16. Troy
sixteen
troy
Babies Come From Amazon Prime
T he late October sunlight streams over the lake’s surface, making it shimmer like a mirror dusted with glitter. A light breeze, hinting at the oncoming cool temperatures, rustles the towering redwoods surrounding us. While the cool temperature suits me just fine, Rome burrows deeper, practically swimming in the Blazer’s hoodie I’d given him. His NASA cap is pulled low over his forehead.
His nose wrinkles at the earthworm he dangles from between his pinched fingers at arm’s length. “Can I put the hook through any part of it?”
“You can.” My lips twitch, watching him from my spot on the weathered dock. “Or you can start at one end and then twist it around and hook him once more. But it helps to hold the worm closer to you when baiting the hook.”
He groans. “But it’s so slimy! You sure I can’t use pieces of the sandwiches Mom packed for us?”
I chuckle, watching him struggle. I’ll help him if he really needs it, but part of the experience of fishing is getting over the uncomfortable aspects. “Well, we wouldn’t have much left to eat if we gave it all away to the fish. Also, I’m not sure the mustard your mom put on them will help us or hurt us in terms of catching fish.”
It’s only been a few hours since we got to the campsite. The drive up was entertaining to say the least, with Rome alternating between his excitement over going on his first fishing adventure and telling us how we would become human spaghetti if we ever had the misfortune of falling into a black hole. Listening to him was akin to watching a Quentin Tarantino movie where you’re never quite sure if the next scene will bring dancing or decapitation.
This time around, I’d hired a crew to set up our tents since I was under strict doctor’s orders not to strain my arm. So, after unloading my truck, we split up.
Pearl wanted to make a “fairy house” with twigs and leaves, so she and Sarina stayed behind while Rome and I headed to the dock. My daughter insisted on wearing her fairy wings along with her yellow dress for the special task, and when we left, she was floating around the campsite with Sarina giggling behind her as they collected materials.
Not going to lie, watching them together worries me—how easily my daughter reaches for Sarina’s hand, how quickly she’s getting attached—especially after what happened with Ellie.
It had taken months for Pearl to form that kind of connection with Ellie, only for my ex to disappear from her life completely after our breakup, without so much as a goodbye. Pearl asked for her every morning for weeks after, hopeful that perhaps her tutor—the woman she’d come to care about so much—had decided to come back, only to fall asleep disappointed each night.
Somewhere inside me I know it’s not just Pearl’s heart I’m worried about . . .
Rome lets out another groan as he goes into battle with his earthworm nemesis, bringing me back to the present. His eyes narrow behind his Saturn-themed glasses, focusing on the worm like he’s the final boss of a video game.
“You’re a grody little thing, earthworm, but I’m gonna . . . Ahh!”
Rome shrieks, probably sending all the fish around us scattering, when the worm slips from his grasp. And before I can even blink, Rome scrambles around the dock in search of the worm. But, in his panic, he nearly topples over the dock.
Thankfully, I gather my wits fast enough to grab his hoodie with my uninjured left hand, though it still sends a throb through my recovering arm.
My physical therapist would kill me if she knew I was here playing superhero, but better that than having to explain to Sarina why her son took an unexpected swimming lesson within the first hour of our bonding experience.
“I got you,” I state, steadying him with a hand on his shoulder. “You okay?”
Rome nods, fixing his skewed glasses before finding the worm slithering on a slat. “Found you, you little booger!”
Pinching the worm between his fingers tighter this time, he finally hooks the damn thing like I showed him. Casting the line into the water, he turns his proud smile toward me. “I did it!”
“I knew you would!” I smile back, enjoying the look of triumph on his face and thanking our lucky stars for keeping us both dry.
“So what happens now?”
“Now,” I say, taking a swig from my beer, “we wait.”
My eyes linger on his profile, noting how much he looks like his mother—those same expressive eyes and that same determined set in his jaw—and just like that, my thoughts travel to her, the curly-haired minx I can’t get out of my mind. A woman with her guard up so high, she’s practically in a Pentagon of her own making.
