Page 129 of Outlaw Heartstrings
He’s not leaving me.
At least for now.
I head up the three short steps to my mother’s front porch. Pushing open the door, I almost trip on the red-bottomed stilettos that are kicked off on the front mat.
“Hello…” I call out loudly, frowning down at the unfamiliar shoes.
I glance toward the living room, confused to see a bag of chips, some red licorice and a can of soda strewn across the coffee table. There’s a chunky pink sweater slung haphazardly across the arm of the couch.
“Mimi? Is that you?” Jagger’s voice rings through the house and I notice a little tremor to it.
“Hey Buddy,” I reply and I try to mask the crack in my own voice as his hurried footsteps thunder through the house.
“Dad?” My favorite little boy bursts around the corner, shaggy brown curls bouncing around his dimpled smile.
Dropping the bags and stepping forward, Easton crouches down and Jagger crashes into his arms like a freight train.
“Dad, I’m so glad you’re back.” Easton wraps the little boy in a tight hug and I can see that he’s struggling to hold back a fresh round of tears.
Mom appears in the hallway, flashing me a cautious look as she wipes her hands on a dish towel.
My gaze darts back to the mysterious shoes, and suddenly the pieces are starting to fall into place. Yet still, I’m hoping I’m wrong.
The bathroom door slowly swings open and Raya steps out. Pink tank top, pink leggings and the aura of a movie supervillain.
She eyeballs me from top to bottom. There’s a look of disgust on her face as she folds her arms over her chest and juts out her hip. “Hey there, twin sister. Welcome back. Can’t wait to hear all about your trip!”
47
EASTON
Alba’s mom quickly steps forward, taking Jagger’s hand. “Hey, you know I was thinking, it’s been a long time since we had ice cream for dinner.”
The little boy looks up at his grandmother, eyebrows crinkled with confusion. “Ice cream for dinner? We’ve never had ice cream for dinner, Grandma.”
“Well, we will tonight.” The woman winks at her grandson.
He gasps. “Really?”
“Sure.” She smiles kindly. “You put on your shoes and I’ll go turn off the fish sticks in the oven.”
Patty and Jagger hustle to get ready. Right before they step out the door, Jagger throws his arms around my waist and gives me a tight squeeze. “I missed you, Dad.”
Raya makes a noise in her throat. “Oh my god,” she spits out, throwing her head to the ceiling. “Would you stop calling him that? I told you. He’s not your father.”
I visibly flinch.
The casual way she says it is borderline wicked. She doesn’t care that she’s stomping on her son’s little heart.
“You said that you’re my dad…” Jagger squeezes me tighter, mumbling against my shirt.
“And I said that he’s not,” Raya retorts in annoyance. “Now, stop being a little brat about it.”
I turn, shooting venom her way as my arms encircle Jagger protectively. “Don’t talk to him that way!”
The boy turns his big blue eyes up to me. “Is that true”—he flinches—“Easton?”
My heart ruptures when he calls me that, when I see the shattered expression on his face, and I can’t even imagine the cruel way Raya must have broken the news to him. It makes me hate her so much more.
