated mattress. “Do I have to?”
“Yes, you do.” I plant my hands on my hips and give him my best mom look. “You’re a stinky little pig, and Santa won’t bring you presents next week if you smell bad.”
Jackson giggles, rolling off the mattress. “I’m not a pig!”
“Could’ve fooled me.” I tap his nose playfully. “I can practically see the mud behind your ears.”
He giggles again and runs his hands over his ears. “There’s no mud!”
I shrug my shoulders. “I guess you’d better get in that shower and make sure.”
With a dramatic sigh, Jackson trudges toward the bathroom. “Fine.”
Tommy watches his brother go, then turns to me. “Dad’s not good with Jackson’s diabetes.”
I blow out a heavy breath. This is one of the hard parts of co-parenting.
As much as I agree with Tommy, I refuse to say anything bad about his father in front of him.
He doesn’t deserve that. “There’s nothing for you to worry about, sweetie.
I’m going to make sure he has all the supplies and instructions.
And you’ll be there to help, too, right? ”
Tommy nods solemnly, taking his role as big brother so seriously that it makes me want to cry. “I won’t let anything bad happen to him.”
“I know you won’t.” I pull him into a hug, pressing a kiss to the top of his head. “You’re the best big brother ever.”
He hugs me back tightly, then pulls away with a yawn. “I’m tired.”
“Let me get these covers on this thing, and then you and Bubby can get into bed.”
Staring up at the ceiling in my own room for the first time in years, I listen to the house creak and settle around me. Through the thin walls, I can hear the soft sounds of my boys’ breathing as they sleep.
Despite how exhausted I am from working all day and then hauling moving boxes into the house, sleep feels a million miles away.
My mind keeps circling back to Erik’s call and all the ways things could go wrong.
He doesn’t know about Jackson’s new insulin regimen. He doesn’t know that Tommy has nightmares sometimes. He doesn’t know anything about our son’s lives because he’s never bothered to be part of them.
Sighing, my thoughts drift to the man next door.
Dread.
What kind of name is that, anyway? It should be intimidating, and he certainly looks the part with all those tattoos covering his muscular arms. I bite my lip, remembering the way his biceps flexed when he was working on his motorcycle.
The man is built like a brick house—solid chest, broad shoulders, powerful thighs in those worn jeans.
And his face... damn.
Those green eyes, the color of sea glass, rimmed with impossibly long dark lashes. And that strong jaw with just the right amount of scruff that would feel so good between my—
Down girl.
I fan my heated cheeks.
A biker with a body like that and a face to match? He probably has women throwing themselves at him left and right.
I roll over, punching my pillow into a more comfortable shape. What am I even doing thinking about him like this? I’m a single mom with two kids and more baggage than a 747. The last thing I need is to be fantasizing about my hot neighbor.
I haven’t been living under a rock. I know all about the Jacksonville Saints. Everyone in Jacksonville does their damnedest to stay out of their way.
We moved out of the projects to get away from all the crime. Now here we are living next door to a criminal.
I bite my lip. Is that the kind of man I want around my boys?
But he was so patient with them. Tommy said he let him help with whatever it was on the bike. And Jackson said he was nice, which is Jackson speak for he didn’t get aggravated when my boy asked a million questions. Most people don’t have the patience for Jackson’s curiosity.
Biting my lip again, I remember the heat in his eyes when he looked at me. It’s been so long since a man looked at me like that.
I feel the ache between my legs.
Six years is a long time to go without a man’s touch.
As sleep finally starts to pull me under, I can’t help but wonder what those big, strong hands would feel like on my skin.
What that sexy mouth would taste like against mine.
I close my eyes with a smile on my face.
Living next door to Dread might not be so bad after all.