No matter how many times she’s shut down the idea of us, I want to scale her walls—even if it means getting shot down. If only to prove we could have something real, something more.
But she'd rather choose her fears—letting that douchebag ex of hers not only blemish her past, but carve her future—than take a chance on something that could set her free.
That’s the difference between me and her—my stubborn, sassy, and distrustful girl with unruly hair, an infectious smile, and a caged heart. Where I won’t allow disappointment to determine my future, she’s set on avoiding it at all costs. And while I can understand her need to protect herself and her son from any more pain, I can’t help but think she’s shielding herself from happiness, too.
I should know better than to torture myself with the same thoughts week after week, but fuck, tell that to my mind. Tell it to my hopeful heart, galloping around her like a drunk virgin at a strip club. Desperate, out of control, and embarrassingly obvious.
Spending the morning sitting right next to her on our drive here didn’t help—torturing myself with every shift of her body, her chuckles echoing in my ear as she translated Pearl’s signing to Rome, and that lilac scent becoming my own personal hell.
Still, I wouldn’t have traded it for anything in the world. Why?
Because I’m a fucking masochist.
“Troy?”
Rome’s voice pulls me from my thoughts about his mother. I’d completely zoned out, looking at the water. “What’s up, buddy?”
“Where do fish babies come from?”
“Uh . . .” Okay, that definitely wasn’t the question I was expecting . I take a swig of my beer, giving myself time to figure out how to dodge the landmine he just put down.
“Because when I was five, Mom told me babies came from Amazon Prime. But how do fish get their babies?” His brows rise, disappearing under his cap. “How does any animal get their babies?”
Jesus. I almost choke on my beer. Amazon Prime?! Of all the explanations the woman could have given her son, she went with same-day baby delivery? I’m definitely going to ask her what else she thinks Bezos is shipping these days—DIY vasectomy kits? Mail-order brides?
“You know, I actually don’t know. Might be a question your mom can answer when we get back to camp.” I point at something in the water, hoping to distract him. “Hey! Looks like there’s something nibbling on your line.”
There isn’t, but Rome’s attention snaps to his fishing rod. He tugs on his line. “I don’t see anything.”
“Hmm,” I mumble. “I must have seen something.” Time for Plan-B. Space. “Hey, so how is second grade going? Your mom said you were working on a science project last week.”
Rome’s eyes light up, fish babies completely forgotten. “Yeah! We all have to research a planet with a classmate. I got partnered up with Asher Green, and we have to look up facts about Jupiter.” His cheeks pinken as he fiddles with his line. “But every time I try to talk to her, she just goes and sits by her friends.”
I fight a smile, looking across the lake again. Seems like he and I both know a thing or two about getting the cold shoulder from the women we want. “That’s tough, buddy. But you know, sometimes the best girls are the hardest to win over. Keep being yourself—showing her what a smart and amazing kid you are. She’s going to realize soon enough that she has the best partner in the class.”
He perks up. “You think so?”
Fuck, I hope so. Because if there’s no hope for you, then there’s definitely no hope for me, kid.
“I know so.”
Rome’s hopeful smile falters as his gaze drops to my right arm, his lips pulling into a grim line. “Do you think you’ll ever get back to pitching again?”
Sheesh. This kid and his zingers today.
The question punches me square in the ribs. It’s the first time anyone besides reporters has asked outright, but I’ve seen it etched on so many faces—my teammates, my parents, my friends. Me. It’s a question that hovers like a thundercloud over every physical therapy session, follows me like a shadow on my drive home, and curls up beside me until I fall asleep.
Will I ever pitch for the Blazers again?
Will I ever be me again?
And if I never do, then who the hell will I be without it?
I swallow hard, answering him with the only truth I have. “I’m working like hell for it, buddy.” I drain the last of my beer, setting the bottle beside me. “Whether it’s getting back on the mound or getting the girl to notice you, one thing is certain. The best things in life take time, patience, and a whole lot of not giving up.”
Christ. Forget the fish, I need to reel in my damn Ted Talk.
“Did you watch the Blazers in their playoff games last week?”
