3. Undercover Conflicts #2
“Hey, buddy,” I say softly, taking a step inside. “What’s wrong?”
He doesn’t answer. Instead, he looks down at his hands, twisting a small action figure between his fingers. The silence stretches between us like an unwelcome chasm.
I kneel beside him, my heart heavy with worry. He only gets like this when something happens that he knows I won’t like. I’m very protective of him. Maybe a little overprotective.
“Did something happen at school today?”
He shrugs but keeps his gaze fixed on the floorboards. My mind races through possibilities. Did someone tease him? Was he reminded both his parents are gone? I can’t let this go unaddressed. I need him to talk about it.
“Leo,” I gently nudge him, trying to coax him into opening up, “you know you can tell me anything, right?”
His eyes dart up briefly before falling back to his toy. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
My chest tightens at his response. The little boy who lost so much deserves to always laugh—and his laughter is my lifeline in this sea of grief we’re navigating together.
“Okay,” I reply, keeping my voice calm and steady. “But we can’t leave for dinner until you tell me what’s bothering you.”
He lets out a soft sigh, the kind that makes my heart ache for him even more. He loves going to Lydia’s house and playing with her three kids. He won’t want to miss out on that. I feel bad for using it against him, but I need to know what happened.
“It’s just … some kids were mean.” His voice is barely above a whisper.
“What did they say?”
“They said I was weird.” He wipes away a tear that escapes his eyes.
“Honey, you’re not weird.”
“Yes, I am!” He raises his voice. “It’s … it’s because my mom and dad are dead.”
My throat tightens as I try to swallow back my own emotions.
“Oh, Leo,” I murmur, reaching out to pull him into a hug. He melts against me like he always does when he needs comfort.
“I hate school,” he mumbles into my shoulder.
“I know you do,” I whisper back, holding him tighter. “But you’re so brave for going every day.” I pull back so I can see his face. “You don’t have to let them get to you. They don’t know how strong you are.”
I cradle Leo against me, feeling the familiar weight of his little body relax in my arms. His warmth is a balm to my own fraying nerves.
As I run my fingers through his hair, I wonder how to shield him from the cruelty of the world.
How can I protect him when I’m still trying to piece together my own life?
“Let’s do something fun tonight,” I suggest, hoping to coax a smile from him. “How about we bake cookies before we head over to Lydia’s? We can make a giant batch and bring them for everyone.”
He lifts his head, curiosity flickering in those bright blue eyes. “Can we make chocolate chip?”
“Of course. Your favorite.” The thought of baking fills me with a sense of normalcy, a chance to create some joy amid our chaos.
Leo nods, his mood already brightening. “But can we put sprinkles on them too?”
“Sprinkles it is.” I flash him a smile, and he mirrors it back, the heaviness lifting.
I stand and ruffle his hair playfully before heading toward the door. Before leaving, I glance over my shoulder. “Do you want to help?”
“Yeah!” His voice is suddenly animated as he rushes out after me.
As I pull out the mixing bowl and gather the ingredients, I’m grateful for this moment—just us, surrounded by laughter and flour.
We work side by side—flour dusts the counter as we measure and mix. I feel lighter with each scoop of chocolate chips that goes into our bowl. As we stir together, Leo’s laughter fills the room—an antidote to my worries.
I pull into Lydia’s driveway, the familiar sight of her quaint little house instantly filling me with a sense of welcome. The front porch glows with string lights, casting a soft glow that beckons us inside. Leo bounces in his seat, barely able to contain his excitement about the cookies we made.
“Aunt Evie! Can we go?” His impatience tugs at my heartstrings.
“Okay, okay. Let’s get out.” I chuckle, unbuckling my seatbelt.
Leo leaps from the car, nearly tripping over himself as he rushes toward the front door. I follow behind, adjusting the cookie tray carefully in my hands.
Lydia greets us at the door with her signature smile, all bright and cheerful. “You made it. And look at you two.” Her eyes land on Leo, who beams up at her like she’s his personal sunshine.
“Guess what? We baked cookies.” Leo is practically vibrating with enthusiasm.
“Cookies?” Lydia kneels down to meet him eye-to-eye. “I can’t wait to try them. Did you help?”
“Uh-huh.” He nods vigorously. “I put in the chocolate chips and sprinkles.”
“Sounds like you’re already a master chef,” she teases before ruffling his hair affectionately.
As we step into their cozy living room filled with toys scattered about and faint sounds of giggling from Lydia’s three daughters, Leo breaks away from me, darting off to join them.
It’s comforting to see him play so freely, laughing as they begin an impromptu game of tag.
The sound echoes through the house—pure joy that reminds me of simpler times.
I set the tray of cookies on the kitchen counter and watch for a moment as Leo bounds around with reckless abandon, completely lost in childhood bliss. The sight warms my heart. It’s these moments that make everything worth it.
