“It ain’t no secret she’s been waiting on you to have a little more time in your life.”
“She said that?”
“Hell, she’s been saying it for years. You know that girl’s gonna be heartbroken if you don’t put a ring on it someday.”
I snort. “In order for that to happen, we’d have to actually date and shit first.”
He lifts his hands. “That’s what I’m saying. Apparently your busy schedule keeps getting in the way of her hopes and dreams.”
Jesus Christ. “Thanks for the heads-up,” I mutter and mentally kick my own ass all the way back to my truck.
It was one thing to break the seal with her in the first place, but then I had to go and call her and get her hopes up all over again. What’s worse is that I knew it wasn’t going anywhere when I called her the other day, but, in the moment, I was too selfish to care.
Mikayla may be a little overeager, but she’s a good person and she deserves better than my on-again, off-again bullshit. I’m just really sick of being alone, still wanting something I can’t have.
My focus shifts to the visor above the steering wheel and, despite knowing better, I flip it down, letting the picture that’s been hidden there for the past three-and-half years float to my lap.
Picking it up, I brace for the stabbing ache that always comes when I decide to torture myself with the what-ifs and the might-have-beens so clearly captured in this one image.
Hayden’s holding Jett in her arms in front of the altar at St. Michael’s. He’s dressed in white and draped in a matching blanket, and Hayden’s dark eyes are glued to him with so much love and adoration that it takes my breath away every time I look at the picture. Just like it did that day, standing with my arm around her shoulders, looking down at her exactly the way she looked at our son.
“You may be his father, but this is my family,” Lane had muttered only moments later, when the pictures were all taken and the holy water had dried on Jett’s little head.
I’ve never wanted to kill someone with my bare hands more than I did at that moment and all I can say is it was a damn good thing we were in church.
There have been at least a dozen times since then that I’ve caught him shooting daggers at my head and muttering shit under his breath. It eats at him that I’ve kept my end of this deal and, frankly, his irritation only fuels my determination to be the best dad I can be for Jett.
The thing is, I do it for Hayden, too. Once upon a time, she needed me and something about the way she looks at me now says she still does. She might’ve given him a second chance, but she gave me a child. I would die for that girl, just like I would the little boy we share. And I don’t give a fuck what Lane Kelsie thinks about it.
My phone pings on the console and, as if her ears were ringing, it’s a text from Hayden. Correction—it’s a picture. Of Jett on one of those playground claw toys. He’s digging up dirt and the look on his face is pure concentration.
All you, Hayden adds, and I chuckle. It’s little things like this—that she not only shares these moments with me, but also gives me a place in them—that keep me going.
That’s my boy, I type back. Then, I’m actually on my way down. Another run to the dealership for parts. Any chance I can see him for a few minutes?
The three dots light up right away. Of course. We took the day off for park time and errands. Let me know when you get to town.
So, that’s what I do two hours later.
I’m here. Grabbing the parts and then I can drop by.
I don’t get Hayden’s reply until I’m back in the truck with a crap ton of other inventory I know I’m out of, too, because I’m not doing this shit again next week. Still running errands, her message reads. Give us 45 minutes?
Shit. That puts me at noon, and with a half hour visit, I won’t be back in Cole Creek until two-thirty. I can change the part in an hour, but that still won’t leave enough time do any actual work done today. But isn’t that the story of my life lately? Never enough time for anything. Except my boy, that is.
Yeah, that’s fine. See you then. I send the message, then add, Maybe don’t tell him. Kinda want to surprise him.
Haven’t said a word. Was thinking the same. *winky face*
I smile, sigh, and toss the phone back onto the console. There’s only one thing for a guy to do when he’s got an extra forty-five minutes in Green Bay.
He goes to Cabela’s.
HAYDEN
“This was a horrible idea,” I say to Jett, who’s perched in the front of the cart with eyes as big as those of the animals mounted on the walls. “I don’t know the first thing about any of this stuff.” Some fisherman’s daughter I am.
“I got a fishing pole,” Jett says. “And I can put the worms on my own self, too.”
I laugh. “Can you? Did your dad teach you that?”
He beams from ear to ear. “Yup!”
“Wow, that’s pretty awesome. You know, I used to go fishing with Papa when I was little. I was too scared to touch the worms, though.”
Jett giggles. “They’re wiggly.”
“They sure are. And slimy.”
“Gotta pinch ‘em,” he informs me, his expression suddenly serious. “Like this.” He shows me with his little fingers squished together. “But not too hard or their guts will come out.”
I shake with laughter. “That is some very useful information, Jett Alexander. What are the chances you know which of these weird little things I should buy Papa for his birthday?”
He blinks at the wall of options and then at me, speechless.
“That’s what I thought.” Maybe a gift card would be a safer bet.
“Daddy,” he says, and I sigh.
“Yep, your dad would definitely know what we need.” But somehow I don’t think Lane would appreciate me calling Jesse to ask.
“Daddy!” Jett says again, this time with a little more gusto.
“You have no idea how much I’d love to ask your daddy, sweet pea, but I can’t.”
“Why not?” a deep, familiar voice sounds behind me and I gasp as goose bumps rush down the back of my neck and my bare arms. I spin to face the devil himself standing near the end of the aisle.
“Jesse. What the heck are you doing here?”
“Had some time to kill.” He flashes a grin and sidles past me to scoop up Jett.
The motion draws my attention to his gigantic hands and the way the muscles in his tanned arms cord and flex. He’s dressed for work in worn jeans and a navy T-shirt, broken-in boots and an Ariat ball cap. He smells like diesel fuel and hydraulic oil, too. Delicious.
“I thought you two were running errands,” he asks, chucking Jett’s nose.
“We are.” I push a hand back through my hair and blow out a breath. “I’m trying to find a birthday gift for my dad.”
“Papa likes fishing too, Daddy,” Jett says matter-of-factly, and Jesse chuckles.
“And let me guess—Mama has no idea what she’s doing.”
Jett shakes his head and, as if simply seeing Jesse isn’t enough, something about the way he says “mama” turns my insides to goo.