The Father for Her Son Page 3

  He flipped on his blinker and turned onto Mount Bonnell Road, leaning the bike into the curve until he was in danger of laying it down. But the rush he craved, that dizzying feeling of pumping adrenaline, eluded him today. Risking his life seemed tame compared to the risks he’d already taken with his heart.

  Downshifting, he cut the engine and coasted into Mayfield Park. He parked the bike, then pulled off the helmet and walked to a picnic table. He thought about sitting down, but continued to the edge of the water instead.

  He hadn’t slept for two nights, working up the courage to talk to Marlee. Then when he saw her in the lobby of that fancy hotel, he’d almost lost his nerve. She was so beautiful—more beautiful than he remembered.

  He’d spent seven years torn between memories of how much he’d loved her and anger that drove him to hate her. When she’d walked away after his trial, she’d taken so much from him—hope and dignity. She’d also taken his son.

  His only goal when he’d been released had been to reclaim his boy. He told himself that Marlee’s feelings for or against him no longer mattered. He didn’t blame her for hating him. He’d expected she would.

  But he hadn’t anticipated how much it would hurt to see disdain in eyes that had once looked at him with love.

  It didn’t help that his body refused to acknowledge any bad blood between them. Alone with her in her kitchen, he’d had to fight himself to keep from pulling her into his arms. For a moment he’d even imagined she felt the same powerful attraction.

  Of course she wasn’t the same. He wasn’t the same. He’d been a fool to think she’d wait for him, especially when he’d given her no reason to do so.

  His eyes felt gritty. He rubbed a hand over his face and noticed he needed a shave. Great. I probably look like some derelict. That probably didn’t help convince Marlee to let me see Greg.

  “Greg. My son.” He said the words out loud. He could still feel the boy’s weight in his arms as he’d helped him on and off the bike. Troy closed his eyes and inhaled deeply. Underneath the mud and fish odors of the lake he imagined he could still smell the little-boy scents of soap and peanut butter.

  The sun sat on top of the water like an orange balanced on a silver platter. Troy took another deep breath and studied the colors painting the clouds. He’d missed this. Seven years was an eternity to be away.

  He’d been out of prison a month now—long enough to find a job and a place to live. He’d wanted at least the trappings of a normal life in place before he approached Marlee. It had taken him only a week to find her; she lived just a few blocks from the house she’d grown up in. He’d told himself it was a good sign that she wasn’t making any effort to hide.

  When she hadn’t answered any of his letters, he’d been hurt, then angry. She’d been carrying his child. Hadn’t that meant anything?

  Over time, his anger had cooled. He knew how Marlee felt about her father. No matter how much he protested he wasn’t like Frank Britton, why should she believe him?

  He’d kept writing to her, just in case she was reading the letters, and he’d vowed when he got out he’d come back and prove to her he would be the man she needed. He would be a father to their son.

  “IS TROY GOING to come back to see us soon, Mom?”

  Marlee glanced in the rearview mirror as she drove home from the school the next afternoon. Greg grinned back at her in the reflection. “I…I don’t know,” she said. The same question or variations of it had rattled around in her head for the past twenty-four hours. Troy had seemed very determined to be a part of his son’s life yesterday, but how could she be sure? Troy was virtually a stranger to her now.

  “I really like him. That was a cool motorcycle he had. Vrrroom. Vrrroom.” Greg pantomimed revving a motorcycle’s engine. “I’m going to have one just like it one day.”

  “Oh, you are, are you?” She shuddered at the thought of Greg racing around town on a motorcycle. “Well, it’ll be a long time before you’re old enough for that.”

  “Maybe Troy will take me riding.” She heard more engine noises from the backseat.

  Greg hadn’t stopped talking about Troy since meeting him yesterday afternoon. Marlee tried to reassure herself that maybe it was the motorcycle, not the man, that had made such an impression. He wouldn’t be too hurt, then, if Troy never came back.

  What about her? How would she feel if she never saw Troy again? Relieved, she decided. She could get back to the routine of her life without him. His coming here had forced her to unearth a lot of old feelings that were best kept buried.

