My nerves have been on fire since Jamie picked up Noah today.
My stomach clenches when I ask myself why I agreed to let her parents meet Noah.
Sheila and Ted Gentry are good people and had been nothing but warm and welcoming since I met them. Even with their wealth and status, they weren’t unhappy that their daughter brought home a boyfriend who came from a broken home and was living off the system. They helped my family and me, and even though it pissed me off, I knew their asking to adopt Noah came from a good place. They were willing to step up and parent Noah if no one else would.
I glance up at the sound of the front door opening and hear Noah blabbing about how long he held his breath underwater. I smile, knowing he must’ve gone swimming at her parents’ house. Noah comes darting in, ready to tell me about his day, and just as I’m about to ask him a million questions, the sight of Jamie stops me.
Her face is blotchy, and she’s struggling to hold back tears.
She’s seconds away from a breakdown.
I stride to the fridge, pull out a pudding cup, snatch a spoon, and hold them out to Noah. “Go eat this in the living room, and we’ll be in there in a minute.”
“Really?” His eyes widen as if I grew another head. “I can eat it on the couch?”
“Just this once.”
I pat him on the head, and he grabs the goods before dashing into the living room.
She’s practically shaking when I step closer.
“Jamie,” I say, “what’s wrong?”
“Please, Cohen.” A single tear slides down her cheek. “Don’t hate me.”
Those aren’t good words to hear.
Especially after where they’ve been.
I stare at her, trying not to jump to conclusions, and wait for her to continue.
She doesn’t, but the sobs come.
“Jamie,” I say, “you’re scaring me here.”
She opens her mouth, shuts it, and then slowly opens it again. “I took Noah to my parents’ house, like we agreed.”
I nod and stay silent.
“I told him they were my parents, like we agreed.”
“Good.”
“Everything was going fine.” Her voice, her jaw, her hands—they’re all shaking. “We were swimming and then …”
“And then what?”
Her gaze drops to the wood floor. “Heather showed up.”
A storm rolls through me, an anger I’ve never experienced, and the urge to throw something consumes me.
I don’t.
I don’t because Noah is in the next room.
“The fuck?” I hiss. “You promised me, Jamie.”
It’s done.
She’s done.
It’ll break Noah’s heart but no more Jamie.
I stepped out of my comfort zone and did this for her.
And it was all a fucking lie.
“I know,” she cries out, keeping her voice low. “No one knew she was coming. It was out of the blue—”
“Bull-fucking-shit,” I snarl. “Maybe you didn’t know, but your parents did.” Out of the blue, my ass. “Heather lives in a different state, and you want me to believe she was just in the neighborhood?”
Her green eyes are pained, anguished, as she gapes at me. “My parents were as shocked as I was. She came to surprise my mother for her birthday. We tried to hide Noah. Trust me, we don’t want to mess up seeing him, nor did we want her to say something that’d confuse him.”
“Did she see him?”
She nods. “She did.”
I grind my teeth. “Did she talk to him?”
The thought of her telling Noah who she is sends a bitter taste in my throat.
The thought of my son’s head being fucked with is a stab to the heart.
“At first”—she stops to level her breathing—“I told her he was a kid I was babysitting, but then Noah introduced himself.”
“Did she tell him anything?”
“No.”
My anger falls a level.
“She stormed out of the house as soon as she found out who he was because she didn’t want her husband to know Noah was there. You have nothing to worry about with Heather. I promise you. She was mad that he was there.” Every muscle in her body is tense. “I’m sorry. I really am.”
I pace in front of her. “This is what I was scared of.”
“I’m sorry,” she mutters again.
Jamie doesn’t deserve this anger.
This hurt.
The respect and the compassion I have for her calm me.
I run my hands through my hair, taking the last of my anger out on the strands before blowing out a long breath. “It’s not your fault.”
She frantically rubs her arms up and down.
“That asshole wasn’t around my son, was he?”
“No,” she rushes out. “He was chain-smoking outside, and I hurried and got Noah out of there. They were driving to his family reunion.” She steps forward and rests her hand on my chest. “I give you my word, Cohen. Nothing has changed for her. She’s no threat to you … to Noah.”
I rest my hand over hers, the warmth of her skin underneath mine settling me. “I trust you, Jamie.” My hands move to her shoulders, and I squeeze them before slowly massaging them for a moment. “Relax.”
