Wicked Secret Page 9

  “Um… thank you,” Leighton mutters before whipping around and fleeing the room. I can’t help but smirk.

  “What’s so funny?” Sam asks.

  I try to smooth out my face. “Nothing. Why?”

  “I feel like I just missed an inside joke or something. I don’t get what’s so funny about you doing Mom’s laundry.”

  Reaching over, I ruffle Sam’s hair and chuckle. “Nothing funny, bud. I was just helping your mom out a bit.”

  “That’s good,” he replies solemnly. “She does so much for me, so it’s nice she has someone doing something for her.”

  I just stare at my kid for a moment, completely flummoxed over his maturity and grace. Over his awareness. How many nine-year-old children are that cognizant of the effort a parent puts in? I sure as shit wasn’t at that age.

  “You’re lucky.” I reach out to grasp his shoulder. “You have a great mom.”

  “Yeah, I know,” he replies. Sam tilts his head. “What about you? Where are your parents and what are they like?”

  “Hmmm… my parents… let’s see. Well, they’re free spirits now that they’re retired. They sold their house a few years ago, bought an RV, and basically travel all over the United States. They’re currently down in the Florida Keys.”

  “Cool.” Sam grins, pushing himself up in bed a bit more. “Do they… um… know about me?”

  “Not yet, but they will soon,” I assure him. “I wanted to get through the transplant before I dropped the bomb they had a grandson. They’re kind of new-age followers, and I didn’t want them sprinkling sage leaves over you or something.”

  Sam snickers, and I shrug. But it’s the absolute truth. My parents are going to be thrilled about Sam. They’re going to adore and spoil the shit out of him.

  But they’re not over-resilient. Learning about Sam and Leighton’s past, Sam’s cancer—it will completely freak them out and they’ll just get overly dramatic about it. Frankly, I don’t want to deal with it right now. Besides, I don’t think Sam will suffer from holding off on meeting his new grandparents. His health is the most important thing, and he has enough emotional overload as it is. I’m thinking once we get him home from the hospital and settled, I’ll buy them a couple of plane tickets, so they can visit. I’ll drop the bomb on them face to face.

  “So, on one side, my grandparents are hippies. On the other, I have an ex-mafia grandpa,” Sam says.

  I can’t help but bust out laughing. My kid knows how to throw down on some comedic timing.

  “It builds character,” I assure him. “Having weird family members, I mean.”

  He fiddles with the edges of his blanket. “So Grandpa’s flirting with a pretty woman at a casino, huh?”

  I frown at his tone. “That bother you?”

  He shakes his head. “Nope. It’s just… I wonder if that means he’ll stay here or go back to Denver? He’s lost his government protection, so there’s nothing there for him if Mom and I stay with you.”

  My stomach tightens a bit, as we’re getting into territory I haven’t had a chance to discuss with Leighton. We’ve been so focused on Sam’s treatment and recovery, as well as operating within a fragile truce among ourselves, that we haven’t talked about the future. While I’d told Leighton that Sam was going to stay in Vegas, I don’t necessarily have her agreement on that yet. While I told her I’d fight her for custody, I truly don’t know what’s in his best interest at this point.

  All I know is I always want to be near him.

  My priorities in life have radically shifted over the last few weeks, and I have to figure things out.

  I poke gently at the edges of the subject. “Where do you want to live, Sam? When your treatment is over, I mean.”

  He shrugs again, gaze dropping to his fingers where he picks at his new Star Wars comforter. “I like Denver and my friends there, but I like Vegas, too.”

  Very vague. Not helpful in the least.

  “Let’s try this another way,” I suggest gently. “What does your ideal future look like?”

  Silently, Sam considers this for a moment, eyes pinned on Chewbacca. When he looks up at me, I see the unfettered hope and idealism that can only belong to a child who knows nothing of the world.

  “My ideal future would be to live together with you and my mom. As a family.”

  I’m not prepared for his answer. Never in a million years had I thought the kid would ask for that. I was more seeking a geographical desire while he was plotting romantic happily ever afters.

