7. RJ
RJ
I t’s been three fucking days of torture. This is the second morning I’ve woken up next to my sister’s best friend snuggling me in her sleep. And each time, I extricate myself from the bed, careful not to wake her, and then promptly go fuck my hand in the shower, wishing it was her the whole time.
I run along the shoreline, my feet slapping the sand as I pick up my pace.
Sand isn’t the most forgiving substance to run on, and my joints scream at me with each stride, but I stay close to the water where the ground is the most even.
I’m too old to be doing this. And I’m not talking about the exercise.
How do I fix this with her? I can’t keep rubbing aloe on her and then go rub one out in the shower. What can I do to show her that I’m sorry? That I’ve changed? That I want to do better by her?
When I climb the steps to the back porch, Lucas is sitting in a chair, kicking his feet. “Whatcha doin’?”
“Running.” I start my cool-down stretches. I don’t mean to be short with the kid, but I haven’t had coffee yet and I’m not much for conversation until I do.
“Can I run with you?” he asks, surprising me.
It would slow me down for sure. Maybe I could do a second run with him and match his pace.
“Never mind,” he says. I tilt my head in confusion. “Usually when adults take that long, the answer’s no.”
Well, fuck.
“I was just working through some logistics in my head, that’s why it took me a second to respond.” I squat in front of him. “I’d be happy to run with you, Lucas.”
“Really?” A big smile lights up his face. “I’m really fast, I promise. Can we go now?”
“Hmm. I should check with your mom before I run off with you.”
He drops his head. “She’s gonna say no.”
“What makes you think that?”
“She has to work. Again. And she said we need adult supervision. Especially me.”
I fight my smile as I run my tongue along my bottom lip. “Do you need adult supervision?”
“Probably. I get in trouble a lot. But it’s hard. Sometimes I want to do all the things my brain tells me to do. But then Mom gets mad.”
I know the feeling. My brain is screaming at me to kiss Summer every time I stare at her perfect pink lips. “Let me talk to her.”
The house is silent when I step inside. It’s early, and I suspect everyone’s still in bed. I slowly approach the door to our room. Our room. Fuck, what I wouldn’t give for that to be a permanent thing. I raise my hand to knock right as the door swings open.
“What?” Summer says, all flustered.
I blink at her in confusion. “I didn’t say anything. I didn’t even knock yet.”
She sighs. “I got up early so I could get some work done, and apparently Lucas woke up just to pester me this morning and I thought you were him.” She crosses her arms over her chest, and I try my best not to stare down at her tits.
Her round, full, perfect tits. “Did you need something?” She’s trying to sound sweet, but there’s still a hint of annoyance in her tone.
“Lucas was on the porch when I finished my run, and he asked if he could do a lap with me. Would it be okay if I took him for a jog on the beach?”
Her shoulders relax, and her face softens. “That would be amazing, actually.”
It takes all my restraint not to lean in and kiss her forehead. “Great. Need us to pick up anything while we’re out?”
She shakes her head as her eyes fixate on my mouth. I slowly run my tongue across my bottom lip, delighting in the way she tracks the movement. “We’ll be back. I hope you get some work done.”
As I turn and walk toward the door, I feel her eyes on me.
These shorts make my ass look great, and I smile to myself knowing she hasn’t moved from her spot once I reach the patio door.
I glance at her over my shoulder, popping my dimple in a smile as I confirm that I’m correct.
She shakes her head and disappears into the bedroom.
After I walk Lucas through some stretches, we jog down to the beach.
The kid is surprisingly fast, having no issue keeping pace with me.
I don’t even have to slow my normal stride by much.
We’re about a half mile from the house when Lucas trips over a piece of driftwood and falls face first into the sand.
“Shit, kid, are you okay?” I bend down to help him up when his head pops up, face smudged with wet sand.
“You owe Logan five dollars.” He flops onto his back, holding his foot up in the air.
I release a breath, thankful he’s okay. “Crap. You’re right.”
“That’s ten dollars.”
“What? Crap isn’t a bad word. It’s a non-swear for shit.”
He grins. “Twenty.”
“Okay, okay.” At least it’s for a good cause. I give him my hand, pulling him up. “Can you walk?”
He takes a tentative step and winces. “It hurts a little.” Another step, and his face contorts.
I squat down and pick up his leg. “Can you move it in a circle for me?”
It’s not as fluid as I’d like, but it’s not broken. I look up at him, and he’s wiping a tear from his face. “I’m fine.”
“It doesn’t appear to be broken, but you may have sprained it. Can you walk on it okay?”
Tears well in his eyes as he tries to take a few steps. “I’m fine.” His voice wobbles.
He’s putting on a brave face, but it’s obvious that he’s struggling, so I hold out a hand to stop him. “You’re not. It’s clear you’re in pain.”
“I am not!” His fists are balled at his sides as he huffs out several breaths. “Pain is for babies.”
“Well, that’s not true. Adults feel pain too. Who told you that? I’m a firefighter, and I help adults and kids in pain all the time.”
He purses his lips, trying to control his emotions. “That’s what my dad says.”
I pause for him to continue, waiting for the missing context. “What did he say?”
“Last summer I fell off my bike at his house, and he yelled at me for being a baby. But I’m not a baby.”
“You’re absolutely not a baby. You’re what, ten?”
“Nine,” he huffs.
I knew that, but I was hoping adding a year to his age would make him feel better.
“That’s right. Nine is definitely not a baby age.
