Page 30 of Unrivaled

He holds up two fingers, grinning. “Two stories.”

Grabbing his fingers, I bring them to my mouth for a kiss. “One story and a song after lights out.”

He sighs and says, “Fine,” in a pouty voice, climbing out of bed and going to his bookshelf, where he picks outDragons Love Tacos.

I read the story twice—it’s short and when he asks for it again so sweetly, I can’t bring myself to say no. He snuggles under his covers, pulling his favorite dinosaur stuffy close while I turn off the overhead light, the multicolored stars shining from his nightlight filling the ceiling. Then I sit down on the edge of his bed and stroke his back while singing the song I made up for him when he was a baby. He’s always been fussy about falling asleep, and I started rocking and singing random things to him when he was only a few weeks old, and some of those random things coalesced into what’s now his favorite bedtime song.

We’ve been working on him falling asleep on his own lately, even though he still gets up in the middle of the night and wanders into my room most nights. But tonight, I stay until he falls asleep, softly singing his song and rubbing his back with long, slow strokes. Even after his eyes are closed and his breathing evens out, I stay and stare at his round cheeks and the way his hair curls behind his ears, tears filling my eyes at the thought of sharing custody of my precious baby with anyone else, even if that person is his father.

What’s he going to want?

Pushing that thought aside, I leave Ben’s room, quietly closing his door behind me. I’ll find out what Grayson wants tomorrow. And I’ll just have to figure out how to deal with it then.

Mom looks up when I come into the living room and gives me a soft smile. “Took a while to get him down tonight?”

I shrug, gathering up a few of Ben’s toys that didn’t get picked up before bed and putting them in the basket next to the entertainment center. “Not really. I just like watching him sleep sometimes.”

Her smile grows wider. “They’re so sweet when they’re sleeping. Makes you wonder how something so full of energy all day long ends up like that at the end of the day, doesn’t it?”

Laughing softly, I nod. “Yeah.” Of course that’s not the real reason I want nothing more than to hold my son close as often as possible right now. But I haven’t told Mom about Grayson yet, and I’m not going to until I know what’s happening.

Part of me wants to, though. She’s been amazingly supportive all along, never pushing me to do anything I wasn’t comfortable with, except for those few times where it was needed. Like when I was dragging my feet about picking out a car seat and other baby gear in my third trimester. She ordered me into the car despite my heavy sighs and eye rolling and general annoying teenage behavior, drove me to a department store, and made me look at all of the options there, looking up the reviews online of the ones I found most appealing and forcing me to decide on a car seat, a crib, and a changing table that afternoon.

But I don’t want her to decide that this issue is one where she needs to take charge as my mother and force me to confront the thing I don’t want to deal with.

In this case, I’m the mother. I’m the one who has to confront this situation. I don’t need anyone else adding to the pressure.

“You alright?” Mom asks, obviously noticing my quiet pensiveness.

I give her a bright smile. “Yeah, fine. Just tired.”

She nods. “Do you still have homework for tonight? Or can you go to bed?”

Sighing, I stand. “Not too much. Just some reading. I’m going to grab a snack and get to it, because bed sounds good.” I give her a kiss on the cheek and head to the kitchen. Dad’s already in bed since he has zero hour weight training with his football team in the morning. Doesn’t matter that the season’s over until next fall. They’re in the weight room at seven in the morning all year.

While I do have some reading to do, I mostly just want to retreat to my room to sit with the reality that soon I’ll have to tell my parents about Grayson. And tell Ben about Grayson.

Suddenly food doesn’t sound appealing at all.

* * *

I’m a wreck. I’ve been checking my phone almost nonstop since I got home from class earlier, trying to focus on spending time with Ben, but all I’m doing is dreading my meeting with Grayson.

At four thirty, I give Ben a quick hug and stand from the couch, forcing myself not to hold him any tighter or longer than usual. He wouldn’t like it, and my parents are under the impression that I’m meeting a friend for dinner—actually, I’m pretty sure they believe I’m going on a date—and would think I’m acting weird.

In my room, I stare at my reflection for a moment, trying to decide if I should add to my makeup. For classes, I don’t usually bother with much, maybe concealer if I’m having a breakout, a quick swipe of mascara so my blonde eyelashes are visible and maybe a neutral lip color to make me look more awake and adult than I usually feel.

But I feel the need for … more. Not because I’m trying to impress Grayson, because I very firmly am not. Why would I even want to impress the very attractive star quarterback of Marycliff University, right? He’s my son’s absentee father who’s suddenly determined to be involved. Yes, yes, I know he says he didn’t know, but it’s difficult to let go of my anger and hatred toward him just like that. It’s not a light switch that can be turned off with a few magic words.

I need assurances that he won’t abandon us again. And words aren’t enough.

Getting ready for this meeting feels like preparing for battle. I need something to boost my confidence, and I’ve always felt most confident when I look great.

Despite the fact that this will just confirm to my parents I’m going on a date with someone, I flip through my closet and pull out my blue V-neck knit dress that brings out my eyes. Quickly stripping out of my top, I pull on the dress, happy with how it layers over my charcoal gray leggings. Paired with boots and a scarf it’s perfect no matter where we end up. Hopefully we won’t be spending too much time outside, but it’s best to be prepared.

Turning back to my mirror, I take the time to put on eyeliner, a little bit of eye shadow to really highlight my eyes, and a couple more coats of mascara followed by my favorite lip stain.

Checking the time again, I have enough time to let my hair out of its usual bun and twist the sides into two braids that meet in the back, the rest of my curls hanging down my back, making me look effortlessly put together.

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