Her eyes are watery when I finally step back, my arms falling to my sides before I raise one to cup her jaw in my hand.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “I trust you.”
She bows her head. “Thank you.”
Time to make light of this situation.
My dad mind shoots straight to how I help Noah with his tears.
“Looks like someone might need a quesadilla,” I say, my tone teasing.
She laughs, wiping her eyes. “You mean, looks like someone needs some tequila?”
Turning on my heel, I reach into the tallest cabinet above the fridge and extract a bottle of tequila I save for moments like this.
Moments when I need to clear my head.
I pluck two shot glasses from another cabinet, fill them to the rim with tequila, and hand one to her. “To us not giving a shit about Heather.”
She picks it up without hesitation. “To us not giving a shit about Heather.”
There’s a clink as our glasses hit together, and the tequila burns as it seeps down my throat.
Fuck.
It’s been a minute since I’ve drunk this shit.
Blowing out a breath, I wipe my lips with the back of my arm and groan. “Tell me that helped.”
Instead of answering, she pours another and shoots it down. “Now, that one helped.”
I chuckle and rub my hands together. “Now, how about the quesadilla?”
“A quesadilla sounds amazing.”
Without thinking—because I’m an idiot—I kiss her forehead. “Everything is good. Don’t worry about it.”
Her mouth drops open, and Noah, with perfect timing, comes stomping into the kitchen.
“Pudding cup is gone!” He holds it up. “But my belly is still hungry.”
I snatch the tequila and shove it back into the cabinet while Jamie places the shot glasses into the dishwasher. With how flustered we are, I’m shocked one of us didn’t drop anything.
“How about a quesadilla?” I ask Noah, raising my voice and forcing it to be as playful as possible.
At least, I’m hoping it sounds that way.
“Woohoo!” Noah shouts. “I love quesadillas!”
I gesture for Jamie to sit down, and she does. Noah starts rambling about school and random shit while I get to work. Jamie listens to Noah, engaging in his conversation as if she were being told the world’s secrets while I drag out the quesadilla essentials. My mind is on the kiss as I warm the flour tortillas in a skillet.
It was a friendly peck, I tell myself while topping one with cheese.
One I’d give Georgia or one of her friends if they were upset, I think while flipping it over.
I remove the quesadilla from the skillet, drop it on a plate, and start on another.
That’s it.
Innocent.
I’ve convinced myself our relationship is nothing but platonic when I drop the plates in front of them and grab the salsa, and then we dig in.
I believe Jamie.
I saw the pain in her eyes, the honesty in her words, and the fear.
No way is she capable of faking that.
She never even had to tell me.
That’s why, while we clean up, I invite her to Noah’s basketball game.
“Noah is going to kick some ass today,” Finn says, sliding down the bleachers in the YMCA gymnasium until he’s sitting next to me.
“Hush,” Grace, Georgia’s friend, warns behind him, slapping his shoulder. “There are kids around. Use your PG voice.”
Finn groans, throwing his head back. “Just because you use your PG voice at all times doesn’t mean I have to.”
Georgia, who’s sitting next to Grace, smacks the back of his head. “She’s an elementary school teacher, dimwit. She has to use her PG voice.”
“And I’m a bouncer at a bar. I don’t.” He rubs the back of his head. “And you’re brutal, Georgia.”
Most of the gang is here for Noah’s basketball game. We erupt in cheers when he runs onto the court with his team, wearing his red uniform and matching tennis shoes. I love the support we have.
Georgia will be at our side, no matter what. She calls us The Three Musketeers. After our father left and our mother fell victim to addiction, I was there to pick up the slack. I was her big brother, and if my parents weren’t going to care for her, then I was. I fed her, made sure she was at school every day, helped her with her homework, and provided anything she needed.
Lola and Grace are always a help to us and love Noah to death.
Silas, Finn, and Archer are the same.
Maliki, one of my best friends, is here too. He owns Down Home Pub, a bar in the next county. It’s nice we can visit each other’s bars, and we’ve never felt a sense of competition.
We all have fun together.
During the summers, we regularly have cookouts at my house.
“Hi,” Jamie whispers, squeezing into the spot on the other side of me. “I tried to get out of the hospital as fast as I could.”
I glance over at her with a smile. “You’re good. The game hasn’t started yet.”
The woman behind Jamie taps her shoulder, and we both peek back at her.
