My face is beet red. My body breaking out in hives. My heart hammering inside my chest. The fucking nerve of him.
“First of all––” I say, struggling to keep my voice low and steady. “I wasn’t drunk, you asshole. I was in the shower after having taught classes for five hours straight. I haven’t had a drink in three years and you should talk. How long have you been sober?” I can’t believe it’s come to this. The last thing I wanted was for us to keep a scorecard of all the ways we both failed our son.
“Second, he’s a kid, which you know nothing about. Life happens. Accidents happen. No matter how much you may want to bubble wrap them.”
He steps away from me and turns, looking off into the distance.
“Don’t do this. He can spend holidays with you in California. If we go to court it will take years to resolve and the person who will suffer most is Sam.”
Chewing on his lips, he says, “I’ll think about it. Answer when I call you and keep that blockhead away from my son.”
“Hang the hell on. Grant happens to be the reason Sam is saying more than two words at a time. You should be kissing his feet for inspiring some confidence in him. He’s not going anywhere so get used to it. Tell Connie or whoever comes next I say good luck.”
Ronan walks down the steps and heads for the black Suburban and driver parked in the driveway.
“Aren’t you going to say goodbye to him?”
“Already did,” he shouts back, not even breaking stride.
“Sam?”
Searching room to room, I find him in the family room, showing Grant the videos he took of his trip with his phone, Sam hanging all over Grant like he’s his own personal jungle gym. I’ve never seen him behave this way with anyone. Not even me.
And the way Grant indulges him in everything––letting him talk on and on about anything Sam chooses makes me love him all the more. This man and his gigantic organ own me…and I don’t mean the one between his legs. Although that’s nice, too.
I’ve been dreading this moment. I’m flying blind. It can go either way. He’s never seen me with anyone. He’s never had to share me. I figured, best to get it over with as quickly as possible and deal with the aftermath.
Grant glances up. One look at my face and he knows I’m about to tell Sam about us. He gets up from the couch and gives Sam’s head a friendly squeeze.
“Hey, buddy. Your mom wants to talk to you about something. You can show me the rest later.”
I take the seat Grant vacated a second ago, the spot still warm from his body heat. I draw strength from it. “I need to talk to you about something really important. First, I want you to know that if something doesn’t feel good in your heart you should tell me. Okay?”
Crap. All that did is put a deeply suspicious look on his face.
“Okay, Sam?”
“Yeah.”
“You know I really like Grant?”
He nods, his expression clearing to some degree. “This summer I decided that I really like him and he really likes me. We like each other so much that we want to be girlfriend and boyfriend. Do you know what that is?”
His deeply thoughtful look gives me hope. After a beat, he nods. Then he thinks some more on it and shakes his head. “It means that we’re kissing friends. That you might see us kiss and hug.”
“Like Dad and Christy?”
Ugh, I could kill Ronan. “Kind of. I don’t think your dad and Christy are really good friends, though. Some people just like to kiss.”
His little snarl almost makes me laugh. “Kids?”
“No,” I return sternly. “Only adults.” I’ll tackle the birds and the bees some other time. What a nightmare that will be.
This is the hard part. Better he hears it from me rather than accidentally discovering it. “And Grant likes to have sleepovers sometimes. So he’ll sleep with me in my bed because he…he gets scared sleeping alone.”
Examining my face, he takes his time considering this news. It makes me nervous. This child can sniff out BS better than anyone.
“He can sleep in my bed.”
Biting back a smile, I point out the actual problem with that. “No, honey. Grant is too big. He’ll never fit in your twin bed. He wants to share mine. He’s my kissing friend. Is that okay with you?”
He shrugs like no biggie and I finally exhale. “Does that mean you’re going to make him eat cats now?”
Nice.
Grant comes into my bedroom, closes the door, and locks it. Grabbing a handful of the back of his t-shirt, he rips it over his head.
He fights a smile. “I just got a motivational speech from a ten-year-old about my fear of sleeping alone.”