Chapter 30
CHAPTER 30
Tagger
The air in the apartment has changed. It’s stagnant, losing the life it carried when Pris was here. I miss her. Plain and simple.
She made the bed, but I lie on it, messing it up all over again by bunching the covers with the pillow she slept on and burying my face to smell if her scent remains. It does. The sweetest cotton candy and the lightest of florals. That’s my girl.
I roll over onto the remote and grin as I pull it out from under my back. It’s still funny that she mistakenly thought it was the TV remote. Not so much being blinded by the morning light, though. I find so many little things about her fucking adorable, so this one gets added to the list.
Setting it on the nightstand, I get up, ready to go pick up Beckett from his mom’s. We have a little daylight left to go to the park if he’s up for it. When is he not? I don’t think he gets there much during his weeks with Anna, so we make up for it when he’s with me. Of course, he could be playing us both. I wouldn’t put it past him. He’s a lot like his dad was around that same age.
A great weekend with my girlfriend has me grinning as I lock up the apartment. It’s only made better that it leads into time with my son this week. I’m winning in this game of life.
The car pulls up in front of Anna’s place. “Thanks.” I get out and take the steps by two before ringing the doorbell. The heavy wooden door swings open like it’s light as air, the breeze floating against my ex’s hair and gusting the loose dress behind her. In a flurry, Anna waves me in. “Come in. Come in. We’re running behind.” She leans against the railing with one foot in the air behind her, and calls upstairs, “Beckett, your dad is here.”
She shuts the door behind me, then returns to the stairs to rest her hands on the top of the spindle. Smiling like we’re old friends is the dead giveaway that she’s up to something.
“What?” I ask, smart enough to learn from past mistakes. We may have settled the custody battle, but that doesn’t make us best friends.
“What?” she retorts, genuinely perplexed by the confusion written in her features. “I’m just being social. Can’t I be friendly without an accusation accompanying it?”
Not judging by our history, but maybe she’s changed. She huffs in annoyance. “I wanted to share that I got offered a promotion.”
Although this is none of my business, I know she works hard. It’s paid off in her success. “Congratulations. I’m sure it’s well-deserved.”
“In Paris.”
My heart halts in my chest. My breathing stalls in my throat. I don’t respond quick enough for her, so she adds, “Marcel thinks this is it. If I don’t take it, I’ll never be offered another.”
Staring at her, I cinch my brow together. “Who’s Marcel?”
“The gentleman I’ve been seeing.” Her expression portrays calm, but I can see her searching my eyes for a reaction. “It’s . . .” She looks at the floor between us as if the words are there before her eyes return to me. “Serious.”
Serious? Her dating life is of no interest to me. Her boyfriends being involved in our son’s life is, though. “Beckett hasn’t mentioned him.”
“He hasn’t met him,” she replies casually.
“How is it serious if your son hasn’t met him?”
She takes a breath and glances up the stairs. “I didn’t know it was serious, and then it was.”
The puzzle pieces come together. “So this Marcel is French?”
“He is and lives in Paris, where the company is headquartered.”
“So this promotion?—”
“Came without his influence though I know that’s what you thought. He does make the offer more intriguing. And the money would be hard to turn down.” She toes the floor with her flat dress shoe. I’ve never seen her . . . softer .
But my chest tightens when it becomes clear what she’s really saying. “You want to take Beck to live in Paris?”
“I don’t know what I want. It’s all happening very quickly, but they’ve given me time to think about it.”
“This isn’t a decision you make alone.”
“I’m well aware of that, so I’ll keep you updated on how things progress or don’t.” She’s allowed to have job offers, promotions, hell, to even move if she wants. But locally, where I can still see my son per our agreement. “Things are so complicated. I’m sure nothing will come of it.”
“Something to drink?” She turns to weave through the living room of the brownstone and into the back where the kitchen is located.
“No. Thanks.” He’s taking too long, so I glance up the stairs. “Hey, Beck? Come on, buddy.”
She returns with two glasses of cold water and hands one to me. “Do you have any plans for the week?” she asks like we didn’t just have a conversation that might rip my kid away from me, making small talk like we do it all the time. Beck is supposed to be ready so we don’t have to speak at all.
“No big plans. The park today?—”
“Keep him off the merry-go-round.” The park always sets her off. It’s like she never had fun as a kid. “Remember how he almost fractured his elbow.”
“I remember how he didn’t fracture his elbow.” She hates being challenged, but a chance of breaking a bone is not the same as breaking a bone. I don’t want him living secured in bubble wrap. I let him play but am right there to keep him safe when needed.
