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Drop-ins also aren’t typical for her. At all.
Usually, she just takes Colt on her time off for vacations or the odd holiday every year or two, and that’s that.
She’d make a better aunt than a mother, the cheery, distant kind you only hang out with once a year before they disappear into the ether again.
I’ve been fine with this pattern because it’s predictable.
The last thing Colt needs at this stage in his life is a loose fucking cannon of a mother hanging around, becoming a bad influence. He’s at the age where he needs good people who really care about him. Stability. Order.
Undaunted, Rina purses her lips as she looks at me. The hole where her lip piercing used to be seems larger than ever.
“Who’s this?” She smiles wide enough to eat her face.
Her gaze flicks past me. I bite back a groan.
Of fucking course.
Of course, Winnie chooses this exact second to head out.
“Oh,” Rina says, stepping back to let Winnie pass. “Sorry, Archer. I didn’t realize I was interrupting time with your girlfriend.”
My girl—
What the fuck?
“Sorry, sorry!” Winnie hisses as she breezes past. “I really should be going. Archer, thanks again, and let me know what you think of the cheesecake.”
Disaster.
Rina tilts her head like the smuggest creature alive as she looks up at me, a thin smile playing at the corner of her mouth. “Interesting. Colt never mentioned her.”
“No need. She’s just—a friend. Also, since when does my private life concern you?”
My skin burns behind my beard.
Shit, why is this a thousand times more embarrassing than it has to be? Even if Winniewasmy girlfriend, what does it matter?
Rina and I were done a decade ago.
She’s been out of my life for ages. She doesn’t get to have an opinion on what I do anymore, much less a say.
Doesn’t change the fact that this is goddamned miserable.
There’s a knowing look in her eyes. If I’m not careful, she’ll call me out for blushing like a kid at prom.
“Well, can I come in?” She doesn’t really ask, brushing past me like she owns the place.
Enough of this shit.
Snarling, I grab her arm. I’m about to push her the hell out of my house when Colt appears at the end of the foyer.
He just stands there, watching us intently.
For a second, he’s not thirteen, he’s five again.
And here I am, manhandling his mother’s arm like she’s a prowler barging in to raid the house.
“Dad?” he asks, his voice small. “Is everything okay?”