21. Melanie
melanie
The early afternoon sun filters in through the window next to me, painting stripes over the cluttered desk I’ve got set up in the corner of the living room.
A pop song plays quietly on the radio, and I tap my nails against the wooden surface to the beat, even as I scowl at the laptop in front of me.
A client commissioned me to do a complete rebranding of their website—“modern and minimal, but warm”—and nothing is working.
Every draft so far has been too busy or too flat, and nothing feels right.
I plant my elbows on the desk, feeling a headache beginning to bloom behind my eyes, knowing I can’t stop.
As if the client has a direct link to my stress levels, a notification pops up in the corner of the computer screen. One glance at it, and I know they’re looking for another update, and I have exactly nothing to show them.
Oakley is playing in his bedroom, and I pull in a frustrated breath. I try to keep myself on a strict work schedule, making sure I have nothing to do on the weekends because those days are our days.
Especially now that Davis seems intent on stealing them.
Davis dropped Oakley off early last Sunday, walking him to the door, my ex-husband’s face a mask of indifference.
Neither of them had said a word to each other before Davis hoofed it back to his car.
I tried to talk to Oakley about his night and what happened, but he was stubbornly silent, only telling me that, “It was fine, Mom.”
There was something warning me that it wasn’t fine, but I was at a loss for what to do. I was terrified that if I pushed back against Davis, he’d take me to court for custody or force me into selling our home.
A door slams, and I jump, head whipping around as Oakley comes stomping into the living room. He’s still wearing his baseball uniform from the game this morning, his hair windswept and dirt streaked across his cheek.
The Sterling Sluggers won their game, and it’s clear that Oakley is still riding the high of it.
I’m thrilled for him, even if watching the game left my nerves in complete tatters.
It hadn’t been about the game itself, but the way Cale’s focus kept landing on me, like his eyes were being pulled in by a magnet.
The tension between Oakley and Cale has softened—a subtle change that started after their conversation at practice a couple of days ago, but it was really noticeable today.
It was in the way my boy sought him out before anyone else, always checking if he was watching.
It was how Cale pressed a hand to Oakley’s shoulder when he was praising him, or the way he crouched so they were on the same level when they talked.
The way they grinned at each other, like they were sharing a secret or an inside joke that no one else was a part of.
I don’t know what they talked about. Oakley hadn’t offered, and I didn’t ask.
Even with the tension still rippling between Cale and me, I wanted to respect that his relationship with Oakley wasn’t the same as mine.
If my son was ready to let some of his hurt go, and Cale genuinely deserved it, then I wasn’t going to interfere.
I would watch him like a hawk to make sure he didn’t hurt Oakley again, but I also wasn’t going to force distance when I could see that my boy was thriving under Cale’s attention.
Even if it hurts me to watch.
I had been confused when Oakley shoved a wrinkled envelope at me the other day, right up until I opened it and found all the money I’d slipped into Cale’s pocket at Benson’s.
Oakley eyed me curiously, a bemused furrow on his brow. “Cale said the window wasn’t your fault, and that he was paying for it. He wanted me to give it to you because you aren’t talking to him,” he announced importantly.
I smiled tightly. “Thanks, bug.”
Aware of Jacob’s keen stare and Cale watching from the bench he was still sitting on, I just ruffled Oakley’s hair, saying, “I bet you two are starving. Let’s get going, yeah?”
The envelope was now tucked into my bag, waiting for the perfect opportunity to give it back to Cale to present itself.
My own pain is still too sharp for me to even consider having another conversation with him, especially when Davis is constantly lingering on the fringes of my mind, reminding me of every bad choice I’ve ever made.
I can’t take the chance on Cale again.
Not yet.
Maybe not ever.
I drag my focus back to the present as Oakley asks, “Can I have a snack?”
“Yeah,” I say tiredly, pressing two fingers into my temple. “There are some crackers in the cupboard, or I can make you a sandwich.”
He’s already shaking his head. “Crackers are fine,” he declares. “But I’m taking a juice, too.”
I chuckle. “Are you asking me or telling me?”
He lifts a shoulder. “Whatever makes you say yes.” I roll my eyes when he grins at me, but then his focus darts to the window beside me. “I’m gonna take my food outside. Is that okay?”
“Yeah, of course.” That guilt bites at me again. “I shouldn’t be too much longer, okay? And maybe we can go to that pizza place for dinner?”