  She had made a good life for herself and Greg without Troy’s help, a life she could be proud of, with a good job and savings and a comfortable home. She wasn’t where she wanted to be yet, but she was getting there, and she didn’t want Troy pulling her back into a world she’d fought so hard to escape—a world of uncertainty and risk and loss of respectability.

  She stopped at a traffic light and reached up to rub the back of her neck. She hadn’t slept well. Questions kept tumbling in her brain like sneakers in a dryer. What did Troy want from them?

  “Hey, Mom!”

  Marlee jerked out of her daze at Greg’s summons. She looked up and noticed the light was green. “What is it, Greg?” she asked as she got the car moving again.

  “Maybe we could invite Troy for dinner. I bet he’d like that.”

  “Oh, Greg, I don’t know…”

  “You could call him when we get home.” Greg sounded pleased with himself.

  “I don’t know his phone number.” In fact, she knew no more about Troy than she had before yesterday afternoon, except that he was out of jail. If he cared that much about them, why didn’t he at least leave his number, or an address?

  “Well, you’d better ask him when he comes to see us again.”

  Greg was so sure Troy would be back, but she didn’t have that childlike faith. She felt old and jaded.

  Her stomach tensed as their house came into view and she saw the motorcycle once more parked at the curb. A second later, Greg shouted from the backseat. “Mom, he’s here! Troy’s here!”

  “I can see that,” she said. She doubted her words even registered with the boy. He was bouncing up and down in his booster seat, the seat belt straining to contain him. As soon as the car had come to a complete stop in the driveway, Greg was out of his seat and hurtling toward the man waiting on the porch. “You’re back!”

  Troy’s grin was as wide as Greg’s. He swept the boy into his arms and hugged him close. Marlee glimpsed some kind of uniform shirt under his leather jacket, as if he’d just come from work. But he’d obviously taken the time to shave; his jaw was smooth, without a hint of five-o’clock shadow. “I thought you and your mom might like to go out for pizza,” he said to Greg.

  Marlee shook her head. “I don’t know—”

  “Yeah! Pizza!” Greg’s cries of glee quickly drowned out her objections.

  Troy smiled at her over Greg’s head. “Come on, Marlee. A little pizza won’t hurt.”

  There’d been a time when a smile like that would have made her weak in the knees and light-headed with happiness. The fact that it could still make her a little wobbly and uncertain only angered her now. She fished her keys from her purse and slipped past Troy to unlock the door. “Greg, put your backpack away,” she ordered.

  For once the boy didn’t argue, though his slumped shoulders and shuffling walk let her know what he thought of her interrupting his happy reunion with Troy.

  She heard Troy behind her as she entered the kitchen, his boot heels striking hard on the vinyl flooring. The sound annoyed her. She hadn’t invited him in, had she? He had no right to be here.

  She turned to tell him so, and discovered she was trapped. Troy stood in the narrow doorway, his body an imposing barrier to any escape. Arms outstretched, he gripped the counter on either side of the entrance and leaned toward her. “What is it?” he demanded. “What’s wrong?”

  She pulled a glass from the ca
binet, then busied herself filling it from the tap. “Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing.”

  “What do you mean? I asked you and Greg out for pizza.” Marlee could hear the barely contained frustration in his voice.

  She set the glass down hard on the counter and faced him once more. “You knew I couldn’t say no without upsetting Greg. You’re already taking advantage of him.”

  He let out a deep breath and raked a hand through his hair. “Taking advantage of him? I asked you out for pizza! I just thought it would be good to do something together and I figured, well, we all have to eat.”

  “You thought it would be good, did you? What about what I think?” She refused to allow him to waltz in here after seven years and turn her life upside down. “Did you even consider I might have other plans for the evening? That Greg might have homework or chores? That we have a routine you’re disrupting?”

  “It’s one night,” he argued. “One dinner. I just want to spend time with my son.”

  He wouldn’t beg, but there was no disguising the longing in his voice. And the determination. If she was to stay in control of this new relationship between them, she had to take charge now. “We’re going to have to set some rules,” she said.

