Page 19 of Krampus Kruk
Kissing her, I’m too intrigued, too invested in this naked girl straddling me. No one has ever taken care of her, and all I can think about is how I want to.
Pulling away from our kiss, she asks, “Your son. Have you ever talked to him about it?”
“That ship has sailed. He’s done with me.”
She squints at me. “Have you tried?”
“I’ve tried.”
“Recently?”
I shrug. “We parted ways, very officially, a few years ago. I’ll never see him again.”
“That’s sad.”
“It is, but … I’m proud of him. He made the best of everything. He’s better off without me.”
“What about your other son?”
“His demons got the best of him.”
Sorin.He was a lost cause the moment I met him.He never had a chance. I wish his mother would have told me about him from the start, but she didn’t want him in “the life”—not that the life she gave him was better.
“Oh …”
“Two years ago. Bad drugs,” I share, and then my lips keep moving. “My grandson. It’s poetic in a fucked way. My son died before he was born. It felt like a second chance, to raise a boy right in a way I never got to.”
Tinsel’s face conveys she wants to ask more questions, and I’m grateful she’s not. My ringtone blares with a very specific sound. I need to answer it. It’s Jan. He wouldn’t be calling unless it was important.
“I have to take this,” I say, squeezing her leg. Standing, I follow the ringtone sound. Tinsel has me distracted. I don't even remember where I set my phone down. I pick it up from the table in my garage entryway and answer.
“Sorry to bother you. You know me, a dog with a bone. I have a full dossier at this point about her.”
In Polish, I interrupt, “You’re still researching her?”
“You two left so fast. Made me nervous.”
I step back into the living room, seeing her look more relaxed than she has been all night. Soft eyes. Beautiful.
Curious, though, I continue in Polish, leaning on the wall, smiling at her. “Give me a high-level overview of what you’ve learned.”
“Morgan Smith. Twenty-nine. Grew up in Delavan, Wisconsin. She lives in the Old Town neighborhood of Chicago and works for a data engineering company, where she was recently promoted to Vice President.”
I chuckle, knowing why. She raises her brows at me, curious about this call.
“She went to DePaul University, graduated with two bachelor’s degrees, one in computer science, the other in mathematics.”
She and my son Declan have a lot in common:computers, math, death of a parent, how they’ve dealt with things. In another life, Declan could have gotten those degrees.
Continuing in Polish, I ask, “Can you get the word over to Declan that I wish him and his girl a Merry Christmas?”
“Of course, boss.”
“All is well with my little man?” I ask, checking in about my grandson.
“Security log says he was tucked in about an hour ago, and his mom also went to bed.”
“Good,” I say in English, but then I switch to Polish. “And bring M—her car here. She’ll be staying the night.”
