she was a bitch to everyone. I thought being faithful to Britta meant I was a good guy. At the time, the important things—consideration, empathy, compromise—didn’t register.
I’m grateful Keeley convinced me to become a better human being over the last few years. I’m not perfect. I have a lot of anger. Sometimes, I still slip into old patterns…but I’m trying. Now I have to convince Britta I’ll be a model husband and father.
That’s hard to do when she’ll barely talk to me and refuses to let me interact with our child.
The moms watch their little boys play for the next twenty minutes. Then Jamie charges to the monkey bars and clambers up the three steps to reach the rung above his head. Despite his cast, he swings across with surprising speed and strength. The other boy follows as quickly as he can but has only made it halfway by the time Jamie has jumped down, run around, and is dangling from the first handhold again.
He’s athletic, for sure. Like me, he’s probably never met a ball he didn’t like. Will he also hike, surf, scuba, kayak, and—I gulp—skydive? Okay, I haven’t even officially met this kid and already I’m compelled to make sure he learns limits and safety…and tries exercising some sanity when it comes to sports. I never did and I had a lot of broken bones in my youth to show for it. Did some crazy stunt of his result in the cast he’s wearing?
On the third trip across the monkey bars, the other kid rubs at his hands and seems to lose interest. Not Jamie. He darts over to the ladder for a fourth trek.
But instead of working lightning fast from one rung to the next again, he kicks a leg up and throws it over the top bar.
“Jamie!” Britta calls as she dumps her bottle of water in her bag and runs to him, worry carved into her face.
The little rascal ignores her and swings the other leg over the first handhold, then yanks himself up until he’s sitting on top of the monkey bars—ten feet in the air.
My heart stutters.
“Come here!” She holds out her arms to him, jumping up to snag him down, but he’s out of her reach. “This minute, young man.”
Jamie gives her a stubborn shake of his head.
When Britta runs for the ladder to snatch him, he scrambles on hands and knees to the middle of the apparatus. The other mom lingers underneath him, awkwardly holding out her arms in case Jamie falls, but she’s shorter than Britta. She’s also a waif. I’m not convinced she could catch a falling hunk of boy.
Then my son stands, wobbling on two different bars, and holds out his arms like he’s pretending he’s got wings.
I’m not going to lie. My heart flat stops because I know what’s coming next. He’s my kid, and I did roughly the same thing when I wasn’t much older.
Yeah, he’s going to jump.
So I’ve got a fucking dilemma. Keep my expedition to the park a secret or save Jamie?
No contest.
I push away from the tree and take off, sprinting across the walkway, the patch of grass, then leap onto the sand itself. I skid to a stop under Jamie just as the boy bends his little legs and leaps off the monkey bars like he’s Superman.
A split second later, he lands in my arms with a chest-thumping thud. He’s breathing hard when he freezes and blinks in surprise.
I look at him. He looks back at me.
Even though my heart is pounding and I feel Britta’s shock coming at me in waves, I’m savoring this moment because I’m finally holding my son.
God, I’m instantly in love.
“You okay, little man?” I ask him.
It’s almost painful to see how much he looks like me. Pictures were one thing, but our resemblance is more pronounced in person. He has his mother’s eyes. He’s also got three freckles on his nose, which he’s scrunching. He’s trying not to pout, but his little lip sticks out as he stares at me in challenge. He’s pissed that I didn’t let him finish his “flight.”
It’s not funny at all but I find myself smiling at him.
“Jamie!” Britta calls as she scrambles down the ladder, then rushes over to us. She grabs my son from my grip and pulls him in for a tight squeeze, kissing his forehead one moment, then shooting me a stunned stare the next. “What are you doing here?”
“Apparently I’m saving our son.”
“You have no right,” she all but hisses.
To say that aloud? To be here? To keep him from a concussion?
I have to work hard not to growl at her. “But aren’t you glad I was?”
Britta’s stare becomes a glare. She casts an embarrassed glance over to the other mom, whose gaze ping-pongs between me and Britta. She’s not trying to eavesdrop, but she can hardly help overhearing since we’re all standing mere feet apart. I wince.
Okay, I could have handled that better and kept our business a tad more private. On the other hand, I’m not hiding the fact that I’m Jamie’s father and I plan to be a part of his life. Britta’s friends will eventually know, too. Why not start now?
“In this instance, yes. Thank you,” she says curtly, then turns to the brunette. “Sorry to cut this short. I think we need to go.”
Is she fucking serious? I’ve barely seen Jamie.
“Sure. We should go, too.” Scooping up her son, the other woman gives me a sidelong once-over and steps away as if I somehow scare her.
