Page 47

ALANA

Tommy serves dinner on the patio, mosquito zappers adding a kind of musical harmony to our meal, and though I try to regain a little distance, my boundaries are a mere joke as far as he’s concerned, because he sets my plate beside his and places the best steak of the bunch on top of it.

Because he always wanted to feed me.

“Dig in.” He selects a smaller, more easily managed steak for Franky, then offers a choice of the last two to his brother. Like I knew he would, Tommy takes the leftovers. Always the last to receive. And yet, he sits on my right with a smile that would swear pure contentedness.

He pours me a glass of wine without asking and scoots his chair as close to mine as he can physically manage. Then he sets his hand on my thigh beneath the table.

I brush it off and cross my legs.

He smirks. “What are your favorite subjects at school, Franky? Your mom used to be really good at math. Like, genius level with some of that stuff. Her and Chris always did their homework together like it was a race, and then when they were done, they’d kinda turn around and look at me like I was a stray mutt in the street.

Like, alright, now we help the stupid one . ”

“That’s not true.” I brush his hand off when he tries again. “We never thought you were stupid.”

“We definitely didn’t say it out loud,” Chris teases. He holds his fork in his right hand, though being right-handed would imply doing things the other way around. Cutting through his steak, he peeks across at Franky and finds him doing the same thing.

Same quirk and all.

Anxious, I risk a side glance to see if Tommy notices, too.

“You like math, don’t you, honey?” I cut through my steak and push Tommy’s hand off my leg.

I’m not angry every time I have to, and he’s not sad every time I do.

He’s turned it into a game, and I’m terrified that if he doesn’t have that to focus on, he might notice the similarities between his brother and my son.

“And you’re especially good with algebra. ”

“Algebra?” Tommy sips his beer. “Geez. I still can’t do algebra.”

“Means you didn’t pay attention in school,” Franky counters dryly.

He doesn’t mean harm, and neither Watkins boy takes offense.

But in my heart and mind, I know Tommy wasn’t given a fair chance.

He lost half his education to broken bones and too little energy due to too little food.

And the other half, he was treated poorly by the teachers and so often punished for being behind instead of congratulated for overcoming horrible circumstances in the first damn place.

My baby can’t know that.

But I do. And Tommy does, too.

He looks my way, massaging my tense thigh, and winks. It’s an ‘ it’s cool ’ wink.

“Do you play any instruments?” He fixes his face and looks back at my son. “Guitar, maybe? Piano? Or maybe you’re gonna try out for theater?”

In response, Franky pokes a finger into his mouth and mock-gags.

“Theater is literal, legal child abuse,” Chris inserts playfully. “It’s fine for those kids who like it and all, but for the ones who don’t…” He shakes his head. “No one should be forced onto a damn stage just because the state made it part of the curriculum.”

“Remember when Mrs. Tower made you try out for Hamlet?” I grab my wine and snicker at the memory. “There was no reason for her to do that except to make you feel like crap.”

“She was mad because I might’ve said something about her sweater the week before.” He looks at Franky. “It was a pea-green color. Super ugly and frumpy and loose. But the color?—”

“Like vomit?”

“Yes! Exactly. And I wasn’t even trying to be mean.

I see what I see, and I say what I think.

She mentioned the stain on my hoodie, ‘cos I don’t know if your mom told you, but me and Tommy came from a pretty poor family.

I had this one favorite hoodie that I liked to wear a lot, but it got a stain on it at lunch that day.

We had Mrs. Tower’s class after, and she made a whole big deal about it until everyone stopped to stare. ”

Franky’s eyes narrow with disdain. “That’s bullying.”

“Well…” Chris shrugs. “Where we come from, the adults were allowed to do whatever they wanted, and it was called authority figures , and do as I say, not as I do . She was flapping on about my hoodie and making me feel like shit. Your mom stepped up for me, actually. She tried to get the teacher to shut the hell up. But your mom had to be careful, too, because if her mom found out she was being sassy, she’d get in big trouble. ”

Searching for confirmation, Franky looks at me.

So I nod. It’s true.

“Anyway. Tower was yapping, yapping, yapping. And I just happened to mention the color of her sweater.”

“And next thing we know,” Tommy adds happily, “Chris is the worst Hamlet who ever stepped on a stage. She’s still teaching to this day.

” He strokes my thigh under the table, flicking my fingers when I try to brush him off.

