“Skye wants to go to the South of France in August,” he says without preamble. I can tell by the force in his voice he’s been rehearsing this line. Like me––which is probably why we were drawn to each other in the first place––Ronan isn’t the forceful type. He’s your typical moody, broody, self-centric artist. Despite the tone, I know he doesn’t have the guts for fighting dirty.
“Good for Skye. Tell her au revoir from me.” Sometime this year Ronan got engaged to a television actress barely over the age of consent. I couldn’t care less what he does on his own time. In fact, I’m happy for him if he’s happy. Our son’s needs and welfare, however, will not come second to a woman he’s known for all of two minutes. “You’re not taking my son out of the country.”
I fall back on the bed, my eyes trained across the patio. The lights are on.
“He’s my son, too. And I’d rather not do this in court.”
After rehab, I set out to right a whole bunch of wrongs. First and foremost, by promising Sam that I was going to win back his respect and be the parent he deserves, to advocate for him even if it meant throwing myself under the bus. If Ronan wants a tussle, I’ll give him one. Three years ago I would’ve considered giving in to keep the peace. Today peace can––in the words of the jerk living on the other side of the house––kiss my ass.
“You can’t change plans without checking with me first. You’re a stranger to him. He’s already freaking out about spending two weeks with you in another state. You can’t take him out of the country––”
“He’s ten already. I was scoring weed for my mother at ten.”
“Yeah, you’re really not helping your cause with that.”
“He’s only freaking out because he doesn’t know me. If you gave it a chance, helped me out a little with it, he’d be fine.”
I have a lot to atone for, no doubt about it. But even at my worst I never put Sam in harm’s way, never drove drunk, never any of that. Yes, there were days I was hung over and forgetful, not attentive to my son’s needs. I take full responsibility. And maybe the worst part was that it caused him to worry about me. I know how damaging constant anxiety can be to a child because I lived it myself. The difference is I never gave up trying to be a better parent. Ronan simply bailed, living his life for the last seven years as if we didn’t exist. And now he expects a free pass.
“Pease don’t make this ugly. You’ll only end up making it harder for him to trust you.”
His heavy exhale tells me he doesn’t want this to get nasty, either. “I’ll talk to Skye. We could stay in California.”
“You do that.”
Across the way, where the drapes are still wide open, Hendricks is walking around in his birthday suit. Can this summer be over already?
The next morning I stumble into the kitchen in dire need of a double shot of espresso. At the doorway I am summarily greeted by a pair of perfectly tan buttocks blocking my path to the coffee machine. Umm, he’s naked again. Oh wait, except for the Hello Kitty rubber band tying his hair back in a small ponytail. I shudder to think where he got it.
Nudity is obviously a lifestyle choice for him. There isn’t even a faded tan line cutting across his ass cheeks. Which is troubling in its own way.
I’m pretty old-fashioned and modest by nature. No kissing until the second date. No sleeping with someone unless you know that person’s date of birth. And keep your bits covered until you do. For that reason and a few others, modeling only became tolerable when I was drinking.
All that aside, I’m not uptight. I’m the girl that grew up in a double-wide with seven brothers. When they were younger, they were always running around naked. That trailer was a regular sausage factory. It still doesn’t mean I want to see this guy’s sausage while I’m getting my morning coffee. Or ever, for that matter.
“Hendricks?” He turns, his expression one of long-suffering boredom. Mustering a weak smile, I keep my eyes fixed way north of his navel. “There’s a minor in the house. I can’t believe I have to say this out loud but you cannot continue to walk around with your junk hanging out.”
A loaded minute of silence passes in which he does his best to glare me into going away. I remain unmoved. It’s going to take a lot more than his empty glares to scare me.
“He’s a boy. He knows what boy parts look like.” Hooded eyes slide up and down my body. “I suspect you do, too.”