And falling off your bike can be scary. I helped a kid a few months ago on a call when he fell off his bike and broke his wrist. He was thirteen, and you know what he did? ”
A small sniffle escapes him as he squints his eyes to look at me. “What?”
“He cried. Because it hurt. And that’s a normal reaction to pain. It doesn’t make you a baby.”
“My ankle hurts.” He grabs his knee and holds it up against his chest so it’s eye-level with me.
“Can I?” I tentatively reach for his foot. He nods then I remove his shoe and sock to examine his ankle. “There’s no discoloration or swelling from what I can see. It looks like you twisted it. Do you want to walk or hitch a ride on my back?”
“I want to walk. But slow. And if it hurts, then can I get a piggyback?”
“That sounds like a plan.” I help him put his sock and shoe back on, and we make it a few feet before I’m hoisting him onto my back so we can finish the journey.
“Do you think my mom will tell my dad that I cried?” he asks out of nowhere.
“No, I don’t imagine she would. Why?”
“I don’t want him to know. I want him to think I’m brave.”
“You are brave, but even brave people cry. Why wouldn’t he think you’re brave?”
He wraps his arms tighter around my neck, pressing against my windpipe, and I adjust him higher on my back. “If he thinks I’m brave and not a baby, maybe he’ll want to see me more.”
What the fuck?
“How often do you see him? You spend the summer with him, right?”
“He only comes over for like one day. We usually just stay with Nana and Pop-Pop. But maybe if he knows I’m not a baby, he’ll want to spend more time with me.”
I don’t know how to respond to that, so I stay silent, worried that if I say anything it’ll cause more problems. It may have taken me a while to figure out what I wanted to do as a career, but fatherhood was something that came naturally to me.
It’s always been fulfilling, life-changing.
I’ve never gotten the same high in a job until I became a firefighter, and I can’t imagine any dad treating his kid this way.
It only makes me want to help Summer and her kids more, to show them that I can be a steady presence in their lives.
By the time we get back to the house, everyone’s awake and gathered around the kitchen island when we walk in. I set Lucas on a stool, prop his ankle up on another stool, and fill a bag with ice.
“Here, buddy. Keep this foot elevated. We need to ice it on and off for the next couple hours. There’s a first aid kit in the upstairs bathroom. I’ll see if there’s an Ace bandage in there.”
Summer rushes over. “What happened?”
“I tripped on a piece of wood,” Lucas says. “But I didn’t cry.”
“He was really brave. It looks like he twisted his ankle.” I hook my thumb over my shoulder. “I’m going to grab a wrap for him.”
Summer gives me a murderous look, and my heart sinks. “You said you’d watch him.”
Not wanting to have this conversation in front of the kids, I motion her over. “Can you help me upstairs?”
She reluctantly follows me into the upstairs bathroom, and I close the door behind us. I know there’s no easy way to tell her this, so I jump right into it. “He tripped over a piece of driftwood. He’ll be fine, but he said something concerning.”
“What did he say?” Summer shifts nervously.
“He didn’t want his dad to know that he cried. He was worried that his dad wouldn’t want to spend time with him if he was…” I use air quotes. “Acting like a baby.”
Her face falls, and she leans on the sink. She doesn’t speak for several minutes, and I watch as her breathing regulates. My eyes fixate on the way her shoulders bunch.
“Your sunburn looks better,” I offer.
She speaks at the same time. “You must think I’m a horrible mother.”
“I would never think that.” She tilts her head, holding my gaze. “Never.”
“Lucas overheard Todd complaining and took something out of context.”
I wait for her to continue, covering her hand with my palm. “What did he say?”
She blows out a breath. “His wife just had another baby, and apparently she had colic and was crying a lot. I think he was tired of hearing her cry, and he said that he ‘didn’t want to listen to another whiney, crying baby.’ Lucas overheard and assumed his dad was talking about him.
I’m not saying he wasn’t, but I don’t really know. ”
“Why are you making excuses for him?” Fuck, that was supposed to be an inside thought.
There’s fire in her eyes as she furrows her brows. “I’m not.”
“You are,” I say, softer. “I would never complain about something like that in front of my daughter. I get that as parents we’re human and have a right to feel frustration with our kids, but if my daughter ever overheard something I said that hurt her feelings, I would take ownership for my words and apologize. That’s what real men do.”
“You’re right. But I wasn’t there, and I don’t know how to protect them from this.
They want to see their dad and he gets the summers with them, but he only shows up for a day before he takes off for his other family.
The rest of the time they’re with his parents, and it was all I could piece together from Nana.
Now Lucas has got it in his head that he can’t cry around his dad, like that’s the reason his dad is never around, when really his dad is never around because he’s a piece of shit who knocked up his secretary and picked her over us.
I’m tired of men who treat me or my kids like we’re convenient until the next best thing comes along.
” She glares at me with such intensity I have to fight the urge not to look away.
I just met these kids, but fuck if it doesn’t enrage me for them. “How can I help?”
“I don’t need help. Not from you. I’ll figure this out just like I always do.”
Her words are a punch to the gut but not completely unwarranted. Does she think I treated her like a convenience? My feelings for her were inconvenient, all consuming, and overwhelming. But they were constant, steady and I want her to know she can depend on me.
“We used to be friends once. You used to share every thought in your head with me, and I get that we aren’t close now.
But I’d love to be there for you. And for your kids.
I want to be someone you can count on.” Do I want to be just friends with this woman?
Fuck no. But I’d rather be her friend than nothing at all.
She bites her lip and drops her head. “Thank you.” I don’t like that she won’t look at me, but I’ll take whatever she gives me.