“But don’t worry. If she’s still around when you get to high school, me, Chris, and your mom will head on in and let her know what’s up. ”

“You make it sound like we’re going to shake her down,” I laugh. I meet Franky’s eyes. “If she’s still teaching when you get to high school, Mommy will talk to her. Without her muscled entourage. I’ll make sure she knows you have no desire to play Hamlet, or any other character, on stage.”

“What if she tries to make me?” His eyes glisten with emotion. “What if she talks about my clothes in front of the whole class and says I have to be in the play, even after you talk to her?”

“Baseball bat,” Chris and Tommy speak as one. Then Tommy adds, “You don’t ask questions, buddy. Then she won’t have to lie. You just trust that the situation has been taken care of.”

“Good lord.” I shove his hand off and glare. “Can you stop? You’ll have my son thinking I work for the mob, and that old lady is gonna lose her kneecaps if she keeps up with her shit.”

“It’s who you are, Alana Page.” He flashes a teasing grin, chipping away at the armor I try so hard to place between us. “You take care of the people you love. It doesn’t matter who the enemy is, and it doesn’t matter how scary they are. You protect.”

I protect.

It’s what I do.

“Besides,” he quips. “You learned a long time ago how to take care of business quietly and cleanly. It was a defense mechanism, knowing that if I had to step in, it would be loud, messy, and likely end with me in cuffs.”

Exactly.

Which is why I left all those years ago without saying goodbye. Because telling the truth would end in cuffs.

That’s the damn problem.

Seven forty-five approaches, and the sun settles amongst the trees surrounding Tommy’s property. Rays bounce off the water, creating a kind of diamond sparkle that covers the grass and turns dusk into magic.

It takes a young girl’s memories, where love was allowed, grown, and celebrated, and mixes it with what’s left now.

That same love exists. Within me and, sadly, within him, too. But it really shouldn’t. It can’t.

Coveting Tommy Watkins’ heart is the wrong thing for me to do.

“We have five minutes.” The moment the door closes, and Franky and Chris move through the kitchen to sort dirty dessert dishes, Tommy snatches my hand and tugs me from my seat.

A yelp of surprise bursts from my throat, echoing on the night air and lingering back where we began. But he pulls me along, catching me when I stumble and dragging me down the porch steps until we’re on the grass.

“Tommy!”

He slingshots me forward, tearing me around the side of his house, then pins me to the wall, crushing my chest beneath his and stealing my breath when he selfishly sucks it into his lungs.

“Tommy—”

“I need my five minutes, Lana.” His hands roam my body.

My thighs. My hips. He nibbles on my lips and crumbles the willpower I’ve been building all night.

“Fuck, is this how drug addicts feel? When you just want something so bad, your mouth waters, and your hands shake. When you can’t think about anything else.

Can’t focus on what everyone else is doing or saying.

“We need to stop.”

“Four minutes,” he groans, “and your kid is taking you away from me. He set a timer. An actual fucking timer, like he knows I’d take a mile if he gave even an inch. ”

I drop my head back, exposing my neck and frantically working to refill my lungs.

“You’re a really good mom, Lana.” He shatters me with his words, so simply put, and pulls back just far enough to search my eyes. Addiction ? He fights it easily and smiles when my vision turns blurry. “I know it’s a whole thing, and I know his existence is…” He hesitates. “Messy. I understand.”

“Tommy—”

“I want you to know that just because I wish you never left doesn’t mean I wish he didn’t exist.” Gently, so very carefully, he brushes the hair off my cheek and tucks it behind my ear.

“He’s an amazing little boy. He’s special, Lana, and he’s half of you.

So, if going back and keeping you means he doesn’t get to be here anymore, then I’ll stop wishing for that.

I’ll stop being mad that you left. I’ll stop holding anger. Because I wouldn’t trade him.”

My heart pounds, a painful staccato bruising my chest and leaving tears in my eyes. “You wouldn’t?”

“He doesn’t have your heart, Lana. He is your heart.” He leans in and nibbles on my bottom lip. “And I think we can both agree I’ve been in love with your heart since the start.”

My jaw trembles as ten years of pain threatens to spill over.

“I’m not sure he’ll love me back.” Chuckling, he slides a thumb beneath my eye and collects a fallen tear. “I’m not even sure he likes me. But I’m not gonna live in the past anymore. I’m not gonna demand answers or hold that anger or wish I could wrap you up ten years ago and change your plans.”

“Tommy—”