Ashton isn’t ignorant.
He’s innocent. But he’s also wise for a five-year-old, which has me worrying more about his well-being than I should be, especially after today’s encounter and threat at Gramp’s house.
“Your mom is very special to me,” I say.
It’s not a lie.
She is remarkable. She carried my son. I run my fingers through my hair, flustered. The kid’s got my eyes and her smile. He doesn’t seem to stop staring at me, which just makes me more nervous.
I’m not used to being around kids.
Let alone my son.
The fact I have a child is bewildering. I still can’t wrap my head around it. Another discussion for later, when Ashton is asleep, and I have Karina to myself.
But I’m not sure tonight that she’ll accompany me in bed, join me in my bedroom, and leave the little guy to sleep alone. If the tables were turned, I wouldn’t be able to let him out of my sight.
That bubbling sensation that roars in my belly is unfamiliar.
Worry?
Dread?
I can’t put a name to the sensation, but I don’t like it. Not at all in the least.
Karina gives a warm smile to Ashton. I can’t tell if it’s forced or genuine, but she’s got dark circles under her eyes.
“How about we get you showered and dressed for bed,” Karina says. “Then, it’ll be story time before bed.”
“Do you have any books?” Ashton asks.
Kids’ books, no.
We don’t entertain a lot of kids. Hell, Ashton is the first and probably only kid to set foot inside the compound.
“I can check downstairs, but it definitely wouldn’t have any pictures in it,” I say.
“We don’t need a book,” Karina says. “There are plenty of stories up in here.” She points at her head. “Finish the last of your potato chips and then head into the bathroom to get washed up for bed.”
“Fine,” Ashton whines.
It’s like he’s eating his last four potato chips in slow motion, dragging out every bite. The kid sure knows how to stall for bedtime.
I reach for one of his potato chips, and Ashton’s eyes widen in horror. He snatches the rest of the chips and shoves them all at once into his mouth before I can steal one from him.
“Careful,” I warn. The last thing I want to deal with is a choking kid.
He munches on the last few bites before climbing onto his feet, standing on the mattress, and catapulting off the bed.
“Ashton!” Karina scolds, but he’s already in the bathroom and slams the door shut, ignoring his mother. “Sorry about that. He’s been through a lot today.”
“I’m not upset.” Many things trigger me. A kid jumping off the bed isn’t one of them.
“Good.” She finishes the last bite of the sandwich, and I steal a potato chip from her plate.
Her eyes narrow, but she doesn’t steal all the chips and shove them into her mouth like her little boy. She’s got more class than that. Although I half expect her to shoo my hand away or chastise me for not eating dinner first. Like a mother would.
“I wanted to talk to you about Ashton.”