Rock point collection, p.81
Rock Point Collection, page 81
We finish breakfast in silence, taking in the game, before she speaks up.
“Thanks, I needed that. Feeling almost human now.”
“Good.” I grab her empty container, along with my own, toss them into the garbage next to the bleachers, and return to my seat beside her. “Where are your other two boys?”
She glances over before her eyes drift back to the field. “My mom’s. They weren’t too hip on getting up at this ungodly hour to watch their brother run around a soccer field.”
“How old are they?” I ask, figuring her son, Liam, would be about the same age as Max who turns eleven in five weeks.
“Harry is eight, Liam eleven, and Theo is thirteen. Don’t know what I was thinking having one after the other,” she grumbles cutely. “Hormones are hitting my household hard, and the prospect of another ten years of that is giving me nightmares.”
I chuckle at the horrified look on her face.
Yeah, I definitely like her much better like this.
“Their dad any help?” I probe.
“Ha!” she barks out loudly. “Haven’t seen or heard from him in five years. Not that he was any help before, mind you. Too busy plotting his desertion with his new pregnant plaything.” She glances over, takes in my shocked look, and shrugs apologetically. “Sorry. Too much, I know.”
“I asked,” I remind her.
“Not for my life story.”
“It was hardly that,” I assure her. “But insightful all the same.” I lean closer and bump her shoulder with mine. “Besides, sounds like we have more in common than our sons playing on the same team.”
She looks at me curiously. “Yeah? How so?”
“Six years ago, my ex walked out on us without as much as a glance back,” I share.
“For real? She walked out on her own child?” She shakes her head sharply. “I just don’t get some people. I mean, Jeremy was an ass, and I really shouldn’t be surprised he bailed, but a mother abandoning her baby? That is just mind-boggling to me.”
I stifle a smile at the vehemence in her tone and the angry set of her jaw. I don’t bother pointing out that a father abandoning three children is no less incomprehensible. At least to me.
Loud cheers go up around us, drawing my attention to the field where I just catch Max high-fiving Marya’s son, who apparently scored. On my feet in a flash, I stick my fingers in my mouth and whistle my approval. Max’s head instantly swivels in my direction, a big grin on his face, and the other boy follows suit, his smile more subdued.
“What just happened?” Marya asks in a soft voice as I sit back down beside her.
“Your kid just scored a goal.”
Her face breaks open in a bright smile. “For real?” She turns to the field, where the boys are already resuming the game, jumps up and cups her hands around her mouth. “Yay, Liam! You rock!” she yells, just as the crowd settles down again. Her son whips around before ducking his head quickly, a look of mortification on his face. Oblivious to the attention she’s drawn, she drops back down in her seat, the smile still on her face. “Righteous,” she whispers.
Oh yeah, I’m liking this Marya. Seriously fucking cute.
When the game is over—the Chargers win with that single goal—Liam and Max walk over like they’ve been buds forever.
“Great job, boys,” I tell them. Liam looks up with a cautious grin.
“Proud of you, kidlet.” Marya ruffles his hair, and he hides a smile as he ducks her touch.
“Dad, Liam is WillIAm103 in my Fortnite group,” Max announces breathlessly.
Like his dad, my son likes his PS4 games, Fortnite being his top favorite. Instead of forbidding him to play the game, I decided to join him. Better to monitor what he’s up to and who he interacts with, than to have him play it on the sly without any supervision. WillIAm103 is the handle of one of the kids he sometimes plays with online.
“No kidding? Cool to meet you, Liam. I’m Max’s dad.” I stick my hand out, which the boy hesitantly takes.
“Is that the game you and your brother spend most of your time playing downstairs?” Marya asks her son.
“Yeah.” The bored tone of his voice doesn’t match the sharp side-look he darts her way.
“Dad is 10-CODE,” Max babbles on happily, sharing my handle with his new friend. I assume he’s already shared his: BitMax1.
“Max, maybe you wanna say hello to Liam’s mom first?”
My kid is borderline ADHD, which in his case means he rarely takes a breath to think. My reminder registers in the bashful look he shoots my way before turning to Marya.