“Hi. You’re Noah’s mom, right?” She points at Jamie. “It’s nice to finally meet you.” She presses her hand to her chest. “I’m Mary, the teacher’s assistant in Noah’s class.”
Jamie’s face pales while I nearly fall off the bleachers.
“Oh, no,” Jamie stutters, “I’m not his mom.”
Mary blinks. “That’s what he said when you picked him up from school last week.” Her head tilts to the side. “You’re a doctor, right?”
Jamie nods.
Thank fuck no one else is paying attention to us.
My heart batters against my chest. I wish it’d fall out, and I could give it to my son, so he’d have more. I believed I had it all figured out, playing the role of both parents.
I was wrong.
Just as they say a daughter needs her father, a son wants his mother.
Hell, I want that for him.
The memory of the first time he asked me why he didn’t have a mom slams into me. He was four, and I hadn’t been prepared for it. I froze, words not coming, and it took me a moment to get my shit together.
I knew whatever I said would break his heart.
She didn’t want you, was what I wanted to say.
That way, Noah would never track her down.
It’s what my mother had told me and Georgia about our father, and I gave no fucks about finding him.
He hadn’t wanted me, so I didn’t want him.
Sure, it’d crushed me when she told me, but it made me stronger. I never held out hope that he’d return one day, and I was thankful she’d fed me the truth.
Would my son feel the same way?
Would he appreciate the truth, or would it break him?
Those were my worries.
The truth had shattered Georgia. For years, she wondered where he was and why he didn’t want her. Eventually, she tracked him down with the hope that he regretted leaving us.
He didn’t.
He had two other children.
Two other children he was a dad to.
A real dad to them.
She’d left with a larger hole in her heart.
She finally had to come to terms with not being wanted.
Who will Noah be—me or Georgia?
Wanting the person or not giving a shit?
In the end, I told him the truth.
There were mixed reactions.
His therapist said I was wrong.
Georgia said she understood.
I’d prepared the little guy’s heart, so it’d be stronger.
Maybe it was wrong.
Maybe we weren’t so much alike, and the pain from the absence of a parent was harder for him than me. It could be different because he lost a mother, not a father. I had plenty of friends with fathers not in the picture. Mothers not in the picture were less common.
I have a feeling if Noah ever seeks out Heather, it’ll be the same as what happened with Georgia.
“Maybe there was some confusion. I’m not—” Jamie stops and gives Mary a warm smile. “It’s nice to meet you.” She whips around, setting her eyes on the court, her shoulders tense.
Not as tense as mine, but pretty damn close.
These are the moments I feel like a failure.
I don’t regret Noah, but I regret who his mother is.
Never in the time we’d been together—nearly a decade—did I think Heather would turn her back on us like she did.
Her actions have made me question any type of relationship.
I haven’t been celibate, having my fair share of hookups, but that’s it. I’m too weak to give them what they want. My heart is too untrusting after giving my all to someone for so long, only to get shit on.
My guard is up for both of us.
So I fuck a little here and there, but I always go home to Noah.
Noah sends us a wave from the court before they start the game.
“He looks adorable in his uniform,” Jamie says, leaning into me.
“Grace tried to bedazzle it,” Finn comments.
“It would’ve been cute,” Grace argues.
“Sorry, babe, but no.”
Finn gets smacked in the back of the head again, this time by Grace, and he chuckles.
Our circle is strange—a heap of sexual tension.
Grace and Finn flirt like no other, and they’re opposites. She’s the sweet schoolteacher while Finn is far from innocent. He’s been through hell and back, and he refuses to ask Grace out, in fear he’ll rub his tainted life on her pristine one.
Sexual tension bleeds off Lola and Silas. Everyone is waiting for the day they bang. They share the same personality—sarcastic assholes who date around and avoid commitment.
That leaves Archer, Georgia, and me as the odd ones out.
Archer isn’t a dater.
Georgia is too busy enjoying life for a boyfriend—or so she says.
And I have my issues.
“Go, Noah!” Georgia cheers.
Pride punches me while I watch him play. It’s entertaining since most of the kids don’t know what the hell they’re doing, but Noah is having a blast.
Since the kids are just learning the game, there isn’t a winner.
“Jamie, you’re going out for tacos with us,” Georgia insists after the game.
Everyone’s attention whips to her in expectation, and her eyes avert to the bleachers that are clearing out.
One thing I appreciate is how they’re not acting strange around Jamie, as if it were normal that she’s here even though they all know the situation.
