CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
HER VISITOR hesitated before he entered, assessed the interior, and nodded. Greg’s eyes ran from her head to her toes. “I thought you might slam the door in my face.”
“You partly support Dylan. I told myself I’d never stop you from seeing him as long as he’s your responsibility.”
“Always the voice of reason. Thanks. You look good.”
Her heart slid back two years to the last time she saw him in person, through a flood of tears after she hand delivered the paternity test he’d demanded.
Toeing out of her sandals, she crossed to the wide living room entrance to stand between him and Dylan. Mostly to support her weak spine against the frame.
“I heard through the grapevine you’re seeing someone.”
She didn’t know there was a vine on her life. Myah ran her tongue along her teeth but didn’t answer. It must be Marlene McKenzie, Ingrid’s friend and coworker, and member of Greg’s church. That’s where Myah garnered all of her daddy-information from anyway.
Whatever Greg may have heard may be over. Her eyes caught the three prominently displayed photos of Keir. His house told of great stories throughout the years. She hadn’t realized she’d taken up the habit.
The first photo sat out of the way by the window, him asleep on his couch with Jolie on his shoulder. Well, Jolie’s butt was on his shoulder, the rest of her flopped hap-hazardously overboard, her head somehow squeezed between the crack of the cushion and the arm.
Wes captured the one on the coffee table one Sunday afternoon, right after she’d stolen one of those famous Fedoras. They smiled into the camera, a saucy gleam in her hat-stealing eye. Last was a candid of him walking at the zoo, wind lifting his hair, Dylan animatedly poised on top.
“That him?”
Myah stood up straight at Greg’s irritated tone. This was the first time he’d lain eyes on Dylan since their son was a newborn. She shouldn’t have expected this would be a cordial visit.
“A white guy?”
Keir.
Dylan looked up. “Hi.”
“Hi, Dylan.”
Dylan looked at her, then back to a man she didn’t know how to introduce. “Hi.”
“Hi.”
With another tentative glance, no introduction from her, and no offer to play, he went back to trucks. Myah shook her head at the exchange, then studied Dylan before glancing at the photo of him on Keir’s shoulders.
When they’d returned from a second trip to the zoo, she could only look on amazed as the two wrestled on the floor, her strong son winning every time. She recalled her shock of how he’d thrown himself across Keir’s chest in victory, then rose up to look down at the man. Dylan had planted a kiss on Keir’s mouth.
“Lovoo.”
Myah couldn’t decide if the winded flush came from playing, the declaration, or in search of a response, but Keir had rubbed Dylan’s back and kissed his cheek.
“Love you, too, man.”
Greg’s grunt fizzled the image. “That guy gets to take him out? You take our son out on dates with the dude?”
“That’s none of your business.”
“When I first stepped through that door you made it my business. You said you’d give me access.”
“To your son! Not who your son sees! Or me!” She bit back the anger, folded her arms. Don’t you cry, Myah. She wouldn’t let Greg think he was the reason for her disheveled composure.
Greg gestured to the photographs. “But you let whitey play father to him. That doesn’t look funny to you?”
“He had a father’s heart before he even met Dylan.”
She hadn’t known how accurate her words would be when she opened her mouth, but it pained her to realize their truth. She’d contemplated a breakup to save herself humiliation down the road, but he added value to Dylan. He fit her son’s life to a T. Not Greg. Greg looked around like he wanted to defend his territory, only he had no territory here to claim.
He glanced at the photos, the TV, at Dylan. Nothing in his action said he came ready to care for his son.
Myah wiped her face. “You don’t. Not even now.”
Greg moved to the couch and took a seat. He remained silent while he watched their creation. They stared at each other for a minute until Greg smiled. The handsome man and the duplicate miniature face she loved so much.
“Sorry to be a jerk,” he mumbled somberly, never taking his eyes off of Dylan. “It’s cool. I hear he’s doing great.”
She nodded to accept the apology, and relaxed a little. “What are you doing here?”
Sitting back, he stretched his legs wide, a tired pose Keir often used. But she had no desire to curl up and listen to this one’s heartbeat while he watched sports.
Fatigue lined Greg’s movements as he shook his head. “Going through a tough time. I remember you always had a good way of just letting me be. You were always there for me.”
“You have a wife for that now.”
“She doesn’t understand sometimes. She’s getting ready for the baby and…doing other things that occupy her.”
“Parenthood does that. It’s supposed to. Everything shifts.”
“I know things will shift, but no, not everything is supposed to. Remember when we used to love going to trendy restaurants?”
“I liked being around you, Greg. Restaurants were what came with it.”
“Come on, you liked the huge plates with the itty-bitty scraps of food.”
“They were all right,” she humorously admitted. She came into the living room and tucked in a leg as she occupied the chair. “I don’t know why you wasted your money on those things.”
“It was art!” His jovial snort let the charming Greg she remembered come out.
“You call it art, I call it cheap. Those chefs ought to be ashamed for starving their clientele.”
