Chapter 13
THIRTEEN
PAIGE
“Don’t take challenges you can’t win.”
I stare at the ceiling as the bright morning sunlight streams through the windows. Birds chirp happily on the big branch that almost leads directly to my room. If I close my eyes and ignore my headache from going to bed pissed, I can almost be happy.
But I can’t do that. I’m still mad.
I rip the blankets off my body and get to my feet. I don’t stretch like I usually do, and I don’t try to find something cute to wear because I’ll likely run into Nate this morning.
Fuck that and fuck him.
I don’t want to be mad at him. Heck, he’s giving me a place to stay. But the way he acted last night and then avoided me when he got home? Not cool. Not cool at all.
Me: I’m going to look for apartments today. Wanna come with?
Kinsley’s message comes through almost immediately with yes in all capital letters.
“Awesome.”
I throw my phone on the bed. Then I throw on a white tank top and a pair of pink joggers with a word printed on the ass. And then, because I can’t remember what the word says, and I don’t have a mirror, I grab a lightweight robe out of my bag and slide it on too.
The sound of cartoons trickling through the house reminds me that it’s Saturday—which explains why Kinsley had the day off.
I didn’t even think about that. I head into the kitchen for a glass of juice.
Just as I open the fridge, the sound of little feet pattering against the hardwood gets closer and closer.
“Hi.” Ryder sticks his head under the refrigerator door, grinning ear to ear. “How are you today?”
“I just got up, so I’m a little slow still.”
“Oh.” He ducks as I close the door. “You know what helps you not feel slow? Do you know what speeds you up?”
Nothing fit for a child.
“No,” I say, pouring myself a glass of orange juice. “Do you want some?”
He nods. “Well, I know something that makes you feel speedy.”
“What’s that?”
His eyes twinkle. He hops onto a barstool and smiles. “Pancakes!”
“Really?”
“Yup. And there’s a yellow container in the pantry of pancake mix. You just add water to it and shake it up like this.” He pretends to play the maracas in the air. “Just like that.”
Despite my shitty mood, I can’t help but laugh at the cutie.
“Is this your way of saying you want pancakes?” I ask him.
“Well, you see, I’m not supposed to ask you to make me pancakes.”
I sip my juice, curious. “Oh, really?”
“Dad said you’re our guest, and I can’t ask you to do things for me.”
He did, did he?
“But I’m not asking you to make one for me. I’m just telling you pancakes would make you feel better, and if you make an extra one, that’s not my fault,” he says.
“You know what? Someday, you should go into politics. You’re very persuasive.”
“I don’t know what politics is.”
“It’s where …” Adults get on television and lie to the public. “It’s the people who make the rules. You know, the government.”
He curls his little nose. “I don’t think so. I want to work on cars or fight people like my uncle Dominic.”
“I don’t think that’s what he does for a living. Doesn’t he work in security?”
“Yeah, but if anyone gets out of line, he’ll go like this,” he says before throwing some decent punches in the air. “See what I mean?”
“I do.”
He nods, the gesture a punctuation mark on his point. It makes me smile.
“Now, you still feelin’ those pancakes or what?” he asks.
I tip my head back and laugh. The action feels nice. It actually manages to remove some of the irritation left in my shoulders.
Ryder hops off the stool and comes around the counter. He rummages around the cabinets, procuring a skillet. He places it on the stove and then retrieves his pancake mix.
“Here,” he says, handing me the yellow container. “I’d just make it myself, but Dad thinks I’m too young to operate the stove without an adult.”
I look at the mix and sigh. Guess we’re making pancakes.
“You can throw a big punch, but I think your dad is right about the stove,” I say. “Better leave that to the adults for a while.”
“But what could happen? I do a good job at dinner every night.”
I grab a bowl from beneath the counter. As I stand, a chill rushes through my body.
My eyes squeeze closed as a flurry of memories flashes through my mind.
A kitchen decorated with orange and yellow mushrooms. A white towel with black lines. Reaching for the handle and—my eyes pop open.
I look at my right forearm. The scar is long gone, but I remember it being there. From the grease.
A shiver shimmies down the length of my body, and I wonder if this is a natural reaction to shrug off bad memories.
“You do a good job at dinner,” I say before clearing my throat. “But you could accidentally knock something off and hurt yourself.” I take a deep breath. “I did that when I was a little kid.”
“You did?”
I nod.
A wash of emotions fills me up.
The stale cigarette smoke. Powdered drinks with no sugar and the tartness of it on my tongue. The chipped paint on the windowsills as I stare out the window, waiting for Hollis to come home.
A pang of sadness hits me in the chest, and I place a hand over my heart.
Go away.
“Where was your mom at?” he asks.
Who the hell knows?
I turn toward Ryder to change the subject but stop when I see the look in his eye. It’s one I know well, one that few can relate to. And although I don’t want to talk about my birth mother at all—I’ve blocked much of it out—it could help this little boy.
His smile wobbles.
Dammit.
I force a swallow. “Well, actually, my mom was standing right there.”
“And you still got hurt?”
I scan the instructions and add the correct amount of mix and water to the bowl. Strangely, the routine of making pancakes is comforting.
“My mom …” How do I do this? My heart starts to pound. How do I tell him my mother was an addict? “My mom was sick. And sometimes she didn’t take very good care of me.”
