Page 122 of Keep Me Never
I wish things were as simple as this day is: food and friends and chilly November air.
If only.
A small voice calls from across the playground, gently tugging us back to reality. “Paige!”
Her name echoes across the yard, and I feel her shift, blinking up at me.
We look over to find a smiling Deaton running this way. Hejerks to a stop at the edge of the sandbox, his shoes having come off at some point.
“I’m ready to make cookies now!” He grins, his tiny fists clenched in excitement.
Paige’s expression softens as she looks at him, and her smile is apologetic when she faces me. “Duty calls,” she teases, brushing her lips along my jaw as she pushes to her feet.
I want to tug her back, keep her here, but I’d sooner cut off my own hands than take away from that little boy’s happiness.
I watch her walk across the yard, her arms outstretched as Deaton barrels into her with a laugh. She scoops him up and kisses his cheek, and the way she beams at him…Damn.
She carries him over to a little spot she reserved just for the two of them on the picnic table, and together they start pulling things out of a bag.
He tugs on her top and she turns, giving him her full attention, listening raptly as he tells her who the hell knows what, but his little face is so serious, it makes me smile.
I lean back and allow myself to watch her—the way she smiles and gushes over every cookie he decorates. The way she flicks her ponytail over her shoulder when it falls in her eyes. The way she kisses the top of his head when he leans over and takes a look at her own decorating skills.
I glance at my friends to see if they’re watching her as closely as I am, but they aren’t.
They aren’t looking their way at all, in fact, because they trust her with the most important person in their life.
She is the most important person in mine.
My eyes move back to the beautiful blond, and a lump forms in my throat.
She’s so good with him, so natural.
A quiet, cautious thought dares to slip into my mind, and I allow it to come to fruition. To ask the question I suddenly am desperate to know the answer to.
Does she want a little one of her own one day the way I do, and could I be the man to give her that?
And then I shut the thought down fast.
What am I doing?
I run my hands down my face and let out a slow, quiet breath.
My phone beeps in my pocket, and I tug it out to find an unknown number on the screen.
Curious, I open the message, and instant anger pulses through my veins.
Unknown: you can’t ignore me forever, Son. I just want to talk.
My fingers fly across the keys angrily and I send the message before I can even think twice.
Me: You lost the option to talk to me when you crushed my dad. You lost the right to call me son when you stole my future from me, and you lost all my respect when you showed up to the game my father taught me how to play with someone else.
My fingers tingle and I wring them out before I block that number like I did hers last week—after dozens of calls and texts, all of which I ignored—and turn off my phone.
I don’t know how many more Sundays like this I’m going to get, so I’m going to enjoy this one.
I walk right up to the table where Deaton and Paige are decorating what look to be sugar cookies of all different shapes and sizes.