“Oh, you’re talking about the International Mango Platter.”
“Did you say platter? Do you mean the one no larger than my five fingers?” She splayed her hand, and he chuckled.
“You haven’t changed a bit.”
Simultaneously their smiles and eyes shifted on Dylan. His head got closer and closer to the floor until he touched down in drowsyland.
Heat shimmied up her body as she finally felt alone with Greg for the first time in three years. She pulled at her mid-thigh shorts, aware of his gaze roaming her.
“It wasn’t all bad, was it, Myah?”
“No, Greg.” She avoided looking at him.
“No, I didn’t think so.”
His voice evened out to an old, forgotten rasp, and she distracted herself with the photo of Keir with Dyl on his shoulders.
“You got a great boy out of it. You’ve done a good job with him.”
“Thank you.”
“Yeah, so I know it wasn’t all bad.”
She rubbed her arms but the goose-bumps didn’t go away. She crossed them to hide the rapid rise and fall of her chest in the fitted t-shirt. “No,” she agreed to his comment, wishing she’d held it back.
“Jocelyn acts like she forgot the fun dates we had. Expects me to be by her side at home all the time. When we do go out, well, I don’t need to feel ten baby blankets. They’re all soft to me. Get ‘em all.”
Lightly, he scratched his lip, then dropped is hand to his swaying knee. With few stress lines added, he still appeared much younger than thirty-eight.
“The renovations aren’t so bad. I like it. And we got plenty of room. But I don’t need to micromanage the workers’ affairs. Our friends think I should, and that I’m impatient to want to just get out and have fun. I was like this when we married. She should know I need to be social. You know it.”
“You did always love a crowd.”
“See, you still know me. Nothing’s changed about you.”
“I’ve changed, Greg.”
“You’re open and confident enough to let me see my son after all this time. You’re practical. I admire that.”
“Letting you see Dylan is only fair. He needs…” she tried not to look at the photo again. “He needs a father. Consistency. I won’t stop you if you can be that, because it has to start somewhere if it’s going to happen at all.”
His knee swayed in a de-stressed motion while he stared at their son. “I wish things could have been different. You accept things as they are, let them grow as they need to.” He leaned forward, a thoughtful narrowing of his eyes when he looked at her. “I knew I could come here and be myself. I need you like this, you know. Always caring. Just please give me time to figure out my fatherly responsibilities.”
She’d had nine months, he had nearly three years. But did he mean Dylan or his unborn child?
“Can you do that for me? Give me time? Help me remind you that what we had wasn’t so bad?”
“You used me then turned on me.”
“I know. But I’ll show you I can be different. Be a man you used to trust. Do that for me, My. Just like I need you to be.”
It was like a drug wafted through the room. “Stop.” When had his voice changed pitch to strike that resonant chord? To melt something inside? “Greg…”
“And I’m the only one who’s touched you…that way, right?”
She grit her teeth, leapt out of the chair, and rushed toward him. “You need to go.”
He sat up straight and held up his hands in innocence, but didn’t stand. “Hey, I’m not getting at anything. Just saying the things that haven’t changed. I still remember it all. Don’t think I’ve forgotten.” His shoulders relaxed. “You were always so sweet. But I guess you’re right, something’s changed. You used to be a whole lot more carefree. What’s got you wound so tight? You want to talk about it?”
When he reached for her shoulder she jerked back. “Maybe we can talk on the phone. I need to get Dylan to bed.”
Before she could stoop, Greg’s hand pat her bare thigh to tell her to move out of the way. He gathered up the clueless form and asked her to lead the way. Convincing him to let go, or worse, trying to wrestle Dylan away, would be a battle more dangerous than prudent.
Myah pointed him down the hall and told him which door as she followed behind. Patiently, he undressed his son, impressing her that he attempted the task even if he didn’t look like he quite knew what to do.
All his talk about marital problems didn’t seem to stem from awkwardness to try. She shouldn’t even know about his marital problems.
Greg rose from the bedside. Tall, lithesome, rock hard physique ready to burst out at the seams. This time she didn’t mind walking ahead of him, straight to the front door.
“How long will he sleep?”
“A couple of hours.”
“That’s a couple of hours to talk.”
A lump of horror rose in her throat. “Do you want shared custody or something?” After all she’d gone through to force him to accept he was the father, now he wanted to rip her world from her.
“I don’t want custody. I want my sweet Myah-girl I used to hang with.”
She scoffed. “Right. Okay. Well, as you saw, I just came home. It’s been a busy morning and I should rest while Dylan’s down. I don’t have time.”
“Not even for me?” His approaching body brought his scent, expensive and tailored; no underlying machine grease or outdoorsy and innately male. Not Keir’s.
She flinched. “I’d like to get this place cleaned before Keir gets here…” tomorrow.
Greg stopped. “Sorry if I offended you. Seeing you, I guess I missed the comfort zone we shared. I’ll call you.” His large hand snaked around her waist to pull her in for a loose hug and a peck on the cheek. “Thanks for listening.”