I nod, feeling my shoulders slump further. The team made it to the Division series but were eliminated in game four against the Boston Revs. It hurts a bit more given we’d dominated the Revs during the regular season. “I was there for the home games. It was a tough way to end the season, but the guys put their all into it.”
“Martinez pitched amazing!” Rome adds enthusiastically, and then gets a sheepish expression. “I mean . . .”
“He did,” I agree. “He’s got a great future ahead of him.” Though, watching from the dugout instead of the mound felt like I was tethered to a world that was moving without me. It had been harder than I expected, knowing that if my arm hadn’t given out, maybe we would have won that game against Boston.
A few minutes go by with us sitting in silence, save for the soft laps of the water against the dock and the occasional chirping of birds. Rome shifts beside me, breaking up the stillness. “Thanks for bringing us here, Troy. I’ve asked my dad to take me fishing and camping, but . . .”
His unfinished thoughts hang in the air between us, but it doesn’t take a genius to fill in the rest. His dad’s too much of a dick to care about the things his son wants to do.
“You’re welcome, bud.” I glance over at him, tapping the bill of his cap before mumbling the rest under my breath, “And if I have it my way, this will be the first of many trips.”
* * *
“Did you like the fairy house Sarina and I made today, Daddy?” my daughter signs, curled up under a blanket in my lap. Her chipped pink nail polish snags my attention. “We even put pine cones in it for them to eat.”
I chuckle, placing a kiss on her hairline. “I loved it, but I didn’t know pine cones were part of a fairy’s diet.”
Pearl shrugs. “Me, either. It’s what Sarina told me.”
Ah, that sounds about right. Babies are ordered on Amazon and fairies eat pine cones.
The chilly evening air carries the scent of burning firewood and melting sugar as my eyes land on the woman Pearl and I are talking about across the campfire.
Bundled in a forest-green fleece over black leggings, with what looks to be a hand-knitted gray beanie pulled over her ears, she’s attempting to roast her sixth marshmallow—unsuccessfully, I should add. Like its predecessors, it’s also showing signs of becoming one with the fire. The first five looked more like fireballs that were used as medieval weapons than anything you’d put on a graham cracker.
Rome and I returned from fishing a few hours ago, with exactly zero fish to show for our efforts—unless you count the rubber sandal Rome claimed was a “big guy” until he reeled it in. Thankfully, neither Sarina nor I had relied on our fishing prowess for dinner tonight. Instead, we grilled burgers and devoured them with bags of chips and, of course, every flavor of mustard known to mankind—and some not known to anyone at all.
We spent the evening sharing stories—Pearl proudly showing off the fairy house she and Sarina built, complete with a fairy convertible parked inside the fairy garage. Rome pointed out constellations to Pearl, signing their names after learning them from Sarina, while I cleaned up. Watching her with them, her laughter mixed with the crackling fire, had my mind wandering to places it shouldn’t have, like how right and perfectly domestic it all felt.
Pearl yawns, snuggling into my neck, forcing my attention back to her. “How about I tuck you into bed, Princess? That way you have energy for more fairy homes tomorrow.”
I can see the reluctance in her expression, the desire to fight off sleep, not wanting the night to end, but she surprises me, pointing at Sarina and getting her attention. “Can Sarina put me to bed?”
I’m about to protest, telling her that Sarina is probably tired from spending so many hours playing with her this afternoon, when Sarina signs back, “Of course, I will. As long as it’s okay with your dad.”
I watch as the woman I’m becoming increasingly obsessed with abandons another fiery marshmallow to its fate and ambles over to my chair. Without hesitation, my daughter reaches for her, wrapping herself around Sarina like she’s done it a million times before, letting Sarina carry her to our tent. And just before they disappear inside, I watch as Sarina lays a soft peck on my daughter’s temple before running a gentle hand down Pearl’s hair.
It’s as if the heat from the fire directly ignites inside my chest.
How? How did this connection between them develop so quickly, so naturally? And when did Sarina step into that role—as if she’s been tucking my daughter into bed every night?
It took Ellie months before Pearl let her carry her. And even now, I don’t recall ever seeing Ellie kiss her so sweetly, as if she belonged to her.
