Chapter 25
And the pendulum swings.
That was what I was thinking as Rhode drove us down the mountain.
In the two hours since our blow-up, I’d given Rhode a wide berth. Which hadn’t been difficult since Remy had woken up not long after Rhode had stormed out of the room. Then he’d spent time on the back patio, one of the two places on the mountain there was cell reception.
Leaving Rhode to his call I took Remy out front to keep him occupied.
And if I was being honest with myself—which I didn’t want to be because I was supremely pissed—it hurt to see Rhode.
Even the back of him while he stood with his phone up to his ear.
Physically he was there, so close, just on the other side of a wall of windows.
Emotionally, he’d put miles between us, and since I was hurt I put up my defenses and added to the distance.
Then I’d put more physical distance between us and took Remy out front to play so I wouldn’t have to see him.
That had lasted all of five minutes before Rhode prowled out the front door.
His eyes came to mine and sheer panic shone.
Then his gaze went to Remington and he relaxed.
What’d he think, that I’d take Remy and run down the mountain?
I didn’t ask, but then his panic said it all.
And that further pissed me off that he thought I was that kind of woman.
Something else we needed to address because if he thought I was capable of sneaking out the door and taking Remington away from him I was going to punch him in his throat.
That led to more anger on my part. Onward from that—hurt.
Which meant our last few hours at the cabin were uncomfortable for me.
But not for Remington. Rhode acted no differently toward his boy.
He was the same patient, loving, attention-giving dad he’d been.
And that irked me as much as I was relieved.
Totally irrational and I knew it. But my emotions were all over the place.
I’d gone from the highest of highs lying next to Rhode after finally having him again to being slapped in the face with all the ugliness Rhode was bottling up.
Guilt I wasn’t sure he’d be able to let go of.
The mindfuck of it was, he was right; I hadn’t missed a single day of my son’s life and I felt no remorse about this.
I did feel horrible Rhode had missed those years but I couldn’t change that.
Neither could he. And I was being stubborn about the money and I knew it.
But I didn’t want Rhode to think I wanted him in our lives because I needed him.
It was important to me that he knew I wanted him in our lives.
Wanted, not needed. It was important to me that he knew I could provide for Remington, that I’d worked hard, I’d given his son a good life.
“Dad?” Remy called from the back seat and my heart lurched as it did every time I heard my son call Rhode Dad.
“Yeah?”
“What’s your nickname?”
“Did we decide what yours is gonna be? Popsicle or Bulldog?”
“Bulldog,” Remy huffed.
“Then Bulldog it is. Have you ever thought about what you’d name your bulldog?”
Interesting. Rhode was changing the subject again.
“Hector.”
“Hector?” Rhode laughed.
God, he had a beautiful laugh.
“Hector protects Tweety Bird from Sylvester.”
“Right. Looney Tunes. What other kinds of dogs do you like?”
And the topic was successfully changed as Remy blathered on about all of the dog breeds he knew.
In all the Kiki drama, drive-by shooting drama, finding Remy’s long-lost dad drama I realized there hadn’t been much getting-to-know-you conversation.
He’d started but never finished telling me what he did in the military and he never fully explained what Takeback did.
He didn’t talk about or tell me about his friends.
I knew his parents were currently traveling but I didn’t know where or how he grew up or if he went to college.
No, scratch that, I did know he didn’t go to college because I’d learned that five years ago.
When we were whispering secrets in the dark.
“Where’d you go to college?” I asked.
“Didn’t. You?”
“ASU.”
“How old are you?” he volleyed.
“Thirty. You?”
“Thirty-three. Best childhood memory?”
“Easy, any time spent with my mom and dad.” I tamped down the pain of loss and continued our game. “Yours?”
“Being on the back of my dad’s Harley.” He said that with sadness. “Worst memory.”
My parents dying, but I didn’t say that out loud.
“Pass. Yours?”
It was unfair of me to ask him when I wouldn’t tell him mine and I figured he’d pass as well but to my shock, he answered.
“Watching my dad leave on some wild adventure, leaving me and my mom behind. He’d say ‘the road’s callin’, gotta chase the wind.
’ What he meant was, he was leaving his family for sometimes months.
My mom would shrug it off and tell me she knew the man she married wasn’t a man you tied down and wave him out the door.
I guess that life worked for them, they’re still married.
But for me, watching him leave us knowing we weren’t important enough to make him want to stay was a gut punch.