“Hey, Liam’s mom,” he says, sticking out his grubby hand. It doesn’t seem to bother Marya as she grabs onto it. “Marya,” she corrects. “Nice to meet you, Max.” She lets him go. “So I’m guessing you guys didn’t know you were playing on the same team?”
“Nope.” This from Max. “I’ve seen him around at school, but I’m in the fifth grade and Liam is in sixth. I never even knew he was WillIAm103.”
“Go figure,” Marya says on a smile.
“That’s what I said.” Max grins back. “Hey, you guys wanna go get a burger? There’s this awesome diner Dad always takes me to after the game.”
“Bud,” I caution him in a soft voice. Like I said, he leaps before he looks.
“I mean, if that’s okay?” He turns his trademarked look of innocence my way. Little late, Kiddo.
I’m about to answer when Marya jumps in. “Not this time,” she quickly responds with an awkward smile at me. “We have to go pick up Liam’s brothers at their grandma’s before they decimate her fridge again. Maybe some other time?”
“Cool,” is Max’s response. “Hey,” he turns to Liam as they start walking. “I didn’t know you had brothers. Wicked. I don’t have brothers or sisters.”
Liam, who remained quiet throughout most of the exchange, seems to have no issue talking to Max as they make their way over to the parking lot. Marya and I follow behind.
“He’s a talker,” she notes.
“That he is.”
“My youngest is like that. Came out flapping his lips. Not a moody bone in his body, unlike his older brothers.”
“Yup. That’s Max,” I confirm, watching as the boys stop beside a beat-up Jeep. Presumably hers. I find I’m not quite ready to let her go so easily. “Look…” I stop her with a hand on her arm. “Not sure what next week’ll look like—my work can be a bit unpredictable, which means it’s possible my mom and stepdad show up with Max—but if I’m at the game, why don’t we try for that burger then?” I can tell before she even opens her mouth she’s going to blow me off, so I quickly add, “It’s just a burger, the kids’ll love it, and they have seriously fucking good milkshakes too.”
A battle wages on her face, before she finally settles on resigned. “Okay. I guess we can do just burgers.”
“Great. Look forward to it.”
“I do…” She hesitates and then says, “I’ll see you later,” before joining the boys by her car.
I call out to Max, who comes bounding to my side as I unlock my new Ford Bronco. Casting one last look over my shoulder, I just see Marya’s round ass disappear in her Jeep before hopping behind the wheel myself.
I barely hear Max’s chatter on the way to Sonya’s Diner, my mind is on that sentence the pretty brunette left unfinished. I do too.
TWO
Marya
“Mom! He’s killing me!”
I take a deep breath at the sound of my youngest screaming at the top of his lungs. Thank God we live in a small, detached house, otherwise I’d have the cops at my door daily for violating the noise ordinance.
“What the hell is going on now?” I stomp my way down the stairs into the basement, where my boys have their pad.
These last few weeks I’ve been rethinking my decision to ban all gaming from their bedrooms, in favor of turning the rec room downstairs into their PS4 lair. It was Mom’s idea last Christmas to set each of them up in their own semi-private area with beanbags and separate secondhand gaming systems. An advance on their inheritance, she’d claimed, but I knew that was a load of bull. Mom’s not much better off than I am in the financial department. It took some convincing before I caved to that extravagance, but when the boys’ fights over the single system we had at the time almost turned bloody, I gave in.
The only brand-new purchases had been the beanbags and the paint, but the refurbished game consoles and office dividers Mom was able to snag at bargain prices, and the total revamp of the rec room cost less than eight hundred dollars. Still a whack, but as Mom argued, she’d have spent about two hundred on each of the kids for Christmas anyway, so she had it in her budget.
The peace it created had been bliss until a few weeks ago—about the time Liam started moping around—when the frequency of conflicts picked up again. The fighting is usually between him and Harry. Theo seems unaffected; he just tunes everyone out with the help of his sound-cancelling headphones.