  Troy narrowed his eyes. “Whose rules?”

  “Mine. First of all, if you want to see us, you call. Don’t just show up on my doorstep. I don’t like surprises.”

  He raised one eyebrow. “You used to. Like surprises, that is.” His voice was low and teasing.

  Marlee tried to ignore the tremor that burned through her. “That was a long time ago,” she said. “I’ve changed.”

  He kept his expression neutral, giving nothing away. “Go on.”

  She glanced at the phone on the wall behind him. “Call me at work so you won’t upset Greg.”

  “I’m not the one upsetting Greg now,” he grumbled under his breath.

  She ignored him, and continued. “Second, you will see Greg no more than twice a week, and only one school night. He gets too excited when you’re around.”

  He took a step toward her, shrinking the gap between them. She backed up against a spice rack mounted on the wall.

  “What about you, Marlee?” he asked. “Do you get too excited when I’m around? Is that the real reason you don’t want to see me more often?”

  “Of…of course not!” But the shakiness in her voice betrayed how much he did upset her. She swallowed hard, refusing to meet his eyes, afraid she might lose herself in them. “We aren’t talking about you and me,” she said, trying again.

  “We aren’t?” He moved another step closer to her. Only a few inches separated them. She felt the edges of the spice tins dig into her back as she pressed her body more firmly against the rack.

  She took a deep breath, drawing in the erotic fragrances of male musk mingled with cinnamon. “Th-this isn’t about us,” she stammered. “This is about Greg.”

  “Greg is about us. He’s our son. Nothing that’s happened can change that.” He stared at her, challenging her to deny the truth. “You’ve stated your rules, now it’s my turn. Rule number one—you let me get to know Greg in my own way. I understand you want to chaperone, but don’t tell me what to do around him. Number two—we need to try to be friends for his sake. You may hate me, but I’d rather he didn’t know that.”

  “I don’t hate you.”

  “You don’t?” Troy shook his head. “You sure have an odd way of showing it.” He reached out, as if to touch her cheek, and she flinched. “What are you afraid of?”

  “I’m not afraid,” she said, still not looking at him.

  One finger brushed her cheek, sending prickles of sensation through her. “You’re as jumpy as a cat,” he said. “Are you scared of me—or of yourself?”

  He brought his other hand up, as if to cradle her face. She cried out and darted through the gap between his side and the counter. “We’d better go,” she said. Then louder: “Greg, what’s taking you so long? Why aren’t you changed yet?”

  Greg appeared in the doorway, his jeans unzipped, clutching an Austin Ice Bats jersey to his naked belly. “I was looking for my shirt,” he said. Greg had been devoted to the beleaguered minor league hockey team ever since a group of players had visited his school.

  Marlee frowned at the wrinkled garment in his hand. A streak of dirt showed on the sleeve. “Where did you get that?”

  He ducked his head. “The clothes hamper.”

  “You need to find a clean one.”

  “But I want this one. It’s my favorite.”

  “It’s also dirty.” Marlee plucked the offending shirt from his hand. “You’ll have to wait until Saturday to wear it again.”

  Greg scowled. “I hate going to the Laundromat on Saturdays,” he said.

  “I’m not exactly crazy about it myself,” she said. “But we have to have clean clothes. Now get another shirt and we’ll go eat pizza.”

  The prospect of pizza seemed to cheer the boy. He raced back toward his room. Marlee turned to find Troy studying them. “Don’t you have a washer and dryer here?” he asked.

  “We’ve got the hookups, but not the machines.” She folded the shirt and laid it on the counter. “There are other things that are more important for us to have right now.” She was saving her money for a down payment on a nicer house in a better neighborhood. Everything else could wait.

  He looked around the kitchen, as if seeing it for the first time. Marlee tried to picture what he saw: the broken hinge on one cabinet, the cracked windowpane over the sink, the watermark on the ceiling. Did he also see the ruffled curtains she’d made to hide the cracked pane, the cheery wallpaper and the silk flowers on the table? Did he recognize how hard she was trying to make a home? “Greg and I don’t need fancy things,” she said defensively. “We’ve got each other—that’s what counts.”