The fuck of it was, he was a good dad when he was home.
But the truth is, he was also a shit dad.
A part-time dad who smothered me when he was around to try to make up for when he was gone. ”
That memory morphed into a recent one.
Straight up, I’m gonna be in Remington’s life. I want him to know me. I want to be his dad—not part-time, not a once-a-month dad, not a holiday-dad.
Then another.
I’m not gonna be a part-time dad. I’m also not going to take a boy away from his mom and family. I’m gonna stay in Idaho and be present in his life and in yours.
Part-time.
Make him stay.
The guilt.
“Sugar?”
I jolted and slowly turned to look at Rhode.
So much becoming clearer.
“What?”
“You okay?”
“Yeah.”
Lie. I wasn’t okay. But with Remington in the back of the car, now was not the time to address what was burning a hole in my heart.
“Dad, do I still need a booster seat?”
“Yes,” Rhode and I said in unison.
“But I’m not in one now,” he proudly declared.
“Extenuating circumstances,” Rhode returned.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“Special occasion,” Rhode clarified.
“Will you teach me to be a soldier, Dad?”
And there was further proof Remington had the attention span of a gnat.
“Yep.”
“Will you teach me how to paint my face and sneak up on bad guys?”
“Yep.”
Great. Just what every mother wanted—her four-year-old learning how to be sneakier and the er was important because Remy could be as quiet as a church mouse when sneaking an ice pop.
“Favorite dessert?” he asked.
“Slurpee. You?”
“Mint chip ice cream. Beach or mountains?” he went on.
“Mountains, I hate the sand. You?”
“Same. Oral or shower sex?”
I stopped looking at his muscled stomach and cast my eyes up and saw his were already aimed down. There was just enough light in the dimly lit room to see his dark brown irises. But I didn’t miss his beautiful smile.
“Oral.”
“Good answer. Want your mouth around my cock while I eat you.”
I shivered. He smiled.
“Hurry, Sugar. I’m hungry.”
Sugar.
He’d called me Sugar then, too.
At the time I figured it was a necessity since he didn’t know my name. Just a throwaway endearment he called the women he took to his bed.
“Why are you in D.C.?” I asked.
“Work. You?”
“Same.”
“Do you live within a hundred miles of here?” I inquired.
“Nope. You?”
“No.”
“Scary movies or comedy?” he asked.
“Comedy. You?”
“Same.”
“Really? I’d take you for a scary movie or action man,” I told him.
“Action man, huh?” His hand left my hip where he’d been slowly grazing my skin with his fingertips.
He wrapped them around my wrist and pulled my palm off his heart.
I didn’t move my head off his chest but I watched as he moved our hands down and shoved them under the sheet resting below the last row of his muscled abs. “You all rested up, Sugar?”
“Again?” I smiled against his warm skin as he placed my hand on his hardening dick. I tipped my chin to see the sheet jostling over his lap as he stroked himself using my hand under his.
“Sweetest pussy I’ve ever tasted. Best head I’ve gotten. Nicest ass, tightest cunt. Baby, if all that I have is tonight, I’m not wasting a second of it. So, hell yeah, again. That is if you’re up for it.”
I was up for forever. But I wouldn’t tell him that.
“If you think you got it in you for another round, I’m game.”
I tightened my fist and he groaned.
Then I wasn’t on my side cuddled close to a stranger who no longer felt like he was a stranger. I was on my back, he was between my legs, and the sound of foil tearing had me smiling.
Only something was different. His eyes were soft and he was smiling back.
That wasn’t the weird or different part; he’d smiled a lot.
He’d given me plenty of sweet, soft looks.
It was the way he entered me. Slow. Gentle.
Like he wanted me to feel every inch of him as he came inside.
But it didn’t stop there—his strokes were deep and powerful but they weren’t pounding.
He made love to me.
With one hand tangled in my hair, the other gripping the back of my thigh even though my legs were wrapped around him—he was holding me close. And he did all of this with our eyes locked.
He made love to me.
The revelation was so startling I jolted in the seat.
“Brooklyn,” Rhode growled. “Now you’re freaking me out, Sugar. What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” I squeaked out.
I hadn’t lied, I remembered everything about that night. But I’d never closely examined the hours we’d spent together. I remembered them. I’d thought about them. I even scrutinized how easily I’d given him my heart. But never, not one time, did I think he’d given me his.
He made love to me.