  “Um… Sam,” I stammer, trying to set some boundaries. “Your mom and I—”

  “I know,” he interrupts. “You’re mad at her for what she did, and you don’t love her. I get it. But you did ask what I wanted.”

  “I’m not mad,” I rush to assure him.

  He cocks one eyebrow, which is totally my move. He’s hammered down the Greenfield skepticism to a tee.

  To clarify, I explain, “I understand the reasons your mom did what she did. She feels horrible about it, and she has apologized. I’m choosing to let that go to focus on us moving forward.”

  “Together?” he exclaims, pushing up straighter in the bed with a hopeful expression.

  “Um… well, together as in wanting to co-parent you,” I lamely throw out.

  Sam frowns, his lips flattening. “I don’t understand why you can’t just fall in love with her again. She told me that you were the one true love of her life—that she has never loved anyone else.”

  I’m stunned by his assertion.

  And curious.

  “She did?” I ask, moving my chair a little closer to the bed. “When?”

  “When she first told me about you a few years ago,” Sam says, crossing his legs under the covers and shifting more toward me. “She said you only have one true love in a lifetime, and you were hers. I don’t understand how you don’t feel the same way if that’s true.”

  Well, shit.

  Talk about a rock and a hard place.

  Leighton thinks I was her soul mate?

  Sam is throwing out deep revelations, and the one thing I know my kid appreciates is honesty. Leaning forward, I place my forearms on the bedrails and rest my chin on them. “Listen, bud… that was a long time ago. Circumstances changed. Your mom and I are different people now. Just because we loved each other ten years ago, it doesn’t mean we can recreate that magic.”

  “But you haven’t even tried,” he asserts, and well… that’s true.

  I’m not the kind of guy who goes for love and romance anymore, but I can’t tell my kid that. I don’t want him to think that’s the norm.

  Instead, I fib just a little. “Your mom and I are starting over. We’re going to try friendship and being your parents first, then we’ll see what happens.”

  Sam scoots closer toward me, eyes full of such pure innocence that chills shoot down my spine. “If you’d just give her a chance, I know you can learn to love her again.”

  Before I can respond, I’m saved by the ringing of my phone. I look over to where I’d set it on the bedside table, seeing Declan’s name flash on the screen.

  It’s not urgent, because nothing with Declan ever is, but it’s the perfect escape. Nabbing the phone, I tell Sam, “I need to take this. Be right back.”

  I head into the hallway, answering as I go. “What’s up, man?”

  “Not much,” Declan replies, and I can tell by the tinny buzz on the line he’s in his car. “Just checking in. Haven’t seen you at The Wicked Horse lately.”

  “Been busy with Sam,” I reply, glancing into the room. Sam’s playing a game on his iPad.

  “How is he?”

  I take a few moments to fill Declan in. He had texted me before the transplant, but we haven’t talked since then.

  “Sounds like he’s doing great,” Declan says. “Which sounds like a good reason to come out to the club. I met this redhead last night who can bend and twist in all kinds of ways that will blow your mind.”

  C
huckling, I shake my head and lower my voice. “Sorry, dude… I’m on hospital duty tonight with the kid. Raincheck?”

  “Sure,” he replies easily. “But your balls have got to be turning blue.”

  Hardly, I think. I jack off plenty to mental porn of the night in Leighton’s hotel room, fucking her from behind while she orgasmed the minute I plunged my finger in her ass.

  That has completely sustained me, but I can’t lie… I miss the club and the freakiness that goes on there.

  “Soon,” I promise. “I’ll hit you up when I can find some time to make it out there.”

  Which should be soon. Sam’s doing well, so there’s no reason I can’t visit The Wicked Horse again.

  CHAPTER 14

  Leighton

  I rinse my plate and put it in the dishwasher, adding the fork and knife I had used to the basket. Closing the door, I press the rinse cycle since it’s not full enough to run the wash cycle. The rest of the kitchen is pristine, and it doesn’t need more attention. It’s the side benefit of eating a microwaved meal.