I try to smooth my expression. I’ve been told I can look fierce as a son of a bitch, and the last thing I want to do is intimidate the five-foot-nothing mom of a toddler who’s friends with my son. “Griffin Reed.” I hold out my hand to Britta’s gal pal. “Nice to meet you.”
Slowly, she extends her hand, sending a speculative stare between Britta and me. “Emily Marks. Same. I’m glad you were here to save Jamie.”
The woman looks like she’s trying damn hard to figure out why I’ve so suddenly dashed—literally—into the situation.
Britta pulls Jamie in tighter against her. He turns into a squirming ball of boy, all arms and legs, determined to have his freedom…and probably climb the monkey bars again.
“I’ll call you later, Emily,” she tells her friend as she tries desperately to get Jamie under control so they can leave.
“Talk to you then.” The woman turns to go, then has second thoughts. “I didn’t know Jamie’s dad was in the picture. Anton took off when he found out I was pregnant. You’re lucky.” Then she adjusts the boy on her hip. “Wave good-bye, Cody.”
He does so without being told twice. He’s wholly unlike Jamie, who seems as strong-willed as I am.
Emily and the toddler in cowboy boots depart, leaving me alone with Britta, who’s still trying to contain Jamie. When his struggle to escape nearly has him punching her in the face, I snatch the boy and make sure Britta is out of the range of my son’s swinging arms. It’s like trying to hold a herd of angry cats.
“Give him back to me,” she insists.
“Once he’s calm,” I promise, then turn all my attention to Jamie. “Hey. Let’s calm down. What’s wrong?”
“Let go. I jump!”
“Nope.” I shake my head. “That’s dangerous, and you scared your mother. Don’t do that again.”
“Who you?” he challenges me with a fierce little frown.
I’ll tell him the truth soon. He may have overheard the conversation between the adults tonight, but he clearly didn’t understand. Or wasn’t really listening. Either way, I’m slightly relieved. Sure, it sucks waiting to hear him acknowledge that I’m his father, but I’d rather do this right.
“I’m someone who cares very much if you get hurt. So does your mom. You don’t want to see her upset, do you?”
“No.” His glum little frown tugs at my heart.
“Or crying?”
The frown deepens. “No.”
“Then listen to her next time or you and I might have to exchange more words, Jamie. Do you understand?”
He doesn’t know me at all, but he gives me a slow bob of his head. “Okay.”
“Good.” I hug him tight again, vowi
ng it won’t be the last time. “Go back to your mom and be a good boy. Can you do that?”
“Yeah.” His heavy sigh sounds a lot like a teenager who’s been asked to clean his room.
“That’s a good man. Give your mother a hug.” I return him to Britta.
She takes the boy gratefully and hugs him tighter than ever, shooting me a glance that asks who are you? “Why did you come here?”
I send her a reproving stare. “Really? You have to ask?”
Britta swallows—her anger, her pride—and blanks her face. “Thank you. I don’t know what I would have done without you tonight.”
“Watched him fall.” I smile wryly. “I did something similar at his age and broke my ankle. Is that how he broke his arm?”
“He didn’t, just got a finger stuck in a door at school. Normally, it would require a simple splint, but asking a toddler to leave the dressing alone…” She rolls her eyes.
“I’m glad that’s all it was.”
“Me, too. You have no idea. He’s gotten so big so quickly. He’s never not listened to me like that. I’m still shocked.”
“You know me, and you’re wondering why he’s headstrong?”
She tsks and shakes her head. “Good point. The last three months have been really hard. I thought I’d escaped the terrible twos, but suddenly…”
“He’s willful? He bucks authority? He does crazy things for a thrill?”
“Yeah. I don’t…” She frowns. “He was such a good baby, too. Never sick. Rarely cried. Liked to eat and sleep, enjoyed his playtime and his baths. He loves it when I read to him. He never minds his car seat but…”
“This is his first step to becoming a man.”
Britta looks horrified. “What are you talking about? He’s not even three.”
“Independence was always a big thing for me. I couldn’t wait to grow up, try new things, be my own person.” I shrug.
“I’m not ready for that. He’s a still a baby.”
Not so much. And certainly not for long. It hits me that she’s going to need help as he gets bigger and bigger. The last thing I want is her struggling to give him the boundaries he’ll require. Or for Makaio to provide them.
Tamping down anger at that thought, I can’t resist touching Jamie again, smoothing my palm over his crown. “But growing every day.”
“I remember when he fit easily into my arms. Now he’s over three feet tall. His pediatrician thinks he’ll be about six foot five when he’s full-grown.” Britta sounds distressed by that fact.
