Page 9 of Something Reckless

EASTON

A t the sound of my voice, Alba fumbles the novel she’s holding. It falls to the carpeted floor, and she turns toward me, looking flustered.

Before she can make a move, I quickly maneuver myself down to one knee.

I present the fallen book to her like an offering. “For the princess,” I say gallantly, making a lame attempt to joke around with her. Like old times.

A nervous smile flashes across her face as she awkwardly adjusts her glasses. Then Alba takes the book and mindlessly slides it back onto the shelf.

“No princesses here,” she mutters, her eyes avoiding mine.

When I bungle my crutches, struggling to pull myself back up to my feet, Alba hurriedly rushes forward to help me. My ego refuses to let me look weak, though. So I quickly right myself and find my balance.

“What?! I thought you were the Princess of Fairy Bush. At least that’s how I remember it,” I add cheesily, still trying to reclaim the fun vibe between us from the good old days .

But she’s not taking the bait.

Fine. My jokes are cringeworthy today. Maybe they always were. But at the moment, I don’t care. I’m just longing for the familiarity of my past right now.

Meanwhile, Alba is still acting like a frightened, little animal who wants to run away. What the hell did I do to make her so skittish around me?

“Hey,” I say, changing my tone and dropping the games. “Are you all right after your fall yesterday? Did you get your knee looked at?”

Alba nods, giving me the tiniest smile. “I’m good. Thanks.”

I clear my throat as embarrassment washes over me. “I didn’t apologize for how I reacted. I’m sorry I laughed when you tumbled over the fence. I feel like an idiot. I just thought it was all a prank or some sort of surprise like back in the d—”

“It’s okay,” she says a little too quickly. “But I’m running late, and I really should—”

“Are you sure everything’s okay?” I interrupt, examining her face and unable to shake this weird feeling.

She’s clearly trying to cut the conversation short. Just like yesterday when she bolted. But I’m not going to let her off the hook that easily.

I know we fell out of touch when I left Fairy Bush, and I blame myself for not trying harder. But I’m here now, and I want to fix this.

To start, I need to know what’s going on with her.

“We should catch up for drinks,” I blurt out.

“Dr-drinks…?” Her green doe eyes blink in horror at me.

Yikes. Big yikes.

I just asked Alba Anderson on a date. At least, I think I did. And she’s staring at me like I’m a two-headed alien who just invited her for a spin around the galaxy in my rocket ship.

The teenaged version of me is in another dimension, shitting bricks right now.

Present day Easton? I swallow my nerves and push forward, as casual as can be.

“Are you free tonight?”

Before Alba can answer my question, I hear light footfalls running through the maze of bookshelves surrounding us. The footsteps are getting closer, moving straight toward us.

As I’m turning in the direction of the sound, I notice the shift in Alba’s expression.She’s frozen stiff now, her eyes wide and her face as white as a sheet. She looks terrified.

I’m about to ask what’s going on when a little voice calls out from the other side of the bookshelf. “Knock, knock…”

My brows pinch together as I stare at Alba. Tears fill her eyes as she forces on a smile. Her voice doesn’t sound like her own when she answers the kid. “Who’s there?”

My eyes swing to the little boy who steps out from behind the bookshelf with a joke book in his hand.

I look at him. He looks at me.

Then he starts yelling. “That’s Easton Raines! That’s Easton Raines!”

Wiping away the tear that has streaked down her cheek, Alba immediately steps toward the boy and stoops down to his level. “Bud, we have to use our inside voice. We’re at the library, remember?”

The child cringes, and I can’t help but feel bad for the little guy. “Sorry,” he whispers to Alba before looking up at me with big, starstruck eyes. “Mister, are you Easton Raines?”

I chuckle, staring at the kid.“I am. What’s your name? ”

“I’m Jagger!” he exclaims, his volume rising all over again.

Jagger . A wave of relief swoops in so fast. I almost chuckle when I realize that this is Jagger.

The same Jagger that I was plotting to beat up the instant Alba uttered his name yesterday.

Turns out Jagger isn’t a boyfriend. He’s just a cute, little kid who can’t be more than six or seven years old.

“You’re my favorite hockey player,” the little guy rambles as he turns toward Alba. “We love watching you play hockey, don’t we? We never, ever miss a game. But I was really sad that you got injured.”

“Thanks, little man.” For some reason, my pulse starts to pound as I examine his face.

I can’t help the feeling that he looks familiar—with all that brown curly hair and a tiny dimple in each cheek—but I can’t put my finger on who he reminds me of. So I just smile at him.

“Can I have your autograph?” Then his eyes light up with excitement. “Can you sign my forehead? I’ve seen you do that on TV.” He jerks his little face in my direction, offering it up to be signed.

I bark out a laugh. He’s not wrong. I’ve signed my fair share of foreheads over the years.

But Alba cringes, stepping forward and trying to steer the boy back toward the aisle he popped out of. “Oh, I’d bet Easton is really busy, honey. And we’d better get going.”

I speak up fast. “I’m not busy. In fact, I have the whole summer ahead of me. I definitely have time to sign your autograph, little man.”

Jagger stares up at Alba, hands clasped over his chest. “ Please… ?”

Alba’s nostrils flare, and I can see that she’s still determined to be weird to me. “Okay. Fine. But just not his forehead,” she says, eyeballing me in warning. She fishes a small notepad and pen out of her purse. “How about this?”

My eyes stay on the boy as I take the pad and start signing my name along with a short motivational note. From the protective way she braces his shoulders the whole time, I have a feeling this isn’t just some random cute little kid Alba is babysitting.

When I’m finished, I hand the autograph to the excited child.

He reads the note and clutches it to his chest like it’s his most valued possession. “Thank you, Mr. Raines.”

“You’re welcome, little man. And you can call me Easton.”

He grins at me before whisper-yelling at Alba. “Wow—this is the best day ever. I can’t believe I got Easton Raines’s autograph. Can you believe it?!”

“I can’t believe it, either,” she says with a pained smile and I can tell there are layers and layers of hidden meaning to the simple statement.

Jagger chatters on. “Can you stick this on my bedroom wall later when we get home?”

“Yeah, of course, Bud.”

When we get home… There. That confirms it.

That’s not just any little boy. He’s Alba’s little boy.

He’s Alba’s son.

A whole bunch of questions rise into my mind at once. Who’s the father? Where’s the father? Is he in the picture? Or did he have the nerve to leave Alba to raise this child on her own? Who, dammit? Who? Who is it?

Christopher Madison’s fuckface pops into my mind, alongside a singeing rage I’ve never felt before. Is this his kid? I glance at Alba’s naked ring finger. Did Christopher abandon his kid?

I open my mouth, hoping to find out more about the whole situation. Hoping to find out if that asshole is still in Alba’s life. But I don’t know where to start. All I know is, none of the questions percolating in my brain would be appropriate to ask in a child’s presence.

So I just stare as Alba quickly turns and hustles the little boy away.