He squints. “The one with the arcade attached?” I bob my head, and he cheers, pumping his fist in the air. “Yes! Can we invite Jacob?”
I make a show of picking up my phone and waving it in the air. “I’ll message Harrison right now so I don’t forget. If you go outside, make sure the gate is locked and that you stay around the back, okay?” I gesture toward the window. “It means I can still see you.”
He rolls his eyes, looking a lot older than eight. “Mom, I don’t need you to watch me every single second.”
I arch my brows. “Do we need to talk about you disappearing from the school again?”
Oakley’s expression creases mutinously, his eyes dropping away. “No.” He drops the heaviest sigh I’ve ever heard. “I’ll make sure the gate is locked.” It’s grudging, but when he peers up at me, I give him a smile.
“Thanks, bug.”
Oakley disappears into the kitchen, and I listen as he opens and shuts cupboards before the back door slams. I shake my head, wondering if there will ever be a day when he manages to close a door softly.
My chair squeaks as I push it backward, looking out the window as he goes to the gate and checks the lock. He looks up, catching me watching him, but just grins back. I chuckle, giving him a little wave.
Satisfied that he’s okay, I turn back to my laptop, frowning at the design I’ve been staring at for hours. With a groan, I click out of it, opening up a fresh page, hoping that starting from scratch will be the thing that gets my brain working.
Just under two hours later, I click send, and the mock-up design I’ve created is gone.
I sit back with a sigh, stretching out my neck.
My phone lights up with a silent notification, and I pick it up with a disinterested frown.
The first message is from Harrison, agreeing to meet us down at the pizzeria at six, and the others are all from Davis.
Davis
We need to talk about the house.
Davis
Stop ignoring me, Mellie. This is childish.
Davis
If you don’t get this sorted by the end of the month, Marcy and I will get lawyers involved.
Marcy and I. Like they are some sort of team. Them versus me.
I pull in a deep breath before closing out of the messaging app and locking my phone. I desperately want to block him, but right now, I’ll settle for saving all the communication and slowly building a plan to fight back.
This is mine and Oakley’s home, and I am not going to let Davis steal it from us after he’s already taken so much.
I rub the bridge of my nose, another wave of exhaustion rolling through me, but then the silence outside registers.
I’ve been periodically checking on Oakley, but it’s been a while since I heard his voice.
Not waiting, I quickly make my way outside, the parental guilt rearing its head again at the waning afternoon sun, knowing I’ve lost an entire Saturday afternoon with him.
The cooling breeze wraps around me as I step outside, and I shiver. The low thrum of voices drifts over to me; Oakley and a deep timbre responding, the sound of it immediately sending electricity skating down my spine.
I close my eyes, deliberating over my next move, unsure about whether I should interrupt or sidle back inside and pretend I never came out. A beat later—a long exhale—curiosity gets the better of me. I step down onto the grass, edging closer to the wooden fence that separates our yard from Cale’s.
The fence isn’t high, but I have to get relatively close before I see them—facing away from me as they sit in the grass, Oakley’s legs crossed and Cale’s stretched out in front of him. Oakley’s holding a baseball in his hand, periodically throwing it up and catching it.
Cale’s fully focused on him. “What happened while you were there?”
“Well, we went back to Marcy’s house. I thought Clarissa was going to be there, but she wasn’t.
Marcy said she was at her dad’s, so that wasn’t so bad.
It meant I got to play with whatever I wanted without her bugging me.
” Cale makes a quiet noise to show he’s listening.
Oakley throws the ball up high, snatching it from the air before he says, “Marcy’s mom came over to look after me.
I’ve met her before, and she’s not too bad.
She smells like feet, and she pretty much ignores me. But she’s not mean or anything.”
“Where did your dad go?”
“I don’t know.” He throws the baseball again. This time, it lands in front of him with a thud. Oakley doesn’t sound concerned, but anger bubbles under my skin. It’s not fair that Davis can just demand time with him and then leave him alone with a relative stranger.
From where I’m standing, I can see the taut line of Cale’s jaw and the way his brows dip down as he considers Oakley’s words. “When did your dad get back?”
My boy shrugs like it doesn’t matter, but his voice wavers when he admits, “I didn’t see him again until the morning. He gave me some toast for breakfast and then brought me back home.”
My breath catches in my throat, and my fingers tremble as I clench them into fists. At this moment, if Davis were standing in front of me, there wouldn’t be anything that would stop me from punching him right in the goddamn face. Or kicking him in the balls.