  Of course, I did actually dirty a plate rather than eating straight from the plastic tray. For some reason, I feel a little more accomplished at taking care of myself when eating from an actual plate even if my entire meal only took three minutes and thirty seconds to prepare.

  Regardless, I’m at least eating consistently and getting decent rest, which is part of my new plan to take better care of myself.

  It’s been thirteen days since Sam’s transplant, and we’ve all finally settled into a good routine. We set up a schedule between me, August, and my father so Sam is never alone at the hospital. We decided each of us would do two nights in the hospital with him while the others alternate those two days. The next person would then do two nights while the others covered the days. It essentially gave each of us two nights on and four days off night duty, which is frankly the hardest. That’s because Sam mostly sleeps through the night while whoever pulled that shift struggles to find a few moments of rest in a horribly uncomfortable recliner chair.

  Still, I wouldn’t have it any other way. We may be a broken, dysfunctional family, but we have come together to make sure Sam is never alone.

  Returning to the idea of trying to take better care of myself was a necessity after I almost collapsed following Sam’s transplant. The seven days he’d completed chemotherapy prior to it were a hell I don’t want to go through again. To be honest, it was my own fault. August repetitively tried to get me out of the hospital to get some rest, but I refused. He also tried to get me to eat, but I wasn’t interested. Kind of hard to have an appetite when my child is vomiting from the drugs they’ve pumped into him. My body was so worn and broken down after that week, I’d known if I didn’t change my habits I wouldn’t be any good to Sam over the rest of his hospitalization.

  I still haven’t figured out how to eat all that well, but I’m trying. All of us are basically consuming hospital food since we spend so much time there. In the evenings, it’s usually only one of us at August’s house so it’s not worth cooking a full meal. As such, the freezer is stocked with microwave meals and frozen pizzas, but we’re all getting sustenance at least.

  Best of all, everyone seems to be getting along, which is good for Sam’s sake.

  Well, August and I are getting along. Sort of. We’re actually nice to each other. We have conversations. Sometimes, we even laugh. Still, there is a distance between us—a line that’s been drawn that we can’t cross—and I know it has everything to do with the fact I kept Sam from August all these years. I figure it’s going to take quite a while for him to reconcile that, but I never expect him to let me be anything more than just a co-parent.

  My dad and August are a different matter, though. They’re still very stiff and awkward around each other. August hasn’t forgiven my father for not coming to Vegas right away. In August’s mind, there should have been no choice to make. Dad should have left Denver for Sam without hesitation. My dad has tremendous guilt about the choice he made not to come at first. I know this because he told me so. But that’s between him and Sam and no one else. It’s not for me or August to judge my dad’s actions as I know he’s doing the best he can. On top of that, he ultimately gave up his safety to be there for my son, and that’s all that matters.

  Sam told me the other day that he had a good talk with his grandpa about it. The bottom line is Sam is cool with the fact it took Dad a few days to decide to brave the scary world.

  “He’s here now,” Sam had told me. “And there’s nothing else I want.”

  God, my kid is amazing. Loving, forgiving, and wanting nothing more in this world than to just have his family around him. I’m lucky to have him as a son.

  I consider the evening ahead of me. My father left over an hour ago for his shift to stay with Sam. He’ll be relieving August, who was up there for a bit this afternoon. I’d been there this morning until August arrived, then actually took a few hours this afternoon to come home and clean. While August keeps a nice house, he’s added two house guests, so it just needs a bit more vacuuming and dusting than normal.

  At any rate, I’ve had a full day and I’m tired. My options are to watch TV or read a book. I have no clue what August will be doing this evening, but it’s pretty much his routine to never show up until after nine or ten PM, so I have the house to myself for a while. I don’t ask where he goes. Although, admittedly, I’m a little curious. Because he doesn’t offer the knowledge of where he spends his time in the evenings, I figure it’s information he doesn’t want to share. My best guess is he has a girlfriend whom he’s spending what little free time he has with.