“Do you want a drink?” Lydia calls from behind me as she pours herself some iced tea.
“Sure,” I reply, still caught up in watching Leo chase after Harper while Nora and Elise giggle beside her.
“It’s good seeing him so happy,” Lydia says softly after a beat.
I turn back to her, forcing a smile despite my swirling thoughts about Zeke and our unexpected encounter earlier. “Yeah,” I say, trying to focus on the here and now.
Looking around, I furrow my brow in confusion. “Where’s Olivia?” Leo and I are late, so she should have been here by now.
Lydia sighs, pouring me a glass of iced tea and handing it over. “She had to cancel at the last minute.”
A low growl escapes, causing Lydia’s eyes to widen. “Everything okay?”
“No,” I mutter. “I’ve been trying to talk with her about the incident at the club and she’s avoiding me.”
“Ah.” Lydia leans against the counter, arms crossed, studying me like I’m an open book. “You mean Zeke?”
“Yes.” I’m exhausted and frustrated and concerned. My detective brain needs answers. “I need to know how she knows him and why he was so angry that she was there.”
“Yeah, that was odd,” Lydia admits.
“It’s concerning, that’s what it is.” I sigh and take a sip of my iced tea, wishing it was something stronger. “I just need to forget about him. Put it all out of my mind.”
“Or …” Lydia waggles her brows, grinning from ear-to-ear. “We can talk about it. I thought the entire room was going to catch fire.”
My stomach flips at the reminder of how intense our reunion was. “Catch fire? That’s one way to put it.”
“You didn’t tell me much about him before.” She cocks her head to one side. “Did you two date long?”
“Long enough,” I scoff, then try to brush it off as nothing. But it feels heavy on my tongue. “We went out several times after my divorce. It was nothing serious.”
Lydia’s gaze sharpens. “Nothing serious? It looked like he was ready to drag you into a corner and have his way with you.” She winks then her tone shifts to something more sincere. “He’s not just some guy if he’s got you rattled like this.”
“I didn’t expect to see him again. Ever.” I admit, taking another sip of tea as if it could wash away the awkwardness building inside me. I definitely need something stronger than tea if we’re going to keep talking about Zeke.
“But here you are,” she presses gently, searching my face for answers.
“Yeah.” I let out a sarcastic laugh, shaking my head as memories flood back—those first few dates where everything felt so promising before he vanished without a word. “And trust me, that’s not even the worst part.”
“What do you mean?” Lydia leans in closer.
“It’s complicated,” I murmur, fighting against the rush of emotions welling up inside me again.
I step over to the kitchen counter, searching through the cabinets until I find a bottle of gin hiding in the back. The cool glass feels familiar against my palm as I pour a generous amount into a shaker, tossing in ice like it’s an old friend.
A quick glance back at Lydia shows her still watching me, concern etching lines across her brow. She doesn’t say anything, but I feel her judgment. Maybe it’s deserved.
Shaking the mixture until my hands go numb, I wonder how often I’ve turned to this liquid courage lately.
It dulls the edges of my memories—Ryan’s angry words slicing through my thoughts or Leo’s haunted eyes whenever he remembers his parents.
For now, the gin washes away the past, at least for a few moments.
I strain the contents into a martini glass and admire its shimmering surface, so perfectly clear. It’s really a facade—though the outside is pristine, the elixir on the inside just numbs the nightmares that haunt me.
Lydia nudges me gently with her elbow. “Do you really need that tonight?”
“Yes.” I don’t hesitate. Then I smirk, finally turning to face her fully. “You sure you don’t want one? It’ll take the edge off.”
She shakes her head firmly. “Not tonight. It’s my Saturday to open the store.”
“Right.” I roll my eyes but can’t help a grin as I take my first sip, letting the sharpness linger on my tongue before it settles smoothly down my throat. Lydia works as a manager in a clothing boutique and works two Saturdays each month.
“Tell me what happened with Zeke,” Lydia prompts again, leaning against the counter, arms crossed. Her tone shifts from playful to serious.
I sigh, resigned to tell her about it. She’s clearly not going to let it go anyway.
My heart races as I set down my drink and start filling her in on everything—how he made me feel things no man has ever made me feel before, how he ghosted me after those initial dates that felt so right, and how seeing him again stirred all those buried feelings.
“Can you believe it?” I finish, disbelief lingering between us.
Lydia purses her lips, shaking her head as she processes everything I’ve just revealed. “Men are trouble,” she finally says with conviction.
“Tell me about it.” I laugh bitterly, raising my glass in mock salute before taking another long sip. “Our failed marriages proved that. Maybe we should swear off men altogether.”
“I’m in,” she declares, eyes sparkling with mischief. “To singlehood!”
“To singlehood!” We clink our glasses together before downing our drinks—only mine burns going down and takes the edge off the reality of my shitty life.
We’re just two women united in their defiance against love gone wrong and whatever demons linger in their pasts.