“Enough!” I bark when I catch sight of Liam hauling back to punch his brother in the face. “What on earth has gotten into you?” I grab Liam’s arm and pull him off his younger brother, who already sports the mark of a successfully landed fist on his cheekbone.
“He just came at me,” Harry hurries to explain. “I didn’t do nothing.” I’m not buying his innocence for a second, but that doesn’t excuse the scene I walked in on.
“I’m talking to your brother,” I shut him up.
At first Liam struggles, still seething and focused on his brother, until I clamp my hands on his shoulders and turn him so I’m the only person he sees.
“Don’t make me ask again,” I threaten.
“He’s an idiot,” Liam hisses, dropping his eyes to the ground.
“Christ, kid. You’re all idiots from time to time; you don’t see me pummeling the snot out of you. That’s a piss-poor excuse and you know it.” I give him a little shake.
“Harry called Liam a pussy,” Theo, pulling off his headphones, contributes. Apparently my oldest had been paying attention after all.
My eyes fly to my youngest, but my hands keep hold of Liam. “First of all, we don’t use words like that in my house. You know it and it’s gonna cost you. Why would you call your brother that?”
Harry throws Theo a dirty look, but knows better than to do any more than that. Theo would wipe the floor with him. He’s not just tall, but at thirteen, he’s already filling out. “You’re a snitch,” my baby hisses at his older brother.
“I’m good with that, since you’re a liar and a pain in the ass,” Theo fires back.
“All right! That’s enough,” I order. “Harry, up to your room. I’ll deal with you in a minute, and you’d better not give me lip,” I add, when I see the stubborn look on his face. “Or I’ll double your punishment.” I wait for him to stomp up the stairs before I turn to Liam. “You know better, kid. Whaling on your baby brother because he cussed you out is not acceptable. Ever. Do you get me?” He glares at me, but when I wait him out he eventually gives me a jerky nod. “Sticks and stones, buddy. Remember that. Now, I want you in your room as well, and you’d be smart to stay away from your brother. You hear me?” Another jerky nod. “I’ll be up shortly.” With that I let him go and he follows his younger brother, without the stomping.
Then I turn to Theo.
“Wanna clue me in?”
Theo glances over at the stairs before his eyes return to me. “Liam plays online with some friends and Harry’s been bugging him to be included. Harry’s pissed because Liam won’t let him and has been poking at him all morning.”
“Any idea why he won’t let him play?”
He shrugs his shoulders and focuses on his screen, dismissing me. “I’m not a mind reader.”
My firstborn is a smart-ass, but I’ll let that slide, since I have my hands full with his siblings.
“Turn off their systems when it’s time to go, yeah?”
He flicks me a quick glance. “Sure, Mom.”
Then I haul my ass upstairs, so I can tell my other boys there’ll be no gaming for a week.
It’s promising to be a fun Sunday night dinner at my mother’s.
-
“Gimme him.”
I wiggle my fingers at the cutest one-year-old in the world.
Kerry, who just walked into the bookstore with baby Dante perched on her hip, grins at me. “Have at it, but he comes with a full diaper, so that’s yours too.”
“That doesn’t scare me.” The little boy stretches his arms toward me and I pluck him off his mother and snuggle him close. “Whoa, little dude. How can something so cute and adorable produce the stink of an open sewer?”
Kerry snickers as I reach out a free hand for the diaper bag and take Dante to the small office in the back of the store.
I adore this boy. All smiles and happy babbles, I’ve never seen him in a bad mood. I’m hit with a wave of nostalgia, remembering my own babies at this age. I adored every minute of them being sweet and cuddly. They’re not that anymore, except perhaps Harry, who still snuggles with me on the couch every now and then.
I soak up Dante’s gurgles and dimpled smiles while I can, since the mood at home this past week has been subzero. After last Sunday’s blowup, both younger boys were banned from their PlayStation, and have made sure I know how unhappy they are. I hate to admit it, but I’ll be glad when this week is over.
“There you go, sweet cheeks,” I mumble at the baby, tucking him back into his onesie and bib overalls. “Now you smell as edible as you look.” For good measure I blow a raspberry in his neck and he dives his little fingers in my hair, pulling hard as he giggles.
