Hold On

“R2-D2 cake?” she went on, scribbling on the paper.

“Yep,” Ethan confirmed.

“Chocolate?” she kept going.

“Affirmative.” Ethan was now soaking his pancakes in syrup.

No.

Submerging them.

Watching that, Garrett felt his lips tip up before he turned his gaze to his woman. “How many pancakes you want, babe?”

“Two,” she muttered distractedly, still scribbling. “Thanks, gorgeous.”

He turned to the griddle and poured batter.

He was putting the bowl aside when he heard a noise like someone was shoving air with their tongue through clenched teeth.

He cut his gaze to Cher.

She was still bent over the counter but twisted to look down her side at him, her lips pressed together, eyes big, and she jerked her head.

He had no fucking clue what that was about.

He was going to learn.

She twisted back to look at her boy.

“Haven’t heard from your dad, kid.” She drew in breath and then offered, “You want me to give him a call? You’ve never invited him, Peg, and the kids, though they know about your extravaganzas and probably would wanna come. You think this year’s the year?”

That was what it was about. She needed him alert and at her back when she introduced something that might be tough to talk about with Ethan.

Or, more to the point, she needed him alert for Ethan.

Fuck, that felt good.

“Don’t call. Don’t care he comes or not,” Ethan muttered, shoving pancake in his mouth.

She gave it a few beats before she suggested, “It’s been a while, honey. Maybe you should give him a call.”

Ethan, chewing, looked to his mom and swallowed.

“It’s been a while, yeah. You think that’s long enough for him to learn not to be a loser?” he asked.

Garrett saw in profile as Cher bit her lip.

That meant no.

“Right,” Ethan said, and looked back to his pancakes. “Don’t care he’s not at my party. Really won’t care if he doesn’t give me a call. It’s not his birthday that’s comin’ up. He’s missed a bunch of mine. His choice whether he’s gonna miss more.”

“You did tell him you didn’t want to see them again,” she reminded her boy.

“If I told you that, would you leave me alone forever and ever?” Ethan returned.

Cher bit her lip again.

That time it meant not a fucking chance.

Yeah.

Ethan Rivers might be only nearly eleven, but he had his head screwed on straight.

Cher opened her mouth, but Garrett said quickly and quietly, “He’s right, baby.”

She twisted to look down her body at him again.

“If Schott wants a part of Ethan’s life, he’s gotta make the effort,” Garrett finished.

She took Garrett in. She twisted back and took her son in.

Then she said, “Right,” and looked at her pad of paper.

She was blowing it off, but it was pretend. He saw the tense line of her shoulders.

She was worried about her kid, but she wasn’t going to baby him. She was going to let him make his own decisions.

It was a good call. It was time for her to give Ethan that and for Ethan to learn how to do it right.

He’d touch base with her later, after he dropped Ethan at school, to make sure she was good.

Garrett turned back to the stove and flipped the pancakes.

Then he felt it, so he turned back.

Ethan was looking at him.

He had a weird look on his face. Suddenly, his shoulders came up really high, almost to his ears.

He mouthed, “Thanks,” quickly dropped his shoulders, and gave his attention back to his food.

Garrett looked back to the griddle.

In his line of work, Garrett had seen it time and again.

As much of a loser as Trent Schott was, any boy felt the absence of a father straight through everything that he was.

Everything.