Page 33 of Played
“He’s worried?” I frown.
“He wondered if he was going to have a new mommy,” Nate says, voice flat.
I stare at the half-eaten food on my plate, not really seeing it.
If he was going to have a new mommy.
My appetite fucked, I lift my head and meet Nate’s. There’s censure there, a hint of condemnation among the grief that has never fully dissipated.
And it burns like hell. Right down to the center of me that still churns with guilt because I not only kissed a woman who isn’t Kendra but that I remember her taste, the texture of her lips and tongue, the sound of her soft moan.
“That’s ridiculous, but I’ll talk to him and make it clear.” As clear as I can to a five-year-old without involving him in adult situations.
“Make exactly what clear, Solomon?” Nate asks, leaning his folded arms on the table. “We’d like to understand as well. I’m assuming, if the reports are correct, that she is the firefighter that came to see you at the arena. I thought her speaking to you was a onetime thing. When did it turn into something more?Is itsomething more?”
TheAy, mind the business that pays yousits on my tongue, but I bite it back, locking it behind clenched teeth. Nate’s coming at me not as my employer but Kendra’s father. And both are rubbing me the wrong way. Respect keeps those words tethered. Respect and who he’s been to me and my son.
Because if it were anyone else, they would get the other side of me.
“It won’t be repeated.” I don’t elaborate, and after a moment, Nate dips his chin.
“Good. Aside from Khalil’s well-being, the season’s just started and we can’t afford any distractions. Not for you or the team.”
We both know this is less about the Pirates or their season and more about me possibly bringing another woman in to my and Khalil’s lives. That they want to preserve Kendra’s place in Khalil’s life. In mine. As if I don’t. As if anyone could ever come in and replace her.
Yet none of that keeps me from getting hot. And not just on my behalf but Adina’s. Yeah, I need to get to bed, because I’m not making any damn sense. I must be more tired than I thought because there’s no other explanation that has me wanting to jump bad on my father-in-law over a woman I have zero plans on seeing again.
Even when Adina Wright isn’t in front of me—or has her tongue in my mouth—she’s a shitload of trouble.
Trouble I didn’t ask for or want.
“Daddy!”
The guest bedroom door flies open, and Khalil races in, his little face lit with a huge grin. I sit up in time to catch him as he launches himself onto the bed and into my open arms. It’s been over a week since I’ve held my son, looked into his face without the use of FaceTime. At times, I worry that being away from him so much during the season will affect our relationship, have him feeling abandoned by me.
But then, I’m on the receiving end of this smile and the obvious love shining from his green eyes, and that gnawing concern lets up on me. For now. Unfortunately, worry and I are partners shackled at the ankles with only brief reprieves. Shit, since Kendra, it’s like we have a muthafucking life sentence together.
“Hey, li’l man.” I close my arms around Khalil, hugging him close. He obviously came to find me immediately after he woke up, becausedrool still crusts the corner of his mouth and smears halfway across the cheek I smack a kiss on.
“Daddy,” he whines, swiping his palm across his skin. “I’m a big boy. I don’t need kisses.”
“Oh really?” I arch an eyebrow.
“Yeah.” He balls up his face.
“Okay, then.”
Without warning, I sweep his little body up and drop him on the bed, my fingers digging into his ribs. His wild, raucous laughter fills the room, and he curls his knees toward his chest, twisting and turning, trying to avoid my tickling. Grinning, I bend over him, peppering his face with more loud, smacking kisses.
Joy fills me, pressing against my rib cage, and the piercing intensity of it is almost painful. The sound of my son’s happiness is a gift that carries no price tag, holds no sorrow. Every time I hear it, I’m so grateful. If I still prayed and didn’t have problems with God, I’d thank Him for it.
“Stop, Daddy, stop!” he yells, giggling like mad.
I finally let up, and once I lean back against the headboard, he pounces on me. For the next several moments, we wrestle, him loosing growls like a baby cub. Rising from the bed with him scooped under my arm like a flailing sack of potatoes, I make my way to the en suite bathroom and deposit him on the counter.
“Get yo’ funky mouth brushed. You almost killed me with that breath, man.”
“Uh-uh!”