“Come on,” Noah says, moving to her side and jumping up and down.
She shoots me a questioning look.
“Yeah, come on,” I say, throwing my arm back to gesture toward the doors.
“At least you have decent taste in tacos,” I tell Jamie.
She’s sitting next to me at the best taco joint in town.
Granted, La Mesa is the only taco place in town.
The food is to die for, and Noah loves their nachos and cinnamon churros. We eat here a few times a month with the gang since there’s enough room for everyone and an arcade in the back for the kids to play games.
Jamie points at me with her fork. “At least, you have decent taste in tacos.”
“How about we agree we both have decent taste in tacos?”
“Fine, but I ordered first, so you copied me.”
I chuckle, turning in my chair, and rest my elbow on the table while focusing on her. “I order the same thing every time!”
“As do I.”
“Mm-hmm.”
“Ask Ashley.”
“You two still best friends?”
She nods. “Yep, and she’ll confirm I’m a creature of habit. Shredded chicken tacos have always been my go-to.” She bites into her lower lip. “I do get their quesadillas sometimes too. They’re delish.”
I throw my head back. “Can we both agree my quesadillas are more delish?”
Everyone around us is having their own conversations, and Noah is in the arcade, playing with Georgia, while Jamie and I are wrapped in our own little world.
“You have a major hard-on about your quesadillas, huh?”
“They’re my specialty.” I wink at her.
“Dad!” Noah comes barreling toward us and snags a churro from his plate. “Can I hang out at Jamie’s tonight?”
Like when Georgia asked Jamie to come to dinner, everyone’s attention darts to her. The table falls silent.
And also like when Georgia asked her, she appears uncomfortable as she shifts in her chair.
Noah pouts out his lower lip. “Pretty, pretty please?”
Not only has he put Jamie on the spot, but he’s put me on the spot too.
“Buddy,” I chime in, “we don’t know if Jamie has plans tonight.”
“I mean, I have the night off,” Jamie rushes out, her eyes directed at me. “I don’t have any plans and would love the company.”
“Yay!” Noah dances in place with the churro in his hand. “We can eat cupcakes and watch cartoons and play games.”
“You sure it’s okay?” I mouth to her.
She nods with a smile before mouthing, “If it’s okay with you?”
I glance back at Noah, who’s chomping on his churro. “All right, you can stay over there, but you have to promise to behave.”
“I will!” Noah chirps.
Silas slaps the table. “Looks like we’re having guys’ night!”
“Are we doing Twisted Fox or Down Home?” Maliki asks.
We tend to have guys’ night at one of our bars. When one of us needs a break from our workplace, we go to the other’s.
“Twisted Fox,” Finn says. “That way, we can try to talk Archer into joining us.”
“Why does it only have to be guys’ night?” Georgia asks. “I nominate it to be guys’ and girls’ night.”
Georgia lives up to the little sister role through and through. Even as a grown-up, she crashes my parties and always has to be in the know. Not that I mind. I love that she enjoys spending time with us, and that way, I can also keep an eye on her.
“It can’t be a guys’ and girls’ night because Archer will act like we have the plague if you’re there,” Finn says.
“Archer can kiss my ass,” she fires back.
“It’s okay. We’ll have a girls’ night,” Lola says, a sly smile spreading along her bright red lips. “At Twisted Fox.”
Georgia laughs, reaches across the table, and high-fives her.
“It’d be nice if you stopped stalking us, ladies,” Silas comments, smirking.
Georgia turns her attention to Finn. “Prepare for men to hit on Grace at our girls’ night since you want nothing to do with us, and you can’t cockblock her.”
Grace’s cheeks redden as she hisses Georgia’s name.
“Nobody is hitting on any of you,” Finn snaps.
Lola rolls her eyes. “Someone had better hit on me.”
Silas flips her off.
I lean in to whisper in Jamie’s ear, goose bumps crawling up her neck as I get closer. “Seriously, if you have plans, I can be the bad guy and tell Noah no.”
She massages her hand over her neck, as if attempting to erase her reaction to me. “No plans, seriously. Go have fun.”
I don’t remember the last time I had a guys’ night.
Sure, every so often, I have drinks with the guys before heading home, but nothing like this.
Whiskey—a rarity for me—is in my glass. I tend to stick to beer when I drink.
