“It’s a little too late to walk into my life and play daddy.” The bitterness in his tone almost makes me grin. He’s so much like I was at that age.
“I’ll take what you’re willing to offer.”
“Shoes and gifts? Anything I want because you’re trying to buy my love?” He sneers at me, unable to keep the acidity out of his words.
I guess that’s one good thing about boys his age. It’s nearly impossible for them to hide their true emotions.
“I’m not trying to buy your love, but the offer still stands. If you need something, I want you to feel comfortable asking me for it. It’s not a favor. I don’t offer expecting anything back from you. I should’ve bought you a million things already. It’s my job to take care of you, not an obligation.”
“Mom has done the best she could.” Clearly, he’s reading more into my words than I expect him to.
“I know she has, and at the risk of keeping you from ever accepting my offer to hang out again, there are a few things we need to talk about.” I pause, trying to figure out how to word this conversation without pissing him off further. “Not coming from a parental position but from a man who lost his mother at a young age and would give nearly anything to have her back, you’ve got to stop making things harder for her.”
He frowns, his jaw working back and forth as if he’s grinding his teeth.
“Getting in trouble at school—”
“I haven’t gotten in trouble once this week,” he snaps.
“I know.” I hold my hands up in mock surrender. “And that’s awesome, but letting me help out will also help her.”
I don’t see it as a form of manipulation, but he also doesn’t seem too keen on the idea when he plops his back against his seat and crosses his arms over his chest.
“Yeah? And how exactly do you plan to help?”
“You could let me take you home every day after practice. Your mom wouldn’t have to wait in the parking lot. She has to leave work early to do that, doesn’t she? She drops you off and goes back?”
He tilts his head up, an annoyed look on his face.
“What else?” he asks, not denying the offer outright but also not agreeing.
“I could take you to grab groceries for the house,” I offer.
“What did I say about throwing your money arou—”
“Does Brooke still like those little toffee candies? How long has it been since she’s had some?” I interrupt, already well aware that although this kid has a chip on his shoulder, he also understands the significance of family.
Despite the lies, I know Tinley raised him to be respectful and loving. That’s one thing in the plus column. She loves this boy.
“You ask her to keep it when I buy her a new car. The one she has is complete shit.”
“We don’t need—”
“Does it crank every time? I can’t imagine how frustrating it is to be running a little late to work only to have the car not crank.”
He snaps his mouth closed.
“What’s her favorite color? It used to be turquoise, but I think such a flashy color would draw the wrong kind of attention. Maybe black or silver would be better.”
“She likes silver,” he mutters, and I do all I can to hold back a smile.
“The front porch on the house is sagging a little.”
“She mentioned wanting to have it fixed, but she had to spend the money she’d saved on my grandmother’s medical bills.”
“So, doing those things for her would be helpful, you think?”
He glances down at his food before picking up his fork to continue his meal.
“I guess, but owing you would just cause more stress for her.”
“Not favors,” I remind him. “Things I should’ve done all along.”
“A new house in a ritzy neighborhood would probably relieve all of her stress,” he says with a small smile before shoveling chicken alfredo into his mouth.
I grin a little. “If I honestly thought she’d go for that, I’d offer it in a heartbeat.”
The smile fades away. “I hate it here. If Pop hadn’t died, things would be different.”
“I know,” I tell him, because despite that man’s hatred for me, he worked his ass off to provide for his family.
“What are things like in St. Louis?”
My heart races with the prospect that he could want to know because he’s interested in living there.
“Are the schools good?”
“I haven’t done much research on schools, but I imagine the ones where I live are good, mostly private academies.”
He nods, contemplative as another bite of food makes its way to his mouth.
“But it doesn’t matter. My life isn’t there any longer. Regardless of what you’ve convinced yourself, I’m not leaving. I’m not walking away from you.”
“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard.” The anger is back like the flipping of a switch. “Giving up all the good things makes no sense.”
I tilt my head in a that’s just how it is sometimes way.
“Maybe, but I doubt you can convince your mother to move across the country.”
“You’d want that? You want us to live with you?”
The first hint of hope in his voice makes me want to offer this kid the world. I mean it’s something I was planning to do eventually, but I thought it was a long way in the future.
I tread carefully. “Living with me isn’t something I’ll ever be able to convince your mother of doing, but I’d want you close.”
“But not together?” The hope disappears.
“My relationship with your mother is complicated.”
“Because you don’t love her?”
God, this kid knows how to hit me like a swift kick to the nuts. I’ve focused the last couple of weeks on my anger because seeing her again brought everything back—the memories, the feelings, the regret. I’ve let all of that remain clouded because a second chance with her is nearly impossible with the
