Page 49 of Crossed Up

AIDAN

Lyla walks into the living room with a serene smile on her pretty face and a relaxed air to her that’s been absent for most of our time together. Not to say she’s uptight, because she’s not at all. Her stress levels have just been obvious since our relationship progressed past friends and into the “more” category.

This calm countenance, however, makes me nervous. She was zoned out the entire drive home from the fun park, and I could see the panic building behind those gorgeous eyes, but that’s part of why I said what I did.

I’ll wait for her as long as she needs me to, but I also need to know if she’s all in or not, so I can take myself out of the headspace where I’m calling her mine.

She stops in the wide doorway that separates the mudroom from the kitchen, moving toward us slowly. Her grin spreads the closer she gets, but the only thing I can focus on is the way her hair swishes around her hips as she walks.

I can’t say I’ve ever been turned on by someone’s hair before, but I’m pretty sure Lyla could just breathe in my direction, and I’d pop a boner.

“Are we sleeping in the fort tonight, boys?”

Crew pops his head up from where he’d been arranging pillows in front of the couch as a back rest. Whereas the fort he made with Ly a few weeks ago was just big enough to fit their small frames comfortably, the one he and I are building makes that one look like a dollhouse.

Alaskan King sheets are spread out and rigged up with fishing wire I snagged from our gear on the back porch and twin top sheets that Crew refuses to use are clipped to wire as well to form an enclosed space facing the large portable movie screen I brought up from the theater room.

Movie nights have always been my favorite way to spend my downtime. It was one of the only times my piece of shit father would shut up and leave me be for a few hours. First, I shared the tradition with my brother, and then after I was drafted with Copeland, and now with Crew, so nearly every room in my house is equipped with a high-quality projector on the ceiling for times just like these.

I look her way nervously and beckon her closer, taking her tiny hand in mine to help her into the mountain of blankets my son has assembled. I try not to focus on how right her hand feels linked with mine, but it’s nearly impossible when it’s just another in a long line of things that feel right with this woman.

“Raptor and I were thinking it would be nice to have our movie night here and then just sleep downstairs. This is my last free week before the season opener, and some quality fam—” My eyes widen when I realize what just came out of my mouth, and I cough before finishing my thought, hoping Lyla didn’t notice my little slip-up calling this family time. “Some quality time with y’all to get my head on straight for another busy season.”

If she noticed me sticking my foot in my mouth, she’s polite enough not to say anything. Instead, she plops herself down next to Crew and smiles at him, running her hand over his head. “Did you already pick our movie, Crew-bug?”

He nods emphatically, and I do my damndest to focus on his words and not the way Lyla so effortlessly shows my son affection. “I did! Daddy said it could be anything I want.”

She laughs, shaking her head with a sidelong glance my way. “He did, huh? And does that mean we’re watching Tinker Bell again?”

“No, I wanna watch Tarzan tonight.”

Lyla’s eyebrows reach her hairline, and I can understand why. Crew’s been on this Tinker Bell kick for months and hasn’t wanted to watch anything else since she came to live with us, so the sudden switch-up is jarring.

My son goes uncharacteristically quiet, curling in on himself in a way that has me nearly lurching forward with concern. But when his meek voice hits my ears, I can’t stop the flood of moisture that assaults my vision.

“Nana Kaci says Tarzan’s mommy has to leave, but then he gets a new mommy that loves him a lot, and it makes him really happy. Maybe if I watch the movie, I can see how he got a mommy, and I can do it, too.”

I clear my throat several times, but my voice is still choked when I try to redirect him. “Alright, raptor, why don’t you go get washed up, and then we’ll eat dinner before we start the movie.”

He’s back to his normal perky self as he sprints up the stairs, but in spite of the high ceilings of our living room, I feel like the room is closing in on me. Tears sting my eyes, and I mutter a husky “excuse me” before I hightail it out of there and into the first room I find, slamming the door.

I’m only alone for a few seconds before the door is being pushed open, and when the scent of cherries hits me, I nearly groan. I don’t need her seeing me like this. When I’m on the brink of a meltdown over a comment my six-year-old probably won’t even remember tomorrow.

Lyla doesn’t say a thing, instead wrapping her delicate arms around my waist and squeezing as tight as she can. Her head only reaches my chest, but when she takes one of my hands and places it over her heart, I realize she’s attempting her own version of co-regulation.

The sweet gesture finally releases the torrent of emotion I’ve been shoving down for weeks, and ragged sobs force their way from my throat.

“Oh, Aidan. It’s okay. Let it out.”

And for the first time, maybe ever, I do. I don’t worry about what anyone else needs in this moment, or what Lyla thinks about me breaking down like this. I just focus on the mess of feelings coursing through my chest and the feel of my angel’s heart beating steadily against my palm.

Lifting the other hand to grip the back of her head, I pull her to me even tighter and relish in the way her comforting smell surrounds me. Cherries and sweet vanilla invade my nostrils and soothe some of the roiling emotions currently holding my mind in a hostile takeover. I know I really don’t, but a big part of me feels like I owe Lyla an explanation for why I reacted the way I did to Crew’s words.

Even with those conflicting thoughts, all of me understands she has the right to know about Mia. If not as my girlfriend and a potential mother figure for Crew, then as his nanny.

This is going to hurt, but definitely not as much as telling her about my father. I was never hung up on Mia, as terrible as that sounds. She was a one-night stand who was never meant to be more. And she had absolutely nothing on the woman in front of me.

Steeling myself for my second painful conversation today, I launch into the story of how my little boy came to be.

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