  His eyes met hers and the anger in them chilled her. “Right,” he said, and stalked past her. She heard his footsteps echo down the hall, then the door slammed behind him, hard enough to rattle the pictures on the wall.

  Marlee sagged against the counter, worn-out from the emotion Troy had wrung from her. Obviously, he was angry that she wouldn’t let him rush head-long into a no-holds-barred relationship with his son. But she had to protect Greg, no matter what Troy thought. The old Troy—the man she’d loved—had never had this dark, bitter side to him. She needed to remind herself of that next time she found herself wishing they could re-create the past.

  CHAPTER THREE

  TROY WAS WAITING when Marlee and Greg emerged from the house. He lounged against her car, long legs stretched out in front of him, arms folded across his chest. In spite of her resolve not to, Marlee couldn’t help but compare him with the young man she’d first seen at the service station near her house.

  If anything, he was more handsome now. Maturity had filled out his wiry body and added solid muscle. His hair was shorter than he’d worn it then, the shorter cut accenting the hard line of his jaw. The curls on top were still untamed, falling boyishly over his forehead. But the dark eyes no longer held the innocence of youth. Instead, they were the eyes of a troubled man.

  “I’ll drive,” he said, and scooped the keys from her hand.

  Marlee started to protest, then thought better of arguing in front of Greg. “All right,” she said, and opened the passenger door.

  She was quiet on the drive to the pizza place, letting Greg and Troy do the talking. It was strange being next to Troy in the car. For one thing, she felt as if she was sitting too far over. Back when she and Troy had dated, they’d always sat close to each other. Sometimes he’d rest one hand on her knee, a protective, possessive gesture.

  She took a deep breath, trying to steady herself, but all she could smell was Troy’s leather-and-oil scent. The masculine odor evoked memories of the nights they’d spent together.

  She crossed her arms in front of her, trying to squeeze out the shiver of remembered arousal. If she’d been dat
ing regularly, would Troy’s presence have raised such conflicting feelings within her?

  They chose a booth at the restaurant. Greg insisted on sitting beside Troy. “They’d just taken off their jackets and settled in when a waitress brought the menus over. “Welcome to the Pizza Pirate,” she said, flashing a hundred-watt smile. “My name’s Wendy and I’ll be your server. Just let me know if you need anything.”

  Wendy was maybe all of sixteen, as pretty and vivacious as Marlee had been at that age. Marlee felt ancient in comparison. Did Troy notice how much she’d changed?

  They ordered their drinks and Greg put in his vote for a large pizza with everything. “Sounds good to me,” Troy said, returning his menu to Wendy.

  “Fine with me.” Marlee passed over her menu and the waitress swished away.

  “Do you think she’s cute?” Greg asked.

  Marlee stared at her son. He was too young to be noticing girls, wasn’t he? She glanced at Troy, who looked as if he was trying not to laugh. “Well, now, I’d say so,” he said. “Not as cute as some, but cuter than others.” He winked at Marlee.

  She felt herself blushing and was grateful when Troy turned his attention back to the boy. “What did you think?” he asked.

  Greg drew himself up straight, his expression serious as he considered the question. “She was okay,” he said after a moment. “But I like brown hair better.”

  “Well, what do you know,” Troy said. “So do I.”

  Marlee put one hand to her brunette strands, then jerked it away when she noticed Troy watching her.

  “Can I have some quarters for the video games?” Greg asked.

  “How about if I play with you?” Troy said.

  “Yeah. That’d be cool.”

  The waitress brought the tray of drinks and Marlee sipped her Diet Coke, wishing she’d ordered something stronger to steady her nerves. She couldn’t believe she was letting Troy affect her like this.

  I just have to figure out the proper way to act toward him, she told herself. Though she still didn’t like it, she’d had no choice but to allow Troy to see Greg. For her son’s sake, she couldn’t stay angry with his father. But she couldn’t pretend she’d forgiven him, either. She had to find some compromise, a friendly distance that acknowledged their connection through Greg, nothing more.