“Funny,” she replies, not laughing at all and smoothing her hair along the side of her head. “It was a close call.” She sips her water like she has the final say.
For me, it’s not worth the argument.
Eyeing the glass in my hand, she asks, “You’re not drinking? Don’t trust me not to poison you?” She laughs again.
What is it with women always talking about ways to kill me? “It wasn’t something I was worried about until now.” I’m still not going to drink it. Pretending that hanging out is normal is outside the boundaries that I’d like to keep in place. “Hey, Beck? Hurry up.”
“I don’t know what he’s doing up there. Probably playing with those plastic horses he wanted. Anyway, why are you so moody?”
“You got him horses?” Finally, something worth talking about.
“Yes. I said he could pick out a toy at the store last week, and he chose a set of two horses.” She’s sipping her water like she’s been stuck in the desert for days. I’m starting to wonder if she’s nervous or needs to see a doctor. One thing I don’t like is when she acts out of character. That means there’s more going on that I know will affect me. “He named them Bluebelly and Skyward. What strange names.” Another sip . “Don’t you think, Tagger?”
Oh shit . . . It was a trap, and I fell right into it.
My throat thickens. I don’t want to reignite a battle. “I think they’re perfectly fine for horses.”
She sighs and rolls her eyes like that was not the answer she was looking for.But there was never pleasing her anyway, so I gave up that notion a long time ago. “Let’s not do this. Part of the deal we made was that our son wouldn’t be exposed to any lasciviousness.”
I balk. “What the hell are you talking about, Anna?” Glancing up the stairs, it pisses me off that I let her get to me. I lower my voice to whisper, “What lasciviousness has he been exposed to?”
“Miss Christine is someone you’re having sex with?”
I swear to fucking hell and back, my eyes practically bug out from my skull. My heart starts racing like I’m in trouble with the principal for fucking his wife. I just really hope this isn’t something Beckett told her, or he and I are going to need to have a heart-to-heart. “What are you talking about?”
“I thought it was some gray-haired lady out in that godforsaken town you’re from. Only to find out she’s younger than I am and pretty.” She’ll have to spell it out because I’m not leading her down this path. She glances up the stairs and deems the coast clear enough to lean in and whisper, “I found her in your bed.”
Fuck.
What I have with Pris is none of Anna’s business. “When would you have found her in my bed?”
“So you’re not denying it?”
I balk again, too astonished to control it, but I need to regulate my reactions. She loves to get a rise out of me. Keeping my voice low, I reply, “Not sure if you don’t understand how this works, but we’re not together. That means I don’t have to confirm or deny anything to you. Just like you don’t owe me any explanation about Marcel or any part of your life outside of what concerns our son.” Fuck me, what’s taking so long. “Beckett?” I shout.
Anna moves to the door and opens it, signaling me to step outside. I follow her but leave the door cracked. As soon as we’re outside, she crosses her arms over her chest like she still believes she has a say in the matter. “She’s rustic at best. Simply put, she’s pedestrian, and I don’t think she’s the kind of woman who should be around my son.”
“ Our son.” My blood boils. I step down a couple of steps, needing air to cool me down. “She’s not fucking French, but she has a heart of gold, so don’t you dare?—”
“Our son needs to be surrounded by people who lift him in society and give him the connections to elevate his opportunities?—”
I start laughing because what the fuck am I listening to right now.
“It’s not funny, Tagger.”
“Well, it’s a good fucking thing he’s not dating her, then. But I am, so I’m going to warn you, Anna. You don’t say another fucking thing about her, or you’ll need to lawyer up again. Sounds like we’re heading in that direction anyway if you take that promotion.”
“Don’t turn this into something it’s not.”
I’m not getting caught in her games. I turn my back to her and take a deep breath. And then another. When I turn around, I exhale long and slow. “How did you get into my apartment?” It dawns on me a second too late. “The key for Beck.” Fuck. “It’s for him, not you. You are not allowed to enter my apartment without him with you, or I’ll have security lock you out completely. You understand?”
The door finally opens, and my son barrels out into my arms. “Daddy!”
I pick him up and hug him tightly. Over his shoulder, my eyes are still on his mother. “It’s good to see you, buddy.” I keep him anchored on my side with his little backpack on his shoulders and a toy horse in each hand.
“Look what I got. Just like Bluebelly and Skyward.”
Seeing him so happy is contagious despite what happened between Anna and me. This is what matters. Our son. “So cool. Can’t wait to play with you.” I set him down and scoot him toward Anna. “Give your mom a hug goodbye.”
