Chapter 13
Thirteen
Sawyer
I wake up with a stiff neck and a soft blanket tucked around me.
A soft blanket I definitely hadn’t been using the night before.
Something that has my heart squeezing and my infatuation—okay, maybe it’s obsession at this point—with Lainey growing even more all-consuming.
I made it through maybe another twenty minutes of the movie after Lainey fell asleep beside me.
Then, apparently, I followed her lead.
Opening my eyes, I realize what must have woken me.
Because I find—
A tiny human’s face approximately two inches from mine.
“Hey!” Ollie says with far more energy than is reasonable considering that the sun’s barely peeking over the horizon.
“Hey,” I tell him, rubbing at my eyes as I sit up and check my phone.
It’s a little after six, and miracle of miracles, my mom didn’t text me at all last night—or not after I texted her and told her I’d stop by today before practice.
And considering it’s so early, I should have plenty of time to tick off all the items on her to-do list before I hit the rink.
Then tonight I can catch up on those contracts and finish the charity auction proposal and see if the Christmas presents I ordered at the last minute arrived. I need to wrap them and I still need to brave the giant baby store downtown to grab something for Reese and Sophie.
They won’t remember—hell, they won’t be able to even open their presents—but I don’t want to forget them.
And somewhere in there, I need to get over to my physical therapist because my neck is fucking killing me.
Oh.
And I should probably pay attention to the tiny human in front of me.
“You hungry?” I ask, tossing back the blanket.
A solemn nod.
“What do you feel like?”
Ollie considers that for a moment. “Spaghetti.”
“I think spaghetti consumption is best done after sunrise. How about French toast?”
His brows drag together.
“It’s like a combination of cinnamon rolls and pancakes.”
His expression smooths out. “French toast!” he shouts, tossing his hands up.
“Shh, bud,” I say, pushing up to my feet. “Your mom may be sleeping.”
“She is,” he tells me matter-of-factly. “I check-ted on her before I came downstairs and found you.”
Something about his expression has me studying him a little more closely. “Are you sure you weren’t looking to snoop at the Christmas presents?” I ask lightly.
His guilty eyes have laughter bubbling up in my chest.
I ruffle his hair and lead the way to the kitchen. “Your mom worked hard to wrap those presents so maybe wait a couple more days before you turn full Present Monster Mode, yeah?”
“What’s that?”
“Present Monster Mode?” I ask as I start gathering ingredients.
“Yuppers,” he says making me chuckle (and definitely taking a page out of Smitty’s book).
“When you get all crazy like a monster and tear all the wrapping paper.” I growl at him, pretend that I’m ripping into the loaf of bread, and his giggles heal something inside me.
Hell, he’s adorable.
And wonderful.
And so bright and sweet, even though he’s been through a lot in his short years.
I ruffle his curls again and then we get down to the business of making breakfast.
“Can I crack the eggs?” he asks once I’ve got the griddle plugged in to warm up and the milk and spices set up.
“Sure,” I say, handing him one…
And then biting back a wince a few seconds later as he whacks it against the counter, causing a…well, an egg-splosion.
“Sorry,” he says, his eyes going wide at the mess.
“It’s okay,” I tell him, taking the remains of the egg from him and scooping the rest that’s littering the counter into the bowl. “Accidents happen.”
His face clears and his bottom lip—which had begun to wobble—steadies.
“Now,” I say, grabbing a fresh bowl. “We do it gently and a little at a time.” I hand him the egg and hold his hand so we can tap the shell against the flat part of the counter. Tap. Tap. “See?”
His brows furrow as he concentrates and nods.
Tap. Tap.
“Now you can feel that it’s cracked, right?”
“Yup.”
“So now we’ll carefully bring our fingers in and—”
“I did it!” he exclaims as the egg drops into the bowl…along with a couple of chunks of shell.
“You did,” I say, scooping them out. “Should we try another one?”
“Yeah!” He throws his hands up and sends a splatter of egg flying onto my shirt.
I grin, wipe it off.
Then we do another egg together.
One more.
But the fourth he does himself.
“I did it,” he says again, more quietly as he looks up at me.
It’s impossible to miss the pride shining in his eyes.
“Yeah, bud. You sure did.”
We make short work of washing hands…something that proves pointless when we start dunking the slices of bread.