Fifteen minutes later, Sarina emerges from the tent, the firelight dancing across her features as she ruffles Rome’s hair. “Ready for bed, baby? Want me to tuck you in, too?”
“Yeah.” Rome yawns, rising to his feet before waving at me. “Good night, Troy.”
“Good night, bud. Maybe we can go on a hike tomorrow?”
Rome beams. “Maybe we’ll even see a grizzly!”
Sarina blanches, but I answer with a chuckle, “Probably unlikely since we don’t have grizzlies in California, but maybe some deer or rabbits.”
Rome waves goodnight to me again before Sarina leads him to their tent. I’m still struck by the tenderness and compassion I saw in her tonight—not just for her son, but for my daughter as well.
She returns a few minutes later, settling into the chair next to me, and my skin prickles with her nearness. The scent of lilacs mingle with the woodsmoke, and I have to ball my hands into fists to keep myself from hauling her into my lap.
“Both kids are out like lights,” she says softly, accepting the flask of whiskey I direct toward her. “Pearl asked me to tell her a story.”
“Oh, yeah? What story did you tell her?”
She chuckles. “I made something up about fairies going shopping in their convertibles.”
She takes a sip from the flask, her nose wrinkling adorably when the liquid burns down her throat. My eyes zero in on the way her lips tighten around the spout, my dick immediately responding to the observation.
She passes the flask back to me, and I relish taking the next sip from where her lips had just been. Yeah, that’s how pathetic I am when it comes to this woman—fucking willing to take anything she throws my way, intentionally or otherwise.
I deliberately bump my knee into hers. “I’m learning you’re quite the creative mastermind with your stories, actually. You’re going to have to tell me about the one where you ordered Rome off Amazon.”
“Hey!” She steals the flask back, feigning offense. A smile hikes up her lips, and I momentarily forget what we’re talking about. “He was four or five at the time, and he totally caught me off guard. I had to think on my feet!”
“Did you at least get him with free delivery?”
She laughs, putting a marshmallow at the end of a stick and placing it into the hottest part of the fire. “I wish, but I wasn’t a Prime member then. Had to wait forty weeks for my little bundle to arrive.”
Something in her tone, like she’s reliving that precious memory, has me leaning closer, drawn to her like a moth to a flame. I gently run my hand down her forearm, clasping my hand over hers and raising the stick so yet another marshmallow doesn’t meet its fiery demise.
A shudder passes through her, and though she could easily blame it on the crisp night, we both know that’s not why she takes an audible breath.
“I’m not very good at this,” she says hoarsely.
My eyes stay on her, tracing the firelight dancing over her features, my hand twitching to tuck a wayward curl behind her ear and turn her to look at me. “Trust me, you’re plenty good at many things. My very vivid memories serve to prove it.”
Sarina tucks her bottom lip in between her teeth, the corner of her mouth hitched up to suppress her abashed smile.
I turn the stick over the embers so the marshmallow is perfectly golden. “Want to share this one?”
She blinks. “Share?”
“This marshmallow. I’ll split it with you, if you’re brave enough to come get it.”
Her eyes track my movements as I slide the warm sugar off the stick and place it in between my lips. The fire crackles and my heart thunders, but for a moment, nothing else seems to exist. Just me and her.
Her throat rolls with indecision and her darkened gaze drops to my mouth. I know her mind is racing, but I’m hoping the whiskey has softened her walls just this once.
“I’m . . .” she starts, her voice barely a whisper.
The corners of my mouth lift as I tug on her hand, urging her closer. And then, as if she’s finally lost the battle with herself, she lifts off her chair.
I lean back instinctively, barely able to breathe, lest it break whatever spell has made her this bold. She straddles my lap, raising her hands to cup my face while my fingers tighten around her waist instinctively. Between her warmth and weight settling over me, my erection stirs inside my pants.
But just when her lips are millimeters from mine—just when I think I’ve finally pierced that resolve of hers—her eyes focus on something behind me. Placing a hand over her mouth, she clamps it shut to stop herself from screaming.