“That’s not gossip, Mom,” he says, rolling his eyes. “That’s fact.”
“Either way,” I tell him, taking a glass, “I appreciate your loyalty and not saying anything.”
He shrugs, but the corner of his lip twitches. “Speak as you find. And, well, you’re like family now, kind of. And we protect each other. We don’t let each other get bullied and that’s what I felt like they were doing—getting information they could use against you.”
I glance over at Ali, my heart stilled in my chest that this little boy would think of me as family. She bites her lip, looking like she’s trying not to cry, so I try to change the topic for the sake of us all.
“So, tomorrow night I thought maybe you guys could come over to my house. I don’t cook, but you know . . .”
“You have people,” Hux laughs.
“I do. Or your mom can come over and cook something in my kitchen. Would you like that?”
“Yeah, but I have a program at school.”
Alison stands and makes her way to the coffee pot. “Tomorrow night he has a fall music program.” Her hand trembles a little as she pours herself a cup. “You could, you know, come if you want.”
I take another plate and rinse it, considering my options. There’s nothing more I’d rather do than see this kid that just came into my life sing or play the trombone or whatever it is he does. Because he deserves to have a man there watching him, encouraging him, showing him what it means to be a man. But it’s not that easy.
“I have meetings and interviews tomorrow and my schedule is blocked until at least seven. What time is it?”
“Six.”
My spirits sink. Even if I could’ve made it, I don’t know if it would be the right thing to be seen publicly at his school. I have no idea where to draw the line at this type of thing at this point in our relationship.
“Maybe another night,” Hux offers, watching my face.
A long silence stretches over the kitchen before Alison clears her throat. Huxley and I both look at her.
“You know those season tickets we got for the Hawks games?” she says to her son. Hux’s head bounces up and down. “Those were a gift,” Alison tells him, “from Barrett.”
Huxley swings to face me, his eyes lit up like a Christmas tree. “Really? You gave those to us?”
I didn’t realize she hadn’t told him that little piece of the puzzle, and I’d have been fine if she hadn’t. But I have to admit, seeing this look on his face is priceless.
“I did. I hope you enjoy them.”
Before I know what’s happening, I’m enclosed in a set of 10-year-old arms. His hands are wet from the dishwater, but the feeling of his face pressed into my stomach is worth it.
Chuckling, I look at Alison. Her eyes are damp with unshed tears, her hand over her mouth.
“Thank you,” Hux says, pulling back. “It’s the best thing anyone has ever given me.”
“You are so welcome,” I choke out, his gratitude making my throat squeeze shut. “Maybe I could take you to a game or two. We can leave Mom at home.”
“Really?”
“If you’d like that.”
“Yeah!” he says, pulling the plug from the sink and then drying off his hands. “That would be awesome.”
He flashes me a huge smile before racing out the back door. Alison stands by my side and we watch him ride his bike around the back yard. I think how far he could ride at the Farm, how much fun he would have in all that space.
“He’s a great kid,” I comment as he ditches the bike for his mitt.
“Yeah, I’m partial to him.”
“Do you want more?”
“More of what?” she asks, looking up at me.
“Kids.”
She shrugs, her eyes just a touch wider than before. “I don’t know. Maybe. I haven’t really thought about it.”
“Why haven’t you? It’s a normal thing, right?”
“Yeah, if you’re in a relationship. I’ve been divorced for awhile now, and believe it or not, it’s harder than you think to find someone when you have a kid.”
“Good thing you found me then,” I wink.
I don’t push the kid issue because I don’t even know how I feel about it for sure. It’s not something I’ve thought a lot about specifically, but looking at her, I think I know the answer.
“I have a charity event in a couple of days. It’s something my parents put on every year and I can’t get out of it. The Garalent Gala,” I say. “It’s named after my mother’s family. Proceeds benefit Alzheimer’s.”
“Sounds fun,” she says, sipping her coffee.
My stomach churns a bit when I realize I always take Daphne to the Gala, and I’ve committed to doing that again this year.
Looking at her sweet face, I figure I’ll get out of it.
“Want to come with me?” I ask.
“I can’t,” she replies easily. “I have to work.”
“Alison, please.”
She places her mug on the table and her hands go to her hips. “Please what?”