I take a chance and cup her shoulder. “If you let me, I’ll help you every step of the way.”
That shuts her down instantly. “We need to go. I have to feed Jamie dinner.”
When Britta turns away and scoops up her bag, I follow. “I’ll take you two out to eat.”
“No, thank you. I defrosted pork chops.”
“Work with me here. I’m late to acknowledge that I’m a father.” I grab her arm and turn her to face me, grateful that Jamie seems focused on some other kids just arriving at the park. “But I won’t leave again.”
“I don’t want to talk about this now.” She pulls out of my grip and rushes toward her car again. “It’s too soon, too complicated. You made your choice a long time ago, and—”
“I hurt you. And I’m more sorry than you think I’m capable of. I’ll tell you that every day until you believe me. But the only reason to keep us apart”—I gesture to Jaime—“is because you’re afraid of me or you’re feeling spiteful. I’ve never known you to be vindictive or mean, angel.”
“Don’t call me that.” She fumbles inside her bag for the keys to her car.
I know why she’s demurring, but she looks like an angel to me. “Don’t leave yet. When can I see him again?”
She finds the shiny key ring and presses the fob. Her hands are shaking. “I have to think about it. I’ll see you Monday at work.”
I debate whether I should tell her I have an appointment in the morning with a former client who happens to be a family law attorney. That’s probably the only reason he agreed to see me on a Saturday. But I keep silent. It’s not a threat. I simply want to know my rights—and how I go about getting more. In fact, as many as possible.
When she struggles to open the rear passenger door, I nudge her hand aside and jerk it wide. I could let her put Jamie in his car seat, but this may be my last time to hold him for a while, so I take him from Britta’s arms and give him a quick squeeze. Thank goodness he’s not fighting me. It feels so good to just touch him, like a part of me was missing but I’ve suddenly found it.
Then again, that’s how I feel every time I look at Britta.
“Give him back to me,” she huffs.
By the time she’s finished her sentence, I’ve already set him in his car seat and ruffled his hair.
“I’m just strapping him in,” I assure her.
Jamie stares at me uncertainly. I smile back. I know some kids are weird about strangers—as they probably should be. But I can’t deny that I want Jamie to like me. I’m disappointed our first conversation is me scolding him for his acrobatics. But it probably won’t be the last such conversation. I wish we’d had more time to bond. I’m hoping that, after today, we’ll have the rest of our lives to get to know each other, so he can love me the way I already love him.
But for now, my time with him has run out.
When I turn my attention to securing him safely in his car seat, I encounter a tangle of buckles and straps…and I’ve got no idea what the hell to do.
After a little fumbling, I manage to fasten the device appropriately. I think.
“Is it supposed to be this tight? He can’t move.” I step back from the open car door so Britta can stick her head in.
She murmurs something to Jamie, then checks over my work. “Yes. That way he can’t go anywhere in case we get in an accident.”
That makes sense, I guess, but I don’t know how this contraption doesn’t give him claustrophobia. “Can I see him tomorrow? Please.”
She bites her lip. “I have a ton of housework to do.”
“I’ll drive over and pick him up. I’ll bring him here to—”
“Absolutely not.” She shuts the rear door and stands in front of it protectively. “You’re not taking Jamie anywhere unsupervised.”
“I would never harm him,” I protest.
I’m actually hurt. Britta knows me. I may have been a lousy boyfriend in the past, but I’m not violent or mean. I’m not the kind of guy who would kidnap him from his mother. I simply want to be with him.
“You don’t know anything about Jamie,” she points out. “He has likes and dislikes. He has a food allergy. You can’t…” She shakes her head so vehemently she doesn’t finish her sentence.
She’s getting worked up and digging in her heels, so I need to back off. It’s something she did once or twice when we were together. But my angel has grown more spine in our time apart. She’s spicier.
I like it.
“Or I can take him out in your backyard while you keep an eye on us. Whatever makes you comfortable. But you’ve spent his whole life with him. I’ve had less than five minutes. C’mon…”
She presses her lips together in thought. Britta is a reasonable woman deep down. She wants to accommodate. She dislikes strife. I have hope.
“What am I supposed to tell him?” she whispers. “You can’t just show up and be his buddy.”
“I was thinking we’d tell him the truth.”
Britta grips her car keys and trots around the back of her vehicle. I don’t want to, and it’s utterly the wrong time, but I can’t avoid noticing that her ass looks fantastic in those exercise pants.
Then I realize she’s making a mad dash for the driver’s seat