That’s okay, though.
Because soon enough the scent of cinnamon fills the air and I find some bacon to fry off and put the coffee on to brew and…
Lainey stumbles into the kitchen, hair a mess of curls, eyes half-mast, pajama pants dotted with porcupines wrinkled, one leg tucked into her sock.
Her white tank top is a little see-through and I force myself to look away even though I want to be a creep and stare at her tits, at the hard buds of her nipples pressing against the fabric.
There are children around.
And Lainey probably doesn’t want to be ogled first thing in the morning.
Definitely not as she rubs her sleepy eyes and asks, “What’s going on down here?”
Ollie and I exchange a look…and a smile. “Mom’s a zombie,” he whispers.
I take a beat to process that then grin and move to the coffee maker, pouring her a cup and adding a little splash of milk. “Here,” I say, bringing it over to her. “Can’t have Mom Zombie.”
Befuddled brown eyes on mine.
I press the mug into her hand and she robotically brings it up to her mouth, sips.
And then her face softens.
“You know how I take my coffee?” she asks softly.
My heart thuds hard against my ribs, but I just shrug, shoot her an easy smile as I tease, “It’s not hard.” I wink. “Considering how much of it you drink.”
“Rude,” she says, lightly swatting my chest before taking another sip and surveying the kitchen. “French toast?”
“We’ve had cinnamon rolls and pancakes, had to complete the Americana trio.”
She chuckles before her eyes come back to mine. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah, Pages,” I say even as I unconsciously stretch my neck, rolling it from side to side.
“Hmm.”
“What?”
She sets the mug aside and then…
Her hands are on me—or on my neck, anyway. Trailing lightly over my skin, pausing and then—
“Ow!”
Ollie pauses in his survey of the cooking French toast and looks back at us. “You have a boo-boo, Sawyer?”
God, the way he says my name—Saw-yur—kills me, it’s so damned cute.
“I’m good,” I tell him.
“Yes,” Lainey says at the same time.
“I’m fine—”
But she’s not looking at me. “Remember where it is?”
“Where what is?” I ask.
Ollie just clambers down from the chair and zips from the room. I watch him go in confusion and by the time I turn back, Lainey’s already at the griddle, flipping the French toast and bacon.
“You don’t have to—”
“Sit,” she orders, turning back to me and indicating the table with a flick of the spatula.
“I—”
Ollie skids back into the room with something in his hand.
I only see a flash of color before he chucks it in the microwave and hits a button.
“Um…”
“Sit,” Lainey orders again and this time Ollie snags my hand, dragging me over to the table.
“Mr. Cricket will fix your boo-boo, Saw-yur.”
“I—”
The microwave dings and Ollie runs back, but it’s Lainey who opens it and pulls out…Mr. Cricket, I guess?
“Careful, baby,” she says when Ollie tries to take it from her. “Let me make sure it’s not too hot.”
He bounces as he waits, and then when she passes it to him, he races over, clambers up into the chair next to mine and—
“I—”
Sets it on my neck.
And fuck, this kid is going to destroy me.
Maybe the woman too.
Especially when Lainey comes over and repositions the compress, saying softly, “I think Sawyer’s boo-boo is right there, baby.”
“Is that better?” Ollie asks.
I can’t speak, so I just nod as the heat sinks into my skin, as the faint scent of lavender fills my nose.
“Thanks, bud. That feels a lot better.” I start to stand. “Okay, now let me finish with the—”
“Nope,” Lainey says.
I blink. “Um.”
“Sit down for five minutes,” she says. “I’ll finish breakfast.”
“But—”
“Five minutes, Cupcake,” she orders.
Ollie moves to stand beside her and nods firmly. “Five minutes, Saw-yur.”
“I—”
But they just move back to the griddle, to the stove, and completely rocked to my core…
I sit and let them take care of me.
I knew Lainey was dangerous from the moment I met her—knew I wanted to be too close, wanted to stay too long, yearned for things I had absolutely no business wanting.
And now Ollie…well, he’s making me want all of that twice over.
It’s why I tried to keep my distance.
And…it’s why I’ve failed so spectacularly at staying away.
But sitting here, watching Lainey and Ollie finish breakfast while Mr. Cricket warms my neck, I know the truth.
I don’t want to be anywhere else.