I look at Ryder over my shoulder. He’s watching me with a completely blank face.
“Like my mom?” he asks.
His little voice is softer and sounds so much more like a seven-year-old than he does when he’s talking Mustangs or right crosses. It breaks my heart.
“I don’t really know what happened to your mom,” I say gently, trying to tread carefully with Ryder. Nate told me what happened to her, but I don’t know what Ryder knows, and I’m not about to hurt him.
“She was sick. That’s what my daddy tells me. She was sick and went to heaven, and I’ll see her there.”
I blink back the tears that pool in the corners of my eyes. Oh, you poor, sweet boy.
“My mom was sick too. But I didn’t have a daddy like you do. Mine was …” In prison. “Gone. So I was adopted by a new family. Do you know what that means?”
He nods slowly, his bottom lip trembling. “So if something happens to my daddy someday, I’ll have to be adopted by a new family too?”
Shit.
“No,” I say, walking to him. I have no idea what to do. What do you do with a crying kid? I stick my arm out, and he falls into my side, wrapping his arms around me. “I don’t want to be adopted.”
I pull him close and hug him tighter than I think I’ve ever hugged anyone in my life. It’s as though if I can hug him tight enough, I can put him back together.
“You have all kinds of people who love you,” I say softly. “You have your uncle Dominic, right? And your aunt.” With the baking name.
“Camilla Vanilla.”
“Yes. Camilla Vanilla.” I swallow the lump in my throat. “But you don’t even need to be thinking about things like this, buddy.”
He pulls away and looks up at me. His big brown eyes are watery. “I do worry sometimes that something will happen to my dad. I don’t have a mom. I only have a dad.”
“But you have a great dad. He loves you so much, and I know he’s extra safe when he’s not here because he wants to come home and see you.”
“He does?”
I smile at him. “He does.” I ruffle his hair. “And that’s the difference between your dad and my dad. My dad wasn’t a very nice person. But your dad is a very, very good man and wants you to be happy. You just make sure you’re always safe and good because your daddy only has one little boy.”
Ryder pulls away, the tears dried up. “Maybe I’ll get a brother someday.”
“Maybe.” I turn back to the stove and prepare it for the pancakes. “Or maybe you’ll get lucky and get a sister.”
“Maybe we could adopt one like you. Can we adopt you?”
My heart swells. “No, I’m too old to be adopted. And I was already adopted once. I have a mom and dad.”
“So you had two of them?”
“Yeah. Kind of.”
“Well, we’d totally adopt you. Wouldn’t we, Dad?”
Huh?
I turn around to see Nate standing in the doorway. He has on a pair of black shorts that hang off his hips just so and extend down to his knees.
And that’s it. That’s all the bastard is wearing to see me for the first time since he kissed me and then ignored me.
I waited up to see if he would come by my room, but he didn’t. I didn’t even hear him come in. Mrs. Kim came over with Ryder when I got home, and I told her to leave him. I tucked him in, and then I drifted off to sleep at three, and Nate wasn’t home yet.
He watches me with an unreadable look on his face. I don’t know how to respond to that, so I turn back to the stove and don’t give him the satisfaction of a reaction.
“Right, Dad? We’d adopt Paige, huh?” Ryder asks again.
“I thought I told you not to ask her to make you breakfast,” Nate says as he tickles his son.
Ryder giggles. “I didn’t ask her! I didn’t! Stop!”
His squeals make me smile.
“She wanted to make pancakes because she needed speeded up,” Ryder explains.
I close my eyes and groan internally.
“Then she said she’d make me one too,” he continues. “So there’s nothing wrong with that.”
Nate stands next to me and leans against the cabinet. He faces Ryder, giving me a full view of his ripped abdomen and broad shoulders.
But I don’t look at that. When I do look up at him, he’s watching me carefully.
“Do you want one?” I ask.
He holds my gaze for a long moment. I hold my breath the entire time. Finally, he speaks.
“No,” he says before shoving off the counter. “Ryder, guess who called me this morning?”
“Who?”
“Camilla. She wants to take you to the Landry Farm today. Do you want to go?”
“Yes! Please? Can I?”
“Yup. I’m going to get a shower, and then I’ll run you to Dominic’s. Eat your breakfast and then brush your teeth, okay?”
“Yes. Okay!”
I don’t have to turn around to know that Nate left the room. I can breathe again.
My heart thumps in my chest, and my brain goes into overdrive.
What the hell does that mean? Did he orchestrate that? Does he have to work?
Is it a coincidence?
I stack two pancakes on a plate and place it in front of Ryder.
“Here you go,” I say, smiling.
After I’ve turned off the stove, I pop the pancake mix back into the fridge. No matter how speedy Ryder thinks they make me feel, I cannot even face one right now.
Ryder jumps off the stool and grabs a bottle of syrup out of the pantry. “I’ve got this. No worries.”
“No worries,” I repeat as I watch him get situated again. I open the syrup and pour a little star shape onto his pancake. “I’m going to get ready. I have a few things I have to do today, okay?”
He shoves a huge forkful of pancake into his mouth. “’Kay.”
I head into the hallway toward my room.
“Thanks for the pancake, Paige Stage!”
I close my bedroom door and then lean against it and sigh.
I have to get out of here.