  I hate the fact that August potentially having a girlfriend bothers me. It’s not like I expected him to pine away for me. He should have moved on, even if I never had the chance to do so because my life was all about secrets and hiding.

  I let out a deep sigh. I hate that it’s so complicated between us, but it doesn’t do any good to fret over it. It is what it is.

  Maybe I’ll take a bath. A long, hot, and relaxing soak will do wonders to help me get settled for a good night’s sleep.

  Several days ago, August told me I could use the bathtub in his master suite if I wanted. While the guest bathroom I normally use has a tub, it is nothing compared to the one in August’s. His is monstrous, round, and sunken into the floor with steps that lead down into it. It’s big enough to host a party in. Plus, it has whirlpool jets.

  I’ve taken advantage of it on a handful of occasions since I’d moved into his home.

  Moving through the house, I scan as I go to see if anything needs picked up. I head into August’s bedroom, which surprisingly has nothing out of place. I’m slightly impressed he makes his bed every day, doesn’t throw his clothes on the floor, and cleans up his sink after he shaves. I can attest from living with two members of the male gender that they tend to be sloppy in general.

  I fill the tub with steaming water, intent on using the jets to work on some of the sore muscles in my back. Sleeping on the hospital recliner is hell on the spine. When the tub is full, I slip off my clothes, pile my hair on top of my head, and settle in for a nice long soak.

  I consider my future. Surprisingly, I genuinely like it here in Vegas. Whereas mid-October in Denver would be quite nippy, the warmer climate of Vegas agrees with my body. I like the desert—the brown mountains and arid weather. As soon as Sam gets out of the hospital, I think I’m going to start searching for a job. While I might not like admitting I’d like to live here, I believe the fact I’m considering employment speaks for itself.

  Really, though, it has nothing to do with whether I like Vegas. It’s that Sam loves being near his dad as he’s getting to know him. I know August is never going to move to Denver. His job is based here, and it’s too important to him. Conversely, there is nothing holding me in Denver except my dad if he decides to return. His employer is holding his job for another few weeks—unpaid, of course—and then he’s going to have to
decide what to do. The government has been silent. No communications from Dad’s handler, which sends a clear message… we are on our own.

  As I weigh the pros and cons of moving from Denver to Vegas permanently, I shave my legs and slather a vanilla bean body wash over my skin with a washcloth. I turn the jets on, letting them pound my lower back. When the water starts to cool, I step out of the tub and pat most of the water away with a towel. While my skin is still semi-damp, I slather on vanilla lotion and check myself out in the mirror. It appears that after getting some good sleep, halfway decent nutrition—at least eating consistently—and moderate sleep, I’m looking a little more normal. The dark circles under my eyes have disappeared, and I don’t look so gaunt and washed out.

  The only thing I need now is my soft cotton sleep jammies and the overly comfortable bed in August’s guest bedroom.

  I open the bathroom door, a waft of steam coming out with me, and slam right into a solid wall of manly muscle.

  August has his hand on the knob of the bathroom door, clearly intent on walking in. By the wide flare of his eyes, I can see he’s as surprised to see me there as I am to see him home this early.

  I realize my hands are pressed to his chest, and there’s barely an inch of room between our bodies.

  August stares down, his gaze moving past my face to the cleavage formed by the towel wrapped around me. His eyes go even wider, and he inhales sharply.

  His hands settle on my hips, and I’m stunned he’s willingly touching me in such an intimate way. In the last few weeks, he’s given no indication he’s even remotely interested in me.

  “You smell good,” he says, and a shiver runs up my body from the low, guttural tone of his voice. He sounds just like a wolf that found a tasty snack.

  His hands tighten on my hips, and he dips his face closer to mine. Is he going to kiss me?

  “Go get dressed,” he murmurs, his eyes sparking with something that both puts me on edge and makes me curious as hell. “Wear the nicest thing you brought with you.”