The silence stretches out between them, everything so still that it feels like the world is holding its breath. And then Cale sits up, reaching over to tug Oakley into his arms, who looks more like a piece of limp spaghetti than a boy. He melts into Cale’s hold, hugging him back.
The next time Oakley speaks, the words are so quiet the wind almost steals them away. “Is it bad that I wish I didn’t have to go back?”
Cale shakes his head. “No way, Killer. You’re obviously not comfortable there. I hate staying anywhere but my own place. It’s where all my stuff is, and I don’t sleep well anywhere else.”
“You stayed with us, though,” Oakley points out, wriggling away from Cale. “You spent the night here.”
A choked noise escapes me. I press a fist to my mouth, muffling it. I didn’t think Oakley knew. I thought we had hidden it well enough, but—
“You’re right,” Cale says easily, like he hasn’t just been caught with his metaphorical pants down by an eight-year-old. “But your house started to feel like home too.”
“Huh,” Oakley says. “I guess that makes sense. I don’t mind your house either. Dad doesn’t have video games like you do.”
He barks out a laugh. “Oh, I see how it is,” he teases. “You just like me for my games.” Oakley turns his head enough that I can see the toothy grin, not saying a word to deny it.
Cale’s amusement fades, and he looks over his shoulder, his dark brown eyes locking on me. There’s no surprise there, and my cheeks warm, realizing he must have clocked my presence the moment I stepped outside. He watches me unblinkingly, and I drop my eyes first.
“Have you told your mom about not going back to your dad’s?” I hear him ask. “You know she’s on your side.”
“I know,” Oakley mumbles. “That’s why she’s still mad at you.”
I glance up as Cale squeezes his shoulder. “We talked about that. Just as you’re entitled to your feelings, she’s allowed hers. She can be angry at me for as long as she likes. It’s not going to change how I feel about either of you.”
“Sometimes, it feels like I should still be angry at you too. But it makes me tired…holding onto all that mad.”
Cale chuckles again. “I know what you mean, Killer. I’m glad that you’re giving me a chance.” His mouth sets into a stubborn line. “One day, your mom might give me another chance too.”
“I wouldn’t hold your breath,” Oakley advises him wisely.
I press my knuckles harder against my mouth.
Those are words I’ve said to him when he’s gotten a little too sassy with me and then asked for something outrageous.
Hearing him repeat them back to Cale, of all people, tickles me something fierce.
“You’re not so great at these pep talks,” Cale says dryly, but he’s not even trying to hide his smile. “You’re supposed to be making me feel better.”
Oakley wrinkles his nose. “Wouldn’t that be lying?”
My chest aching, I back away from the fence, retreating all the way back to the house. Only then do I call out, “Oak?” acting as if I just stepped out of the house.
“Yeah?” He pops up like a little weasel, blinking wide eyes in my direction, his expression screaming guilt.
Ignoring that, I say, “It’s time to go to dinner. Harrison and Jacob are meeting us there in thirty minutes.” He scrambles into motion, disappearing for a beat before he’s clambering over the fence. As his feet land on our side, I ask, “Don’t you think it would’ve been easier to use the gate?”
“Nope!” he yells, already darting past me and toward the house. “I’m gonna get changed!”
I shake my head with a smile, turning back to find Cale leaning against the fence, watching me with a soft look in his eye.
“What?” I ask curtly, crossing my arms over my chest.
His mouth twitches. “Nothing.” he pauses, his amusement fading into something solemn. “You hear what he said?”
I look away, sighing. “I heard.”
“Mel, I know it’s not my place, but if you need help or someone to talk to—”
“I don’t need help,” I cut him off. “I have it all under control.”
Hurt flickers through his expression. My chest twinges before I sternly remind myself that he doesn’t have a stake in this. There’s no reason for him to be hurt by the distance I’m enforcing, not when he was the one to make sure it happened.
“I’m here,” he says finally. “I’m not going anywhere. No matter what.”
I stare back at him, my eyes burning but dry. “I’m happy that you’ve made things right with Oakley. It’s gonna take more than a few conversations to even touch on what’s wrong between us.”
His mouth curls into the tiniest smile. “Sounds like there’s a chance, though. Good to know, baby.” My mouth drops open as he shoots me a cocky wink and then strides away, disappearing into his house before I can think of a single comeback.