Noah is in good hands tonight, and I need to drink away my thoughts of the woman whose hands he’s in.
My relationship with Jamie is changing. She’s becoming like family to us.
Noah is falling in love with her.
And me?
When she’s around, my heart clenches—and also battles with my brain.
It’s right, my heart says.
It’s wrong, my brain chimes in.
Finn, Silas, Maliki, and I are huddled around a table in the corner of the bar, shooting the shit. I called in our part-time bartender to cover for Archer tonight, and we’ve been trying to drag him away from the bar for an hour, but he’s reluctant.
“How’s the bar going?” I ask Maliki.
He shrugs, circling his hand around the neck of his beer bottle. “Same shit, different day.”
At one time, Maliki and I had planned to open a bar together, but when his father nearly lost their family bar, he moved home and took over. Before opening Twisted Fox, I checked with him to make sure he was cool with it. We aren’t direct competition, but I didn’t want to step on anyone’s toes.
He was fucking ecstatic for me.
And wanted to kick my ass for doubting if he would be.
“Oh, wow, fancy seeing you jerks here,” Georgia says, coming into view.
Lola and Grace are behind her with drinks in their hands. They set their drinks down, then drag another table and stools next to our table, and join us.
“Isn’t the little sister supposed to quit being annoying to the big brother when she gets older?” Finn asks.
Georgia narrows her eyes on him. “Shut up. Don’t act like you don’t love it when Grace is around.”
Grace’s cheeks redden, and she twirls a strawberry-blonde strand of hair around her finger. “Are … you okay with us interrupting?”
“You know I don’t care,” I say, jerking my head toward the guys. “Neither do they. They just like giving you a hard time.”
“Almost all of you don’t care,” Lola chimes in, her attention moving to Archer, who’s talking to the bartender.
“Which is why Georgia needs to go sit in the corner by herself when Archer comes over,” Finn states.
“Archer isn’t a child, so you need to stop worrying about how he feels.” Georgia shrugs. “I’m cooler than him anyway.”
“That is true,” Silas says. “She’s nowhere near as grumpy as Archer.”
“Archer is only grumpy when Georgia is around,” Finn argues. “Cause and motherfucking effect.”
Georgia rolls her eyes. “He’ll get over it.”
“Will either of you ever explain why you hate each other?” Silas asks.
Grace’s and Lola’s eyes nervously shoot to Georgia.
“Our personalities clash,” Georgia answers before downing drink.
People stop at our table to say hi and offer to buy us drinks. We might have some pain-in-the-ass customers, but I love the majority of our clientele. Archer remains behind the bar, slinging drinks while also eyeing us, and I’m clueless whether he’ll join us now since Georgia is here.
He can get the fuck over that.
“Have you decided what we’re doing for Noah’s birthday?” Georgia asks.
“He’s narrowed it down to a snow resort, a water park, or Chuck E. Cheese,” I answer.
“Dear Lord, please don’t let it be Chuck E. Cheese,” Silas says with a shudder.
“Why?” Lola asks. “Don’t all your nineteen-year-old girlfriends love Chuck E. Cheese?”
“Piss off,” he grumbles, and they both crack up in laughter.
Swear to God, they need to fuck and get it out of the way.
Same with Grace and Finn.
Scratch that. It’ll only create more problems if my friends start fucking Georgia’s friends.
Thank fuck none of them have a thing for Georgia.
We’d have problems.
I love my friends, but that’s against bro code.
It’s crossing the line.
Just like me thinking about touching Heather’s sister is crossing the motherfucking line.
So why do I want to?
As I sit here drinking, why is she on my mind?
“Look who’s finally joining us,” Georgia says, wiping away my thoughts.
Archer is standing at the table, a Jack and Coke in his hand and a glare on his face. Seconds later, he turns around and storms away.
Georgia jumps up from her stool. “Oh, my God!”
She scurries behind Archer, grabbing his elbow, and he swings back to look at her. They exchange words, him tipping his head down as they talk to each other, until he runs his hand through his hair. He nods, and when they return, Archer slides a stool next to me and sits.
We drink.
We laugh.
We have a good-ass time.
Three hours later, I grab my phone to text Sylvia and inform her I’m on my way home. My hand freezes at the realization that she isn’t babysitting.
It’s the first night Noah has stayed somewhere other than my home or Georgia’s.
I’m letting Jamie in.
And I hope to God she doesn’t rupture our hearts.