“Gah!”
I can hear Kerry talking to a customer when I walk back into the store, but I don’t know who until I round the large bookcase and see Dylan leaning on the counter, smiling down at her.
Of course, it would have to be him.
I managed to quash any and all thoughts of him this past week out of self-preservation. I don’t get why I always have to be attracted to men who are assholes, deadbeats, or way the hell out of my league. Dylan Barnes being case in point. The man is too young, too fit, too nice, and too good-looking. Did I mention young?
I know this, and still I slow my pace as I take stock of my appearance. Especially in contrast to Kerry, who always looks fabulous with her bohemian clothes and kick-ass hair. My work wardrobe consists of bland monochromatic thrift store purchases, because there’s no extra money when you have three growing boys. The hair pulled back in a ponytail may not be flattering, but it’s practical. Except now—thanks to Dante—it lilts sideways and a chunk of hair hangs over my face, and the baby is chewing on the collar of my dress shirt, dripping drool down my front. I make a lovely picture, not that it should matter because I’ve sworn off men anyway.
Lifting my chin a notch, I approach the counter.
“Gah!” Dante gurgles when he spots Dylan, and promptly abandons my collar as he virtually launches himself out of my arms.
The man is quick, catching Dante just as he slips from my hold.
“Easy, kiddo,” he mumbles at him, tucking him close to his chest, and I feel my resolve melt at the gentle smile he directs at the baby. Then his eyes lift up and the corner of his mouth twitches as he takes in my disheveled state.
Just fabulous.
“Hey.” My voice comes out breathy, and I catch Kerry’s curious glance when I try to blow the chunk of hair Dante dislodged out of my face as I straighten my shirt.
“Marya,” he rumbles in greeting.
“Looking for coffee?” I ask, turning to the fancy machine Kerry invested in a few years ago, without waiting for an answer. “Americano, black?”
“Sure.”
Kerry leans her butt against the counter beside the espresso machine, and I feel her glare on me. I ignore her and focus on Dylan’s coffee. Anything to keep my eyes occupied and my hands busy.
“I actually popped in to let you know I’ll be out of town for the next few days, so I won’t make the Chargers’ game.”
I almost drop the small coffee filter but recover quickly. “Oh, okay,” I mutter, wondering if the elastic holding up these synthetic navy pants is bunching up in the back. My ass doesn’t need the added bulk.
“My mother will be bringing Max,” he continues, and I risk a glance at Kerry while his coffee brews. The expression on her face tells me, the moment Dylan is out the door, I will be grilled. “So I hope you don’t mind a rain check on that burger?”
“Don’t worry about it.” I wave my hand dismissively before pouring the coffee into a carryout cup and finally turning to face him.
Despite Dante’s little fist pummeling his face, his eyes are on me and his expression is serious. “Not worried,” he clarifies. “Pissed. I was looking forward to it, but now I have to wait another week.”
Alrighty then.
An awkward three-way shuffle over the counter ensues when I try to hand him his cup without spilling, and he tries to hand the baby off to Kerry. We eventually manage without dropping coffee or Dante, and I watch him saunter to the door where he turns around.
“See you next week and tell Liam good luck tomorrow.” I mutely nod in response. “Later, Kerry,” he adds, with a quick glance her way before he’s out the door.
I can sense when Kerry turns her attention on me, and I reluctantly meet her eyes, bracing for what I know will be the third degree.
She doesn’t make me wait long.
“What the hell was that?”
Dylan
“Got all your stuff?”
I have to wave a hand in Max’s face before he clues in I’m talking to him. He pauses the game and pulls his headgear off. “What?”
“We’ve gotta get going, bud. Do you have everything you need?”
He gets up to shut off his PlayStation and the TV before walking over to me. “I’m ready.”
“Don’t want to bring that?”
I point at his discarded headphones with mic.
“Don’t need it,” he says, which surprises me. Mom and Clint got him the same gaming system so he could play at their place, but he always drags his gear along.