Her demeanor mollifies, and she kneels to hug him. Kissing him on the side of the head, she says, “I love you. See you next Sunday.”
“Love you, too. See you soon.”
He trots down the steps, neighing. I’m sure she loves that . . . Marcel doesn’t stand a chance against the roots anchoring Beck to Texas. I follow him, but I stop when she says, “Thank you for doing that.”
I give her half a nod and walk away from her, scooping Beck onto my back. “Guess what?” I ask, peering over my shoulder at him.
His smile changes my entire mood. “What?”
“We’re going to the Peach Festival and Rodeo in Texas during our next visit.” I look back once to catch Anna rolling her eyes, then turning to go inside the brownstone. “And there’s this event that little kids can participate in called Mutton Bustin’.”
“What’s mutton busting, Daddy?”
I grin because he’s going to love this. “It’s an event I won when I was seven.”
“But I’m only six.”
“Eh, you’re a Grange.” I turn the corner to head to Central Park. “You’ll do great.”
“Yeah, I’m a Grange,” he states matter-of-factly. “Just like you.”
“Just like me, buddy.”
That kid wore me out. We were both in bed by eight o’clock. I also have big intentions of running on the treadmill at five in the morning to get back on track. Gotta stay fit for Pris since I realized she has a slight obsession with my abs.
I keep my promise.
After getting Beck ready for school and feeding him, we head out. It’s a quick drop-off because he loves going there. He has friends and great teachers, and according to him, they don’t give much homework, which is the biggest selling point. I don’t blame him. I went to school for the social aspect. I was just lucky enough to have some natural intelligence since I never cracked a book in high school and skills on the field to get me recruited on a full ride to be able to go to college.
Just before lunch at my desk is over, I get a text from Pris.
I’ll never look at the barn the same.
I text:
Wait until you see what I can do to you in a peach orchard.
Three dots roll across the screen and then disappear. I’ll assume I’ve left her speechless, in a good way, and probably turned on since my girl likes getting it on with me.
A text appears:
Peach juice just ran down my chin and hit the rounds of my breasts. See?
A photo appears of her cleavage with a shiny trail of juice vanishing between her tits. Fuck me. I’ll be jerking off to this later, but right now is not the time to get a hard-on.
I reply:
My naughty girl. You just wait. I’m going to lick that juice from every inch of your body.
“Tagger?” A knock on the door startles me, causing me to fumble my phone and drop it on the floor. Kendra says, “Sorry, I didn’t mean to sneak up on you. Am I interrupting anything?”
“No. It’s fine. Come in.” I retrieve the phone and then slide the chair forward to make sure I’m covered. The screen lights up, so I flip it to face downward.
“I need to confirm something.” She pulls a sticky note off her pad and shows me. “I found Peaches Sundries & More in Peachtree Pass, Texas. I called, and they said they can take the order over the phone. But you didn’t give me a name, so I couldn’t place it.”
Speak of the devil . . . “ Pri —Christine Greene.”
“From you, sir?”
Oh. Hmm. This is tricky. “Send it from a secret admirer.”
I catch the smile tickling her cheeks. “I take it those are her favorite?”
“Yes, but please don’t make a big deal of it. The only reason I’m not leaving my name is because they know me there. Small-town gossip travels fast.”
“Well,” she says, sitting down. “It’s a very romantic gesture. Thoughtful.”
I shouldn’t be embarrassed, but I typically keep the women in my life out of the workplace to steer clear of being office fodder as entertainment. Tapping a pen on the desktop, I lower my voice. “Please keep this between us.”
“You have my word. But I did want to mention the credit charge will be attached to your name. So they’ll see it.”
“Oh, right. Good point.” I swivel to face the windows to figure this out.
But then she says, “I could pay for it on my card, and you can just send me the money.”
Turning back to her, I ask, “You’d do that for me?”
She beams a smile so bright the light reflects in her eyes. “I’m all for love and gestures from the heart.” Walking toward the door, she adds, “Glad I can help. I’ll let you know when the order is placed.”
“Thank you. I owe you one, Kendra.”
She stops in the doorway, and says, “You don’t owe me anything unless it works out. And then I want an invite to the wedding.”
Wedding? “I think we’re getting ahead of ourselves.”
She shrugs and lifts an eyebrow. “Are we?”
Gone before I can answer, I ponder that thought. It’s not as far-fetched as the idea of marriage used to be. We just have to break it to the world that we’re a couple first.