Games of the Heart

Mike knew my game and because he was a good guy, he didn’t hesitate falling into it.

“No is sixteen, close to seventeen. He’s into music. He plays drums, guitar and keyboards. All self-taught. He’s good. He’s got a garage band and since he also plays basketball, he’s tall, a good-lookin’ kid and he’s good at basketball, most of the girls in high school think he’s the second coming. My phone at home rings off the fuckin’ hook so I quit answering it and don’t even bother listening to the voicemail messages because they’re all for No.”

“No?” I asked.

“No, Jonas. Until he was fifteen we called him his name. Then he declared himself No. He thinks it’s cool and refuses to answer to anything else. I think it’s whacked but it’s harmless so I do it. His mother finds it annoying, juvenile and laughable and refuses. She also finds every opportunity to tell him it’s annoying, juvenile and laughable. Luckily, he only has to spend four days a month with her so he can cope with being called his real name that long.”

“This is good,” I muttered. “But don’t you have two kids?”

When I said that, his arms tightened reflexively around me. This move spoke to me though I didn’t know what it was saying. So I lifted my head to look down at him and he didn’t manage to hide the uneasy shadow drifting through his eyes before I caught it.

“Mike?” I prompted.

“Clarisse. My daughter. She’ll be fifteen soon. She was Daddy’s Little Girl until last year. We were tight. All good. She’s entered a phase,” he explained.

“What phase?”

“Not sure,” he murmured then went on. “Secretive. Moody. She fights with her brother most of the time, her mother all the time and me some of the time.”

I knew all about that.

“What does her Mom say?” I asked.

“Audrey and I don’t speak. Her decree. I fought for and got full custody of the kids which meant child support disappeared. She’s struggling and blames me. So I don’t know what she says except through Reesee who informs me her mother’s a bitch. In those words.”

That didn’t sound good.

I stepped in. “Right then, quick education of knowing female to clueless male with teenage daughter. Secretive, moody and argumentative are gonna be your crosses to bear for a while, honey.”

He studied me and he did it closely. I knew what he was thinking and hoped he wouldn’t go there. It was a time I wasn’t proud of and he must have read me because he didn’t go there.

Instead, he asked, “How long of this sentence do I got?”

“She started her period?”

He flinched. I grinned.

Yeah, Daddy’s Little Girl all right. The idea of his baby becoming a woman was not something he liked to think about.

Then he answered, “Yeah.”

“You’re lucky, a year, maybe two. You’re not, you’re lookin’ at at least a nickel.”

“Fuck,” he muttered and my grin got bigger.

Then my grin faded and I whispered, “We snap out of it. Promise.”

His arms separated. One slid up my back. The other slid low on my hips. And they did this while he again studied me closely.

Then he nodded, getting me because he could see that I wasn’t who I used to be but he said quietly, “Hope you’re right.”

“Why wouldn’t I be?”

He shook his head but stated, “I’m seein’ a lot of her Mom in her. This isn’t good. And I don’t know if I can draw out those demons or if it’s ingrained in her.”

“And those demons would be?” I prompted.

“She wants shit, lots of it. Shit I can’t afford. Shit she doesn’t need. And she’s not happy she can’t have it.”

I tipped my head to the side and suggested carefully, “Child of divorce?”

He shook his head, not in a “no” but in an “I don’t know” and replied, “We’ll see.”

I took one arm from around him, slid it up his chest, his neck to cup his cheek and I shared, “Mom, Dad, Darrin, my headspace was fucked but they never gave up on me. I came out of it, they were there. Not long after, I realized they always were. I never forgot it and that meant the world to me. I don’t know, babe, I don’t have kids but my advice, just don’t give up on her.”

“Wouldn’t do that anyway,” he muttered and I suspected he wouldn’t. His eyes captured mine and he asked, “How long you stayin’?”

“Well, since Debbie’s here for a couple of days, tomorrow I’m having brunch with the family sans my bitchface sister and if I’m happy with their pulse, my plane leaves tomorrow afternoon. I’m not, my plans are up in the air.”

He nodded right before he leaned in, twisted and took me to my back and when he settled, torso on me and hips between my legs, he asked quietly, “Your medium-sized vases sell for two hundred a go, that mean you can afford to get your ass on a plane to visit The ‘Burg frequently?”

My heart skipped and it hadn’t done that in a long time. Beau never made it do that, not even in the beginning. It had been so long, I didn’t know which moron had made it skip last.

But it skipped then. Definitely.

Kristen Ashley's books